Page 23 of Momcom Vacation

I can’t help but brush my thumbs over his cheeks and drink in his earnest expression.

“I’d love that.”

With a grin, he leads me down the dock toward a sailboat. “Whose boat is this?”

“Beckett’s,” he says as he looks out over the water. “It’s a custom Celeritas. Fifty-footer.

Gorgeous.”

I survey the vessel, taking in its details—the shiny carbon and the deep teak accents.

“Shit, that’s nice. But I’m shocked Beckett bought this rather than a superyacht.”

“If you’re not comfortable, it’s no big deal,” he trails off, lowering his head.

God, I hate the weirdness that’s grown between us.

“No.” I give him a genuine smile. “All I want is to spend time with you.”

His dark eyes warm, and when he grins, the dimple in his left cheek pops.

He takes my bag and gestures for me to climb aboard.

“Can you even sail?”

He shrugs. “Sort of. Took lessons as a kid, and there’s a motor.” He points to the back of the boat. “We won’t go far. I just thought it would be nice to get out on the water.”

I stand on the deck, loosening the dock lines. “I’ll just give the motor a mintue to warm up.” I check the wind direction, then go for the last line. Once it’s free, I jump on. “Okay, gently throttle in reverse.”

The engine purrs as he follows my instruction. He looks incredible behind the helm. God, I want to jump his bones.

“Do you know how to sail?” he asks.

I lower my sunglasses and hit him with a withering glare. “I spent every summer of my life in Havenport. Yes, I know how to sail. Now get a move on.”

Once we’re out in the harbor, the island where the house sits hardly looks bigger than my arm. We can just make out the big house where Liv and the girls are relaxing. Dylan clearly knows about the boys following us here, but what about Shay? She looked a little too well-rested this morning, so I have my suspicions.

“Taper off the throttle,” I instruct as I untie the halyard to unfurl the main sail. “We’ve got good wind.”

Seamlessly, we work, getting the sails up and setting a course.

“Where are we headed?” I ask.

Enzo points at the nav system. “Beckett said this atoll has a beautiful cove. It’s great for swimming. We just have to get around the sandbar.” With a nod, he gestures at the massive old-fashioned picnic basket. “The girls packed a lunch and there’s champagne and fancy cheese in the galley.”

I give him a wink. “At this rate, Grandma, it’ll take a hundred years to get there. Let me work my magic.” On my feet again, I redirect our course to catch the wind. We pick up speed, and I hang off the side, relishing the feel of the wind and the sunshine. Fuck, I feel alive.

Enzo remains at the helm, steering gently. My heart clenches as I drink him in. I love this man. Now, if I could just get him to fuck me, it’d go a long way towards fixing our problems.

We slow as we approach the sandbar. It’s massive and could destroy the keel if we aren’t careful. I slow to a crawl and navigate around it. Like Beckett promised, the tiny sandy island surrounded by turquoise water is gorgeous. I hit the button and the self furling sail retract while Enzo deals with the anchor.

We’re about fifty yards from the shore and surrounded by sandy islands. Though we’re only a short sail from our family and friends, it feels like we’re on a different planet.

Alone.

As I’m slathering myself in sunblock, Enzo pops the cork on a bottle of prosecco.

“This place is beautiful,” I gush as I take one plastic flute from him.

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