Page 68 of The Rehoboth Retreat
The engine gave a soft growl as we took off, the wind immediately sweeping through my hair, which I’d styled so carefully just an hour ago. I should have worn a product with more hold, but honestly, I didn’t mind. Not this time.
The sun lit up everything around us, and as we turned onto Coastal Highway, the trees and roadside boutiques became a blur of green and sand-toned pastels. I snuck a glance at him—his hair tousling perfectly in the wind, one hand still loosely draped across the steering wheel. His profile was infuriatingly immaculate, like one of those Roman statues come to life, minus the humility.
“You gonna keep staring, or do I have lipstick on my face?”
“Please,” I said, shifting my glance forward at the road. “You’d have turned that into a viral photo-op if you did.”
He chuckled, the sound somehow even louder than the wind.
I shifted toward him, legs crossed at the ankles. “Are you ever going totell me where we’re going?”
“Nope,” he said dismissively.
“Not even a hint?”
“I already gave you one. I saidoutside. And you’reoutside. Gold star, Miles.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I had plans today, you know.”
“And you canceled them forme,” he said, feigning dramatic sentimentality. “You’ll thank me later.”
I sighed, though a tiny part of me was…intrigued. Okay, maybe a little more than tiny.
As we cruised past the split where the road leads toward Dewey Beach, my curiosity doubled. He turned the volume up on the radio—something upbeat and obnoxious, likely on the Top 40 chart—and began drumming on the wheel like we weren’t two adults navigating unspoken tension under a summer sun.
“Is it brunch again?” I asked. “Because I’m still full, and I swear if you try to feed me oysters on a dock—”
“Shut up, we’re here,” he said, cutting me off with a grin as he pulled into a parking lot markedRehoboth Bay Marina.
The pavement radiated heat under my flip-flops, and I squinted as I looked around. Catamarans and sailboats lined the docks, bobbing lazily in the glittering bay. A pelican skimmed the water in the distance, and the scent of brine and boat fuel hung thick in the air.
“A marina?” I asked, already scanning the boats. “Are we going on a boat ride?”
Hudson popped his door open and circled the car to mine, opening it like a gentleman—well, a gentleman with a devilish grin and too much swagger.
“Something like that,” he said, offering his hand.
I took it, stepping out carefully. My feet hit the hot pavement, and I squinted toward the slips, trying to guess which floating monstrosity was about to become our mode of transport.
“You didn’t rent a dinghy, did you?” I asked.
“You’re adorable when you try to guess.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he simply tugged me toward the boardwalk that led to the private slips, the mystery thick in the summer air between us.
And maybe I should’ve been more suspicious. But for now, I was just trying to keep up with him. The celebrity. The mayhem. The man who kissed me on the beach last night and then joined me for a pleasant breakfast this morning.
Yeah, I had no idea what I was walking into. But I was beginning to realize that maybe… that wasn’t such a bad thing.
Miles
I should have guessed something was up the moment Hudson told me to wearsomething breezyandadventurous. But I didn’t expectthis.
We walked together down the long wooden pier, the soles of my flip-flops clapping rhythmically against the planks. The sun was high now—an aggressive noon heat casting sharp reflections off the surface of the Rehoboth Bay. Boats of all shapes and sizes lined the slips. Some were modest sailboats with faded covers and family names etched in cursive. Others were party catamarans, big enough for a group of twelve to take some selfies and pretend they were on an episode ofBelow Deck.But none of them—none—looked like the one at the very end of the dock.
It was…spectacular.
A sleek, streamlined mid-sized flybridge motor yacht, easily in the 60-foot range, glistened in the sun like it had just rolled off the showroom floor and directly into the bay. Its hull was a crisp, high-gloss white that practically sparkled, with polished chrome railings, shaded windows that wrapped around the cabin, and the kind of aerodynamic profile that screamed quiet wealth. Not ostentatious. Not tacky.Tastefulwealth. The kind of boat owned by people who summered in the Hamptons and knew the difference between taupe and greige.
