Page 49 of Knot Your Sugar Rush
“Rule five is stop ganging up on me,” Jamie says, mock-offended. “And for the record, Ionlyspun us in circles that one time because the wind—”
“—was fine and you were daydreaming about cinnamon buns,” Theo cuts in smoothly.
Jamie throws up his hands. “I can’t help it if I have an appreciation for fine pastries and finer company.” He flashes me a grin. “Speaking of—come on, Crewwoman Cam, let me give you the tour before these two sink us with their egos.”
Inside, the galley smells faintly of last night’s coffee and lemon cleaner. Jamie ducks through a narrow doorway, talking the whole time—pointing out the little table where we’ll eat, the built-in bunks down the hall, the compact bathroom with a door that slides instead of swings. I have to sidestep past him in the hall at one point, my shoulder brushing his chest. The contact isbrief but sends an entirely unnecessary shiver down my spine. Cinnamon again—warm and sweet and a little dangerous.
Back outside, Dane is at the wheel, adjusting it like a man who’s been steering ships since birth. “We shove off in ten,” he calls without looking up. “Theo, check the weather again. Jamie, untie the stern.”
“Yes, Captain,” they both say, mock-saluting.
“You’re really leaning into this captain thing,” I tell him, climbing back up to the deck.
Dane’s mouth curves, just a fraction. “If I’m in charge, we’ll actually make it to the island instead of detouring to every island where Jamie smells someone’s cooking from two miles away.”
Jamie cups his hands to his mouth. “One time! And that cinnamon loaf was worth it!”
Theo rolls his eyes but his lips twitch. “Worth it to you maybe. I’m the one who had to navigate us through the reef in the dark afterward.”
Their bickering is easy, practiced—like this is just another day in their long string of shared days. It pulls me in without asking permission, makes me feel like I’ve been here before.
Theo tilts his head toward the horizon. “It’s about a half day to the island. Wind’s good today, though.”
“And hot,” I add, tugging my hair off my neck. There’s a heaviness in the air, the kind that sticks to your skin. A drop of sweat rolls between my shoulder blades, and I’m suddenly too aware of the faint ache low in my belly. It’s been a while since I’ve thought about my cycle, and now the thought lingers in the back of my mind like a spark you’re not sure you want to fan.
Jamie leans against the rail beside me, close enough that his arm brushes mine. “Hot means clear skies. Perfect for an adventure.”
“Perfect for heatstroke,” Dane mutters from the helm, though his mouth quirks in a way that makes it less of a complaint and more of an observation.
Theo steps past us to check the mooring, and I catch the faint brush of his scent—cool, clean, a little like rain on stone. My pulse skips for reasons I don’t have time to unpack.
Dane’s voice cuts in, firm and low. “Alright, crew. Let’s get her moving.”
Jamie winks at me. “You heard the captain.”
I nod, tightening my grip on the railing. The sun, the salt, the teasing—it’s all a little dizzying, like the moment before you jump into cold water.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know it’s not just the weather making me warm.
Chapter thirty-one
Dane
The wheel thrums beneath my palms, a steady vibration through the wood and steel, as if the whole boat has its own slow heartbeat. The wind comes at just the right angle to fill the sails, carrying the faint tang of salt and something greener—seaweed, maybe, or the sharp bite of cedar drifting from the shoreline we’ve left behind.
Behind me, Jamie’s voice cuts through the steady rush of the breeze.
“I’m telling you, it was smiling.”
Theo makes a sound halfway between disbelief and a groan. “Seals don’t smile. That was a warning. You were about to lose a finger, mate.”
Cam’s laugh slips between them, light and bright, the kind that makes you want to hear the next one. I don’t turn. I don’t need to—I can see it in my head: her leaning against the rail, hair caught in the breeze, eyes squinting against the sun.
Every so often, the wind shifts just enough to carry her scent forward—sweet and warm, but today there’s a thread of something new. Richer. Headier. Like cinnamon warming in apan just before the sugar hits. It snakes its way under my skin before I can stop it, coiling low and making it hard to keep my focus fixed on the compass.
This trip should be straightforward: half a day out, bit of island exploring, back before we’ve even got to worry about the tide changing. But my mind keeps drifting back inland, to the thick stack of contracts on my desk. A big-city expansion deal, neat and clean, the kind of offer that shifts everything.
If I take it, I’m set.
