No, I am not on a date. Clare lowered her sandwich to hide a smile. I'm working on a boat. Another pause. No, it is not her.
Clare looked at him. Evan sighed. It is technically her boat. She nodded satisfied. Daniel asked one final question.
Evan glanced at Clare at the moment. He said, "I'm busy every Saturday." He hung up. Clare took another bite. "So much for escaping women."
Evan picked up the sanding block. "So much for rule, too." She smiled. He did, too. And neither mentioned that Saturdays had quietly become the part of the week they protected first.
The following Saturday, Clare arrived at the marina with two coffees and a weather report she had printed from three different websites. Evan looked at the papers. Are you preparing for sea trials or litigation? I'm learning from you. That concerns me.
Blue Haron was finally ready for a longer test sale. The leak was sealed. The billagege pump had stopped sounding angry. And the radio now worked without physical encouragement mostly. They left the marina just after 10.
The wind was light enough that Clare took the helm while Evan adjusted the main for 40 minutes. Everything behaved. Then the clouds thickened. Evan checked the sky. Clare noticed that face again.
What face? The one where weather has personally disappointed you. It shifted faster than forecast. You printed the forecast. I did not print the forecast.
You would have laminated it. The first drops came 5 minutes later. It was not a storm, just a stubborn line of rain with enough wind behind it to make continuing south pointless. Evan pointed toward a protected cove. We'll wait it out.
Clare brought Blue Heron around and they dropped anchor near a line of quiet trees. Rain tapped against the deck. The cabin smelled faintly of coffee, old wood, and the sealant Evan had insisted was completely dry. Clare sat across from him. There was nothing left to fix.
Evan realized this at the same time she did. That's dangerous, Clare said. What is you without a task? I have tasks. You checked the anchor twice.
That's seammanship. You looked at the same knot three times. It could have changed. Clare smiled into her coffee. For a while, they listened to rain hit the cabin roof.
Then she said, "So, how long is the dating exile?" Evan looked at her. "Rule two. That rule prevents advice. Questions are still legal.
Convenient interpretation. I own the rule book. My mistake." Clare waited. Evan turned his cup slowly between his hands.
I don't hate dating. I didn't think you did. I don't hate relationships. Either. That sounded almost defensive.
It was clarification. He looked through the wet cabin window toward the gray water. There was someone. A long time. Clare didn't interrupt.
7 years. We were good for most of them. Then we weren't. What happened? Nothing dramatic enough to make a good story.
He gave a small shrug. We wanted different versions of the next 10 years. We spent about 2 years pretending that was a scheduling problem. Clare's expression softened. So, you broke up eventually.
And your friends declared an emergency. That was phase two. She laughed. Evan leaned back. At first, everyone was kind, then kind became organized.