Page 57 of The Best Worst Mistake
I open my window to inhale the fresh sea air. It hits my face along with the familiar heat of the sun and I smile to myself that we’ve finally made it. Another bucket list item nearly crossed off.
“You’ve sailed before, haven’t you?” I ask, turning to Silas, who’s sitting beside me, still working on his laptop. He’s been working the entire trip over to Cádiz, so I’ve been enjoying the scenery in near silence. There’s a polished walnut console between us where I lean to look out his window next.
“I was on the sailing team at school,” he reminds me, moving his gaze from the laptop screen to the open window.
Years ago, after viewing a race on TV, I’d mentioned to Grant that I’d always wanted to try sailing. It looked like one of the greatest adventures I could ever imagine — coasting along the water’s surface in a sleek vessel, totally at the mercy of the wind while the team onboard tries to harness it. However, I never imagined I’d actually get the chance to try it in one of the most picturesque locations in the world.
I figure whoever’s sailing the boat will just set me up with a nice seat on the side, out of the way and hopefully not messinganything up. But I’m curious whether or not Silas will be sitting with me or participating in pulling ropes and tying off jigs with the rest of whoever’s been hired to take us out on the water.
“Are those boats similar to what we’ll be sailing in tomorrow?” I ask, pointing at a collection of them out on the water.
“Similar enough,” he tells me. “Have you never been on a sailboat?”
I shake my head. He immediately grins.
I grin back at him.
It’s impossible not to when he’s giving me that particular look. It’s similar to the one he gave me last night after telling me about his absurd reoccurring dream. Utterly ridiculous.
“Well, now you’re in for it,” he says, his voice deep.
He pats my knee but I don’t move it away this time. Something about clearing the air between us last night has drawn Silas back into my comfort zone. He might not be exactly who he was before his father’s death, but who could be after a loss like that? I’m starting to understand that now.
“Why’s that?” I ask.
“Just be prepared to fall in love.” His eyes wander. “With sailing,” he adds. “I remember my first time like it was yesterday. It gets in your blood real quick. I’m glad I get to be there for your first time.”
My stomach does a little flip and I go back to staring out the window, soaking up our view. I can’t wait.
When we arrive at the hotel, we finish checking in after being ushered to a separate VIP room just for us. Unlike our accommodations in Switzerland, the flight crew is also staying at this hotel but in a separate wing of the building.
“Here are your separate room keys,” the receptionist says to us, smiling warmly.
“Separate suites?” I ask, throwing eye contact at Silas instead of her.
“I thought that’s what you wanted after your reaction in Interlaken...” He trails off, clearly not wanting to repeat the scene I’d thrown at the first hotel. “I asked Monica to split our reservation up here. I mean, unless you wanted to bunk up with me again, in which case—” He winks at me with a smirk instead of finishing the sentence.
I hold up my hands, catching the laughter in the attendant’s eyes.
“No, that’s perfect,” I tell them both, quickly. I’m shocked that something in me wishes he was going to be right outside my door again instead of possibly down the hall or on another floor entirely. But this is a much better arrangement. “Thank you for listening, and for making the swap.”
“You sure?” he asks, studying me closely when he slides my key across the counter, before pocketing the other one meant for him.
“I’m sure,” I tell him. “And the letter?” I ask, turning back to the woman behind the counter.
She hands me a stiff envelope bearing Grant’s handwriting across the front.
The reason we’re here at all.
Just the sight of it makes my heart thump harder. This one has fared better than the other two, looking nearly as crisp and white as the day it was written. I hold it up to my chest, exhaling deeply before turning back to face Silas again.
“You doing room service tonight, then?” I ask, sarcastically.
“Wouldn’t fucking dream of it, Jules.” His voice is tight, like something in him just shifted from a moment ago.
I clench the letter tighter.
“Join me back down here in one hour, or I’m coming to find you,” he adds, smiling gently. He eyes the letter tucked to mychest and rubs a quick circle around my back with his knuckle, adding a bit of unspoken empathy to his words.
