Page 102 of Falling Overboard

I wanted to confide in her, for us to be closer. I suspected that I had kept Georgia a bit at arm’s length deliberately—that I was always so worried about losing people I cared about that I sometimes closed myself off so that I wouldn’t care.

If things were going to change in my life, if I was going to let people in, it seemed easier to start with Georgia. I knew she would help me figure out if he’d been about to say that he loved me. Because despite all my fears, all my concerns, all my doubts, I thought I might love him.

And if we loved each other—then why stay on this ship? We could apply as a couple to a new vessel and start over somewhere together. There could be a future for us where we didn’t have to sneak around and worry about getting busted or angering our captains.

A future where I was brave enough to take a chance.

Georgia returned, looking way too happy. “I feel like I should buy life insurance because you kissing him is like the third sign of the apocalypse. And I am shocked ... that it took this long. Okay, tell me everything.”

“I can trust you, right? You’ll keep this a secret?”

“Did you know that Thomas and Kai both hooked up with the same woman within an hour of each other a few months ago?”

“What? No!”

She looked smug. “That’s because I didn’t tell anyone. I can keep a secret.”

“You’re telling me now.”

“Statute of limitations has passed,” she said with a wave of her hand. “So for at least the next three months, I can guarantee that my lips will be sealed.”

Three months from now I might be on an entirely different yacht with Hunter. We might be able to take a chance on actually being together. I was again struck with that mixture of dread and longing. I told her everything, from the first day I’d met him. I didn’t leave anything out, including all the ways I’d embarrassed myself. Every thought and feeling I had, all the things we’d said to each other. I wanted her to have the full picture.

I even told her about the deaths in my family and the boyfriends who had obliterated my self-esteem and belief that a relationship could ever last.

When I finally finished she sat there blinking at me. “Let me see if I have this correct. The man who looks like he was the first one assembled at the handsome factory is your best friend and you love being with him. You spend all your free time with him. You sleep together, and I mean that in the most boring sense possible, on the regular. He got up at the crack of dawn to go hiking with you. He watches musicals with you almost every night. And you’re asking me if I think the two of you are in love with each other? And whether or not you could have a successful relationship?”

When I nodded she started laughing. And it lasted so long that it was kind of starting to hurt my feelings.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. “That bloke of yours is bloody brilliant.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did I ever tell you that my grandfather had a ranch in the outback?”

What did that have to do with anything? “No.”

“He did. And he used to tell us this story about how to catch wild horses. That they were skittish and afraid of new things, so the ranchers would put up one length of fence at a time. When the horses were used to it, they’d put up another and another until one day the horse was trapped inside the fence.”

“You think Hunter trapped me?”

“No, I think he got you accustomed to him in small doses so that when you did kiss, when he told you he cared about you, you didn’t freak out and try to swim back to America.”

“You think he did this on purpose?” Like as a manipulation? That didn’t seem like something he would do.

She shrugged. “I’d guess no. He probably just instinctually understood who you are, fabulous but neurotic, and so he gave you what you needed.”

I nodded and then asked the question I had most wanted to ask her. “Do you think I’m in love with him?”

“Is my grandmother Catholic? The answer to that is yes, by the way. And before you ask, yes, I think he loves you, too.”

That filled me with giddy, effervescent bubbles, like somebody was mainlining champagne into my bloodstream. “Should I say something to him about it?”

“Probably not. My advice would be to shag the beautiful man and go from there.”

“I can’t!”

“Oh, you can.”

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