Page 68 of Steel Beauty

“Dance with me,” she whispers, the gentle invitation in her words stirring something I can’t resist.

I oblige without hesitation, slipping my arms around her waist. The music fills the quiet between us as we sway together, moving in a slow circle beside the helm.

Everything about the moment feels right—her body pressed against mine, the gentle roll of the water beneath the yacht, the soft melody wrapping around us like a cocoon. I hold her close, letting myself savor the simple, perfect peace of being here with her.

* * *

We’ve been sailingfor a couple of hours, the coastline still visible but drifting past as we move onward. Charleston rises from her seat, her fingers brushing lightly over my shoulder as she heads toward the cabin.

“I’m going to get dinner started.”

“Sounds good. I’m hungry.”

“You’realwayshungry,” she says, giggling.

I ease the yacht to a slower speed, the hum of the engine fading as I shift it into neutral. The water is calm, the golden hues of the setting sun spilling across the surface. There’s not another boat in sight—just us, the open water, and the endless horizon.

Charleston reappears, carrying plates to the outdoor dining area. She’s prepared everything Chloe sent—simple, elegant dishes perfectly suited for an evening like this. The sight of her setting up, her movements unhurried and natural, feels like its own kind of magic.

“Easy dinner tonight.”

“What did she send?”

“Smoked salmon with dill, salad, several different cheeses, sourdough bread.” She places the plates on the table. “Oh, and let’s not forget the perfectly paired wine.”

I kill the engine, letting the yacht drift lazily with the current. As I join her at the table, the sight of her framed by the endless ocean and the soft glow of the setting sun steals my breath for a moment.

We sit, clinking glasses of chilled white wine, and an overwhelming sense of peace settles over me. Out here, with Charleston beside me, it’s as though the burden I’ve been carrying finally lifts.

The depression, the anxiety, the anger—all of it fades into the background, distant and powerless against me. With her, there’s only joy. Only light. She makes me feel like the best version of myself.

Maybe I bring out the best in her too?

We savor the food and the view, the soft sound of the waves providing the perfect backdrop.

“So, why interior design? What made you choose that for a career?”

She takes a slow, deliberate sip of wine, nostalgia flickering in her eyes. “It’s kind of funny actually. Growing up, everything I had—or rather, what little I had—mostly came from yard sales.”

Her words hit me harder than I expect, a pang of sadness settling in at the thought of her having so little.

“When I got older, I’d do odd jobs around the trailer park. Leonard and Janet would pay me a few bucks here and there. It wasn’t much, but at the time, it felt like a fortune. Eventually, I realized I loved taking other people’s junk and turning it into treasure. I’d find an old, ugly décor piece at a yard sale, buy some paint or craft supplies, and turn it into something I was proud of.”

She shrugs, but her eyes hold a glimmer of pride. “I got pretty good at putting lipstick on a pig.”

See? Lemons to limoncello, I tell ya.

I smile, charmed by her story. “And now, here you are, turning that talent into a career. Impressive.”

Her expression shifts to something thoughtful. “Funny how one of the things that used to embarrass me the most is actually what led me to where I am today.”

Her eyes shine with pride. “Who would’ve thought painting other people’s junk would one day land me a job that brought me to Australia… and to meeting an amazingblokelike you?” Her smile softens as her words come out in a quieter, more intimate murmur. “Fate works in mysterious ways sometimes.”

I reach across the table, taking her hand in mine and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Funny thing, fate.”

Suddenly, a smile breaks across her face, followed by a bubbling laugh. She gestures toward the song playing through the yacht’s speakers. “This song—‘Too Much Time on My Hands’ by Styx—brings back memories. One of the very few happy ones with Robin. I don’t have a lot of those, but this one? It’s a good one.”

Leaning closer, I rest my elbow on the table, intrigued. “Tell me about it.”

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