Penthouse Suite by Sandra Chastain

bring the blanket.”
    “Blanket?” Before she could open her door, he already had the cooler in one hand and a blanket draped over one arm.
    “So, I’ll bring them both. You just bring the dessert.”
    “Dessert?”
    “You, Kathryn. Follow me. Remember, all work and no play makes Max dull.” Max waited for Kate to get out of the car, placed a wickedly suggestive kiss on her forehead, and marched briskly onto the floating pier. Kate scrambled down the dock behind him.
    “I don’t really think that you’re dull, Max,” Kateprotested, her voice a little subdued as she realized that Max had called her Kathryn. She wasn’t sure why that bothered her, but it did. Kathryn was another person, the mysterious woman from Max’s dinner party. She was Kate, and Kate had her feet planted squarely on the ground.
    “Neither did I,” Max confessed over his shoulder, “but I’m beginning to think that Aunt Dorothea was right. Maybe the word is monotonous, tedious, stodgy.”
    “Maybe the word is dormant.”
    “I think I like the idea of being awakened, Kate. Let’s get to the boat.”
    Gray and white gulls made shrill angry noises as they streaked across the water at the dock’s edge. Kate glanced around, seeing for the first time the fleet of assorted boats bobbing gently in the cobalt blue water. Smartly dressed people were climbing aboard various boats. They called their greetings to Max, who seemed to know everyone. The scene was bright and happy. Big fluffy clouds ballooned across the sky in the bright sunshine.
    Max’s boat seemed much too large for one man to sail. Kate swallowed a gasp as she read its name:
Secret Lady
.
    “Take this, Kate,” Max said from the open area leading down to what was apparently a sleeping cabin. He handed her a bright orange life jacket.
    “Slip it on like a vest and snap the catch,” he instructed as he fastened his own. “Every passenger on board the
Secret Lady
wears one.”
    Kate complied silently, allowing herself to examine his trim, tanned body as he emerged from the compartment. He was wearing white sneakers, crisp white shorts, and a dark pink polo shirt. He looked like … like raspberry sherbert. And she’d always had a weakness for raspberries.
    Max seemed unaware of her scrutiny as he moved to the seat near the tiller and motioned for Kate to sit down beside him. He turned the key, and the churning sound of the boat’s motor filled the strained silence. “We’ll use the motor to move us out of the cove, into the bay, and out into deep water. Then the wind will power us.”
    Any thought Kate had of conversation died when the engine roared to life, and the boat moved slowly out of the cover. Soon they had left behind the gleaming white beaches with the charming names. Kate felt the tension drain away. When they were well out into the Gulf, Max killed the engine and began to unfurl the sails.
    “First we hoist the mainsail, then the jib. Then we winch up the sails. That means pull them tight. We’ll just trim them so they won’t flutter, then we’ll cleat them.”
    “Cleat them?” Kate asked.
    “Fasten them down.”
    Kate marveled at his quick actions. She’d never seen anybody so competent, so sure of himself. There was no wasted motion in this man’s life, no beat-up old Chevy, and no grand unknown waiting over the next horizon. If he did a thing, he did it well. If he wanted it, he got it. Every action he made was orderly and purposeful. Kate felt a warning twinge of doubt, pushed it aside, and concentrated on his words.
    “Now we note the direction of the wind, check the current, take the helm, and we’re off.” Soon they were making a zigzag motion through the wind. The breeze became more powerful, and the boat seemed to leap across the dark, white-capped waves.
    “You love it, don’t you?” she finally said.
    “Yes, I do. I can come out here and leave everything behind. Here there are no problems except an occasional squall, and they aren’t