Cinderella Search by Judy Griffith; Gill Page B

was small but compact, with two single bunks, one over the other, built-in cabinets, a porthole near the ceiling indicating that this cabin was mostly below the waterline, and a skylight that could be opened for air.
    “The other three are just the same,” she said, and sidled past him on her way back to the saloon. Her scent floated up and made his throat contract again, pulling him along in her wake.
    She moved lithely toward the other end of the big main cabin and spun in place, beaming with pride. “Isn’t she a beauty?”
    “A real beauty,” he said, watching sunlit water cast rippling reflections over Lissa’s arms and face. Slowly, with the length of the saloon between them, he brought his breathing back under control. Forcing his gaze away from her, he ran his fingers along teak paneling. “Excellent workmanship.”
    “Nice and roomy, too. I don’t like cramped quarters,” she said. “And despite her size, she handles like a dream, though I doubt I could manage her without the bow-thruster.”
    The boat was beamy, making for a comfortable living area that held two wicker settees, several matching chairs and a masculine looking leather easy chair that seemed oddly out of place. Steve instantly had an image of the chair occupied by the older man Lissa had been with. A coffee table, looking equally heavy and solid, appeared to have been made from an old hatch cover encased in resin. It stood between the two settees. Brass lamps hung from the dark wood ceiling, several were mounted on the walls, and built-in bookcases held a large number of volumes, carefully set behind ledges that would keep them from tumbling out in rough weather. A media center, complete with flat screen TV and DVD player, was built into cabinets across from the bookcases. All was compact and superbly crafted with fine attention to detail.
    “A real home-away-from-home.” He’d have liked to sink back into the leather chair and put his feet up on its matching ottoman.
    “No,” she said with a faint smile as she stroked her fingers over the top of a deeply polished wooden locker, its lid decorated with fine parquetry forming a compass rose. “A real home, period. The first one I’ve ever been able to call my own.”
    “Yes.” He could see that it was her home, and that she loved it.
    When was the last time he’d lived any place he could call home? He didn’t remember. Wherever he tossed his duffel, he supposed, had become that to him, but seeing what Lissa had done to make this boat all hers showed him a vast lack in his own life.
    He ducked to miss a hanging lantern as she led the way forward into the galley area. From there, another companionway led up to the wheelhouse. Sun poured golden light in on the dark-walnut stair treads, glinted off the brass handrail, and warmed the air with dancing dust motes.
    He’d have appreciated an invitation to see the wheelhouse, the controls, to ask her about motive power. “Two diesels” didn’t cover it. How like a woman, even a woman boat owner, to dismiss them like that. Hell, he’d like to start the engines himself, take the boat out, feel its fifty-foot length responding to seas, currents, winds, answering to his command. He could almost hear the diesels rumbling through her hull, feel their smooth vibration. A well-tuned engine in a well-maintained boat was like a loving woman in the right hands.
    He turned to Lissa.
    “More coffee?” she asked, lifting the pot from the top of the stove. Quickly, almost guiltily, he held out his cup, which she refilled, then topped up her own before turning toward an open door on the port side.
    “This cabin’s larger than the aft ones, so I’ve turned it into my office for now.”
    “And where do you sleep?”
    “I have a cabin forward.” Her tone, the slight stiffening of her shoulders, told him with certainty that that was one room she had no intention of showing him. This one, though, held more of the type of sketches he’d seen her