Page 30 of Winging It with You

“Are you feeling up to it?”

“Do I have a choice?” he says, forcing a smile. There he goes, putting on his facade like armor. I want to press the issue, to tell him it’s okay if he needs to collect himself for a moment, but he’s on his feet in no time, hands on hips and ready for business. The sailboat is midsize, I’d estimate around thirty feet in length, with a thin but completely bare mast. At the far corner of the stern sits a wooden box covered inEpic Trekbranding, so that seems like a good place to start.

Asher beats me to it.

On unsteady legs, he opens the lid, revealing a folded heap of canvas and a thick loop of white rope. Running the rope through his hands, one over the other, he looks up at the mast behind us, his expression laced with equal parts determination and fear. “Alright, Mr. Midwest, any idea where we begin?”

It’s been years since I’ve been on a sailboat, let alone assembled the sail. That was something my dad always did, but when Asher passes me the rope, a lifetime of memories comes crashing back. “I think the first thing we should do is unfold the sail to make sure we get it laid out in the right direction.”

I watch Asher’s eyes scan the thin mast, and I begin to lay out the large canvas between us.

“Here,” I say, holding the rope out to him. “As I roll it out,follow behind me with the rope and weave it like you would a shoelace through these grommets here,” I say, tapping the metal rings along the sail’s edge.

He takes the rope from me, inserting it through the first grommet, and then another. “Like this?” Asher asks. We’re both kneeling now, practically nose to nose, and I’m not sure if it’s the way the light is hitting him or the reflection of the deep hues of the ocean, but his eyes have never appeared this vibrant. Depths of jade stare back at me, and for the briefest of moments, I’m too stunned to talk.

Come on, Fernandez. Focus.

“Is this wrong?” he asks, insecurity lingering in his voice.

“No, that’s perfect,” I say, shaking my head.

We work in tandem, me pulling and stretching the sail to make room for Asher as he continues weaving the rope in and out. When we’re finished, we each stand up, admiring our handiwork before we need to attach the sail to the mast.

“We just need to get this…” I stretch up on the tips of my toes, trying to get the end of the rope through the pulley at the top of the mast. “…there. Now, we should be able to pull this all the way down…Yup, just like that,” I say, as we work together to pull the length of the rope up and back through the pulley, effectively securing one portion of the sail to the mast.

Almost done.

“Ash, you see that line right there?” I say, nodding to the other end with my chin. He picks it up, quick to understand where I’m going with this. “Yeah, that one. If you can just run it through the pulley over there on the other end of boom, we should be all set,” I say, tapping the long, horizonal pole attached to the mast.

He does what I ask, repeating the hand-over-hand movement we just did together on the mast.

“Alright, the last thing we need to do is attach that rudder to the stern—the back, sorry—of the boat and we’re golden.”

Asher picks up the removable rudder, inspecting it from behind his glasses before placing it in the groove at the back of the boat. “Here?”

“That should be good?” With the sail and boom in the way, I can’t be completely sure, but once we hoist the sail, I’ll be able to adjust if necessary. “Can you come and help me with this?”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Asher says, giving me a half-assed salute that my former commanding officer would have had a field day with.

“We’re going to raise the sail now, and when we do, we just need to remember to watch out for the boom,” I say, patting the thicker piece of metal between us. “Ready?”

“Let’s do it,” Asher says, his demeanor now absent any seasickness he may have been feeling earlier. He almost looks like he’s having fun—an important first for us.

He’s so close now. Close enough that I can feel the warmth—his warmth—radiating off his sun-kissed skin.

Focus, Theo.

“Pull!” I shout.

We do, with all our might, our hands clumsily trampling over each other as we raise the sail inch by inch until the crisp white fabric reaches the top of the mast, bucking as it finds the wind. We’re practically flush against each other now. Two random puzzle pieces at first only pretending to fit together, but somehow, even though they were plucked from two entirely different boxes, starting to realize that perhaps, by some stroke of actual fate, they do.

I’m starting to think I don’t care whether it’s all for Arthur’s perfectly placed camera.

Or if Jo’s words are ricocheting around his brain like they are mine.

Chemistry.

All I know is that Asher Bennett is looking at me in such a way that makes me think he’s weighing his options. Like he’s trying to logically calculate the odds against his next move. And maybe, out here in the middle of the waves and the chop and the warmth of the now-setting sun, he’s figuring out if I’m one of them.

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