Page 100 of Best Laid Plans

As we continued our journey, the captain guided us deeper into the heart of Lowcountry. The landscape around us transformed into marshlands dotted with clusters of spartina grass swaying gently in the breeze. Egrets and herons stood like statues in the shallow waters, their keen eyes scanning for fish.

"Look at that," Nova whispered, pointing to a great blue heron that took flight, its wings spanning wide as it glided over the water.

"Love that y'all are not grabbing your phones to take pictures," the first mate, a burly white-haired man, told us.

"I'm not a good enough photographer to capture the beauty of this," Nova breathed.

"Yeah, no camera can capture this beauty," I agreed, but I was looking at Nova and not the nature surrounding us. She flushed, and I wished I had the right to hug her, kiss her, hold her. But I'd forfeited those rights by being careless, cocky, and bullheaded.

The first mate handed us a pair of binoculars. "There are some ospreys nesting over there." He directed our gaze to a tall wooden platform where the majestic birds of prey had built their home.

Nova took the binoculars, her eyes lighting up as she observed the ospreys. "They're incredible," she gasped, passing the binoculars to me. I looked through them, seeing the powerful birds tending to their nest, their sharp eyes surveying the river below.

The boat ventured further into the marshlands, where the cacophony of bird calls created a symphony of nature. We spotted pelicans diving for fish, their large beaks scooping up their prey.

Nova laughed. "A wonderful bird is the pelican. His bill will hold more than his belican. He can take in his beak, food enough for a week; I'm damned if I know how the hell he can!"

I cocked an eyebrow. "Is that a limerick, Sugar?"

"Indeed! It was written in 1910 by Dixon Lanier Merritt. He was an American poet, editor, historian, and humorist," Nova showed off. "Though some misappropriate the limerick to be by Ogden Nash."

"I'm in awe of the weird things you know, Sugar." And fucking proud.

"Hang with me, Anson; I'll teach you all sorts of things," she joked.

"I fully intend to," I vowed.

She blushed again, and this time, her eyes lingered on me.

As we slowly sailed toward Tybee Island, we saw a group of roseate spoonbills wading in the shallow waters, their pink feathers standing out against the green backdrop.

"This place is magical."

"It really is," I agreed. "I'm glad you're enjoying it." She looked so fucking happy, and it made me feel ten-feet-tall because I was giving her this, and she was letting me.

After nearly four hours, the boat sailed past Cockspur Island lighthouse to dock at North Beach in Tybee Island.

"You hungry?" I asked as I picked up a picnic basket that had been hidden under a bench on the boat.

Nova grinned. "Starving, actually."

"Well, come on then."

She grabbed the blanket next to the picnic basket and hugged it to her chest.

We bid the captain and first mate goodbye. A car and driver were waiting nearby to take us home when we were ready.

We walked along the sandy shore, the salty breeze ruffling our hair. I found a perfect spot near the dunes that would afford us privacy, thanks to Diego, who had mapped it out for me, and dropped a GPS pin on Apple maps for my convenience.

We laid out the blanket together.

"Ready for lunch?" I opened the picnic basket once we settled down.

"Absolutely."

The smiling woman I used to know was back. She wasn't guarded. Sailing had brought excitement into her eyes and taken away some of the stress.

It was a simple lunch that Rhodes Hotel had put together for me. Fresh fruit, cheese, crackers, and sandwiches. And there was a bottle of champagne in a cooling bag.

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