Evan Mercer heard the auctioneer say, "Going twice." And finally exhaled. The faded blue sailboat at the end of the dock was his. 3 months without blind dates, dinner setups, or anyone asking whether he'd met someone yet, 8,600. A woman's voice came from behind him.
Evan turned. She was holding up a bitter card and smiling like she had just ordered dessert. The auctioneer pointed at her. Sold. Evan stared at the boat, then at the stranger.
Congratulations, he said. You just bought my escape plan. She lowered the card. Do you know how to sail her? Yes.
Good. Evan narrowed his eyes. She smiled. Because I have a proposition for you. The woman didn't look remotely apologetic.
Evan looked toward the auctioneer. That was $50. Correct. You waited until the last second. That is generally when bidding becomes useful.
He looked back at the sailboat. Faded blue hull teak that needed work. One stubborn winch he had already noticed. For 3 weeks he had been calling it his boat in his head. Clare followed his eyes.
You seem attached. I was briefly. The marina manager stepped onto the dock with a clipboard. Miss Bennett. Clare raised a hand.
Congratulations. Well need her moved by Friday. Slip changes after the auction. Clare's smile paused. Evan noticed.
The manager kept going. You've sailed out of here before. Clare glanced at the boat, then at Evan. No. The manager looked from one of them to the other and wisely decided this was no longer his problem. Friday.
He walked away. Evan folded his arms. That confidence lasted almost 12 seconds. I know how to sail. That wasn't the question.
I've sailed dingies. Evan looked at the 32- ft sloop. Clare looked too. It's basically a larger dinghy. It is not.
It has sails. So does a bed sheet in a hurricane. She smiled despite herself. Evan tried not to. Clare read the faded name on the stern.
Blue heron. My boat had a name. My boat still has one, he looked at her. My boat, she repeated. Evan pointed toward the Chesapeake.
Your boat has to get through that before Friday. That's where you come in. No, I haven't asked yet. I'm saving time. Clare leaned against the dock post.
I heard you talking to the yard guy before the auction. That feels invasive. You were 6 feet away. I was speaking privately at public volume. You said you've been sailing since college.
Evan said nothing. You also said this boat handles well in a crosswind. Still nothing. And you complained about the rigging for 10 minutes. I was evaluating.
You were criticizing rope rigging. See useful already. Evans started toward the parking lot. Clare followed. I need to move the boat to Eastport.
No, you can sail her. No, you were going to sail her anyway when she was mine. My boat, he stopped. Clare nearly walked into him. This, Evan said, pointing between them, is exactly the kind of complication I came here to buy a sailboat to avoid.
Clare blinked. You came here to buy a sailboat to avoid me? Not you specifically. That's almost disappointing, he sighed. She waited.