Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
I step through the graceful white columns onto the covered porch and let myself in through the front door. Inside, I give the immaculate main floor a long once-over. I always get paranoid housesitting this place, afraid of breaking something priceless or spilling beer all over their expensive rugs. I wander into the chef’s kitchen toward the longest island I’ve ever seen. My fingertips skim sleek oak, painted a nautical blue. The housekeeper, Mary, was here yesterday, so everything is clean and dust-free. The smell of lemon and pine mingles with the familiar salty scent wafting in from the back doors. The first thing I did when I got here was open the three sets of French doors that make up the entire rear wall of the living room. My mood is always a thousand times better when I can smell the ocean.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out of my pocket to see a message from my mother.
Mom: All settled in?
I tap out a quick response.
Me: Yup. Unpacked and ready for two months of freedom. You guys were really cramping my style.
Mom: Yes, I’m sure all that home cooking was a real drag.
Me: Shit. Fine. I’ll miss that part. But Gil added a Fountain Lightning to his private fleet, so I think that might make up for all the greasy takeout I’ll be eating.
Mom: I’ll drop off some frozen lasagnas. Grease poisoning is no joke.
Me: How are my children? Do they miss me?
Mom: Well … Fudge just took a four-hour nap, and Polly just ate a bug. So I’m gonna say … no?
Me: Nah, sounds like coping mechanisms for missing me. You should let them sleep in your bed while I’m gone so they don’t feel lonely.
Mom: Sure won’t!
I grin at the phone. My parents are sadists who refuse to let our family dogs sleep in their bed. I’ll never understand it.
Me: Anyway, I gotta go. I’ll message you tomorrow.
Mom: Love you.
Me: Love you too.
I don’t care if it makes me the biggest loser on the planet, but sometimes I think my mom is my best friend. Hands down, she’s the coolest chick I know. And I tell her nearly everything. I mean, sure, I keep my sex life to myself, but there’s very little else I won’t confide in Mom about. Dad, too. In fact, I think he might also be my best friend.
Christ, maybe I am a huge loser.
Leaving my phone on the counter, I amble toward the French doors and peer outside. Beyond the stone dining patio, grill, and outdoor fireplace is a short wooden staircase leading to the upper deck. Beyond that is the path that takes you to the lower deck and the Jacksons’ long, private dock, complete with an electric boat lift and a covered pierhead. I focus my gaze on the end of the dock, admiring the two boats currently moored there. Gil’s prized Hallberg-Rassy, the Surely Perfect, is moored at the yacht club marina, but he keeps his high-performance powerboat and Boston Whaler Sport Fisherman at the house for the season.
A shiver runs through me as I gawk at the red-and-white powerboat. The Lightning. Christ, I’d kill to take her out, but she’s ludicrously expensive and I’d never dream of asking Gil if I could use her.
I seriously envy this man’s life. A real estate developer who’s worth millions, Gil owns several properties around the globe and pretty much an entire fleet of boats. He and Shirley are spending the next two months in New Zealand, where they’re looking to add another house to their portfolio. And, knowing Gil, another sailboat. Lucky assholes. Their life sounds like pure heaven to me—sailing around the world, exploring new places …
The sailing part, in particular, is what really gets my blood going. Being a part-time sailing instructor at the club doesn’t feel like enough to me; for years I’ve longed to be out on the water full-time, but that’s simply not feasible, not when I also need to put in the hours at Bartlett Marine, the family business. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a bad gig. And it’s always astonishing to see how much money people are willing to drop on their boats. But still, I’d rather be on a boat than hand over her keys to somebody else.
Since I have the day off—and Gil’s permission to use the Whaler and the Sea-Doos—I grab my phone from the kitchen counter. The weather’s perfect for a day on the water, and I scroll through my message threads trying to decide which one of my boys to text.
I’m pretty sure Danny, a fellow instructor at the club, is working today.
Luke should be home, but I have a feeling he’ll be too hungover from the party last night. When I left around 2 A.M., he was still doing tequila shots with our friends Steph and Heidi.