The Sailor in Polynesia

Book 2: Love and Wanderlust

by Liz Alden

Genres: Action & Adventure Romance; Contemporary Romance; action adventure romance; contemporary romance; vacation romance; A light beach read; tropical getaway; wanderlust; celebrity romance; divorced heroine

Synopsis

After fighting to keep her sailboat in a bitter divorce, Mia embraces her dream to sail the South Pacific alone. Until handsome stranger Jonas drops anchor beside her.

 

Everything was fine; maybe my boat was a little more tired than I thought, and maybe it’s a touch lonely this far from my family. But that’s just part of sailing.

 

Then, on a remote tropical atoll, another boat drops anchor next to me.

 

It’s gorgeous, and so is the captain.

 

Jonas shows me everything that this sailing life could be—watching sunsets, snorkeling reefs, and enjoying camaraderie with his crew.

 

A sizzling kiss sparks two blissful weeks of passion, but he’s heading to New Zealand, and my little sailboat has to stay in the gentle waters of Tahiti.

 

There’s no way I’d give up my boat—she’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

 

But can I give up Jonas?

 

The Sailor in Polynesia features an American sailor, the Norwegian captain next door, and the forced proximity of a sailboat. Full of adventure and slow-burn steam, this standalone will take you on a trip to the islands with plenty of pining between these two travelers. 

 

The second in the Love and Wanderlust series, The Sailor in Polynesia is a standalone contemporary romance for everyone who wants their wanderlust to continue into the happily-ever-after.

 

The Love and Wanderlust Series by Liz Alden:

The Night in Lover’s Bay (prequel short story)

The Hitchhiker in Panama

The Sailor in Polynesia

The Chef in the Mediterranean

Release date: June 3, 2021

Publisher: Liz Alden

Print pages: 338

Sample

One

My life could have been a bad motivational poster.
Paradise or purgatory? It all depends on your attitude.
Right now my attitude sucked. I paced inside my boat in the late morning, trying to pick something to do, but nothing sounded good to me: snorkeling, walking on the beach, reading. Can you burn out doing relaxing things?
The most I can stand my own company is four weeks and two days, apparently. At least Liam wasn’t here with me. My teeth ground just thinking about what my ex-husband would say. 
But why do I need an ex-husband here to tell me these things? Liam had worked his way so far under my skin that I could hear his voice regardless: You’ll never be able to do this on your own.
What an idiot I was. People are the worst.
Except for my brother James. He was the best. Speaking of which . . .
I grabbed my satellite device, a small rectangle that connected to my phone and allowed me a bare minimum of communication—because people suck, right?—and turned it on.
It took forever to boot up and get a signal, but I typed out a message to my little brother.
Hello from paradise.
James was most likely at work, so I didn’t expect a response right away. But only a few moments later my phone pinged with a new message.
Hallelujah, she lives. I was going to send you a message soon to check to make sure you were alive. I was writing your obituary. Mia Walsh: great sailor, until she fell off the face of the earth AND NEVER CALLED HER FAMILY.
I rolled my eyes. I’m alive. How are you?
Same old, same old. I noticed your dot hasn’t moved in a while.
James was referring to the GPS tracker I had on board that uploaded my location. 
That’s because I haven’t moved in a while.
What’s so interesting that’s kept you there for so long?
Looking out my window, I wondered the same thing. My boat lolled at anchor in an atoll named Kauehi, in French Polynesia. Under my keel was crystal-clear blue water and in front of me, a sandy beach with palm trees and coconuts. There were no real buildings, no people living here, no one around for miles. 
Off to my starboard side lay large columns of coral, which I’d snorkeled countless times. I knew the grooves of the brain coral better than the back of my own hand, the docile black-tipped sharks had been named, and I knew which coconut trees had the sweetest nuts. 
It is really beautiful.
Riiiiight. Every place you visit is really beautiful. Why are you there in that one particular harbor?
I didn’t want to tell James that this was the site of one of the biggest fights that Liam and I had ever had. I had sailed here thinking that I could erase a bad memory and make myself magically better, but so far I just felt lonely.
It didn’t help that the other boats that came through here were all couples. Happy couples, sailing from island to island together, popping in to say hi to poor little ole me. I couldn’t deal with it and was now actively trying to avoid people.
James got impatient when I took too long to answer, and my phone chimed again.
Is there anyone else there? 
A few boats have come and gone, but it’s still early in the season. So, no, mostly I’m all by myself.
I worry about you all alone.
I’m fine, really.
But are you happy?
I should be happy, right? I thought. I was in a beautiful place, doing exactly what I wanted to be doing. It was just me and my sailboat, Welina, setting off to explore the world.
My phone pinged again.
It’s okay if you aren’t happy. You can sell Welina and come home.
Don’t say things like that! You’ll hurt her feelings!
Hers or yours?
Ouch.
Tough love, Miamati.
Miamati was the nickname Dad had given me because I was a high-energy tomboy, always running around like a Maserati. James slipped into using my nickname when he worried too much about me.
I’m fine, I swear. It’s an adjustment period. Don’t you have work to be doing?
Right, I’M the family slacker. ;)
That’s me, professional bum.
You’re only a professional if you are earning money. When are you going to post another video?
Geez, this is why I never message you! All it is is work work work.
It comes from a place of love. And don’t think I missed you avoiding my questions. But you are saved by the bell—I have to run to a meeting. I’ll give the ’rents a hug from you. Love you!
Love you too, Sir James. 
Just to spite my brother, I stripped off my clothes and leaped into the water next to my boat. I’ll show you fun.
***
It wasn’t that I didn’t have things to do. There was always work to be done on a boat: small repairs that needed to be made and regular maintenance to keep her in good condition.
There was also a big decision that I was putting off: money.
My divorce had left me with meager savings, Welina, and the only remaining revenue stream in my failed marriage: a moderately successful sailing vlog.
Liam had easily turned the vlog over to me. He had hated it toward the end, but I thought he would fight for it, just to be contentious. 
Welina, I had to fight for, which made my blood pressure rise just thinking about it. I was the sailor, not Liam. This whole trip had been my idea. I doubted he would ever set foot on a sailboat again.
The solution to my money woes should have been easy: publish a new video. It was not so simple.
Last week I’d motored over to the closest village, ten miles across the lagoon as the crow flies. Man could not live on bread alone, but a diet of nothing but coconuts wasn’t going to work either, and the little village was my best choice.
Watching myself on camera used to be so much easier. I pulled up a clip I’d filmed during the trip and hit play.
My long red hair was up in a ponytail, and the wind caused it to whip around behind me like a whirlwind. I stood at the helm, the island a narrow strip of land behind me.
“I’ve just left Tiera . . . Teava . . .”
On-camera me took a deep breath and started again.
“I’ve just left Tearavero, the village on the atoll of Kauehi. You can see it behind me.” I held up a finger and pointed over my shoulder. “I’ve gotten some provisions, but there’s not much. I was able to trade for some fish, which was nice. Since it’s just me”—my voice wobbled here—“and there are tons of sharks in the Tuamotus, spearfishing is definitely not a good idea, so I, ah, need to rely on trading with fishermen or canned food for protein.”
I hit the pause button and closed my eyes. It didn’t feel like me anymore. I looked uncomfortable, and it wasn’t just the missing dynamic of a second person. The feeling weighed on me all the time, this lingering idea that Liam had ingrained in me that I wasn’t good enough.
Double-clicking on another video, I watched myself again. 
“It’s a real privilege to be spending all this time in Kauehi. There have been other boats passing through while I’ve been here. Right now I’m all alone.” I panned around behind me, showing the empty waters around the boat. 
“Sailboats coming through the South Pacific tend to stop for a few nights because it’s so beautiful. But most sailors are on a timeline to get through the islands before cyclone season starts, and since I’m going to store Welina in Apataki again, I don’t have far to go. So my neighbors usually move on after a few nights.”
The clip ended on my face and God, I looked haggard. I didn’t want to use any of this footage. How was I going to keep myself afloat without my videos?
***
Later, I pored over a cookbook, trying to find some inspiration for cooking with the meager supplies I had. It might be time to go into town again. 
My thoughts were interrupted by an unfamiliar sound.
Living on a boat, I tried to attune myself to unusual noises. An unfamiliar banging of my sails? Might be chafing. Engine making a racket? Might have a blockage.
Blinking, I wiped the sweat off my brow and tilted my head, trying to listen for the noise again.
Clang clang clang . . . 
I sat bolt upright.
“Are you fudging kidding me?” I said to Welina. “Square miles of beautiful water and someone is anchoring right next to us?”
I scanned the view around me and located the offender. Okay, they weren’t anchoring that close to me, but I was still irritated anyway. 
My new neighbor was big and beautiful. At least, bigger than my home, Welina, the forty-five-foot Morgan sailboat. I recognized the lines: she was an Oyster, maybe fifty-five feet long. A young woman stood at the bow while the anchor chain clanged against the roller, dropping the anchor to the sand beneath the boat’s keel.
A man walked along the deck on the port side, hands passing from one part of the rigging to another as he weaved his way aft toward the cockpit. He was young too: tanned and shirtless, looking a bit scruffy, as cruisers were wont to do.
When he reached the woman on the bow, he slid behind her and gripped her hips affectionately. Together, they bent down and mussed with the anchor chain.
I bit my lip. Were they the owners or crew? It was rare to see young people cruising. I was thirty-five and I hardly ever met people my own age. Most cruisers were older: retired, or in early retirement. The quality of the boat made the crew category more probable; I’d met a few Oysters, and they almost always had crew.
The boat drifted back as her anchor dropped, her bow swinging to port, making it hard for me to see the cockpit. As the weight of the boat fell back onto the anchor, she aligned more with the wind and came to sit parallel to me, about a hundred feet off Welina’s starboard side.
Now I could see the helmsman. He was also young and shirtless, with a shock of nearly white hair pulled back into a small ponytail. He stood at the center cockpit, his hands on the wheel, one foot on the seat next to him. A big Norwegian flag flew off the stern of the boat.
My eyes lingered on the guy at the helm for a moment. I liked the way he held himself. He was relaxed and calm, definitely confident in his boat, his crew, his skills. I wished for a little of that confidence for myself. I used to have it. How could I get it back?
“Oh, poor Welina. Beautiful new boat, gorgeous young people on board.” I patted the canvas Bimini over the cockpit. “We’re a little scruffier, but we’re made of tough stuff, right?”
While I watched, another head popped up from the companionway. A tanned dark-haired woman entered the cockpit and surveyed the landscape.
She took in one of my favorite views in the whole world, and I tried to look at it through her eyes and remember what it was like the first time I sailed here, the first time I dropped anchor with the beach a hundred yards off my bow, coconut trees thick from one side of the motu to the other. 
All this was fresh and new to these sailors.
I focused back on my new neighbors and found them looking at me. I also realized I was sprouting bitch wings—hands on hips, elbows cocked out—while I watched them, which wasn’t the friendliest thing to do. My hands fell to my sides. 
And of course, my new neighbors waved. 
I gave them a stiff wave back and decided maybe if I made myself scarce, they’d get the idea that I wasn’t interested in being chatty. I ducked into the companionway of Welina and gave my idle hands some busywork.
 
Two
Welina was an excellent place for hiding. And also for being a creeper. Or spy, if you wanted to sound fancy. 
I watched my new neighbors from the windows of my salon, confident no one could see me in the porthole. They were too busy to notice me anyway.
The two from the bow were obviously a couple. They’d puttered around tidying the boat up, staying close to each other, and I could hear their occasional laughter drift over. The tanned brunette had disappeared below, so that left me watching the skipper.
Which was the best option of all. This guy was tall and lean, and he’d bent to work inflating a stand-up paddleboard. I could barely see what he was doing, but I was curious about what brand of paddleboard it was. I could barely make out an a and a p.
Binoculars were helpful. Yes, I could definitely read the name of the paddleboard company now. 
There was a lot of muscle flexing going on. I’d never inflated a stand-up paddleboard before—I always wanted one, and nearly had a sponsor give me one, but I had to back out—so I didn’t know how hard it was, but based on the way this guy’s muscles were moving, it was quite a workout.
I nibbled my lip. I might have been a bit deprived lately.
Once the board was inflated and pushed into the water, I watched the man climb down and stabilize himself. The brunette came out of the boat and handed him . . . something. I couldn’t tell what it was. He placed it on the board between his feet and pushed off  his boat.
And pointed directly at me.
“Oh crap,” I muttered. Still peeking through the binoculars, I watched him paddle toward me, strong arms stroking a few times on each side before switching. I shook myself: time to stop peeping before he gets close enough to notice.
***
“Hallo?” a man’s voice called out.
I stepped into the cockpit and looked toward the starboard side. At the gunwale a few feet away, strong fingers gripped the rail, and a moment later a blond head popped up. His hair was pulled back in a bun, his skin tanned and eyes hidden behind sunglasses.
When he saw me, his eyebrows rose and his mouth fell open.
“Uhhh . . . hi,” I called back, not moving from my cockpit. 
He stared at me briefly and then shook himself. “Yes, I have . . . I have a gift for you.” He had a thick accent that must have been Norwegian, and his fingers twitched nervously on the rail.
Despite the minor annoyance of my busy afternoon being interrupted—naps were important—I was intrigued. Who came bearing gifts to total strangers?
Reaching down, he lifted the gift, a fillet of tuna in a plastic bag. “We . . . we caught this on the way here from Rangiroa, and even though there are five of us on board . . .” He trailed off and his mouth opened and closed a few times.
“That looks like tuna?” I supplied.
For whatever reason, he hastily started opening the bag and then tried to pull out the fish. 
“You don’t have to . . .”
In doing so, he let go of Welina and started to drift away. When he noticed, he lunged for the gunwale again, throwing himself off balance. I watched in horror as he, and the tuna fillet, plunged into the water.
I scrambled to my knees. His boat had just come in, he may not know . . . 
“Get out, get out, get out,” I chanted as he surfaced, the tasty morsel of tuna bobbing next to him. “Sharks swim around here all the time.”
His sunglasses were gone, so I saw his eyes widen. Thankfully, he was still tethered to the paddleboard, so he turned and grabbed it, lunging to climb on.
I saw the moment he made the decision, but I could only watch in horror as he swept his hand through the water and scooped up the tuna. 
Safe on his knees on the paddleboard, he panted and rubbed his hands over his face. He cursed in Norwegian.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He held up one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. “I know—I should not have done that.”
“Which part? The falling in or the scooping up?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
He laughed darkly.
“Why don’t you come on board? I’ll put the tuna away and if you need a shot for fortitude, I’ve got tequila.”
He smiled weakly without meeting my eyes and then paddled over. I helped him up and when I turned to follow him into my boat, a shadow in the water caught my eye.
I only made it a few steps before I ran into his back. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes tracking all around the salon. I cleared my throat, and he shook himself as he moved out of the way. 
“So you arrived from Rangiroa?” I asked, fishing out the bottle of tequila from the cabinet. There were only a few inches left in the bottle, but I waggled it at the man anyway.
He swallowed and nodded. My muscles still felt jumpy and quivery, the adrenaline working through my system, and I hadn’t even been the one in the water. I fished out two clear plastic tumblers—cloudy with age and remnants from Welina’s previous owners—and sloshed a finger of tequila into each one.
“Cheers.” I offered up my glass, and he clinked his with mine and quickly tossed the tequila back. With his chin raised, the long column of his throat throbbed as he swallowed, and I turned my attention to my glass. I wasn’t a big tequila drinker, but sometimes it was called for.
I tossed mine back too, grimacing.
Then I busied myself with the tuna, chopping it, sealing it, and putting it in my fridge. My guest stood in the center of the cabin, his gaze flitting around. I saw the guy run his hands over his face and then he actually . . . laughed?
When he caught me watching him, he broke into a smile that lit up his whole face. “I cannot believe I am here. This is surreal. You always filmed your outros in that corner”—he pointed to the couch with the globe behind it—“and I remember there used to be a heater in here that you ripped out.”
“Oooooh,” I said, realization dawning on me. “You’ve watched my videos.” 
While it was true that in the whole scope of the internet, my little sailing videos were moderately successful, one of the unexpected pleasures of making videos was how passionate the audience was. 
When Liam and I had left Welina in Apataki and flown home to Seattle, we had thrown a little meet and greet. It was our first “public” event, and we walked into the bar thinking that there was an office happy hour or something going on, but no. It had all been for us. People had taken time out of their lives to come meet us, and in some cases they’d even driven up from Portland. 
We had spent the entire night talking with like-minded people, fellow sailors or future sailors who had watched our videos and learned from us. I’d left feeling energized and nostalgic to get back to the boat, something I desperately needed at the time.
So I was, in a sense, mildly famous, and I had an enthusiastic—and nervous—fan on board.
“Yes!” he said. “They were amazing. You did a great job with them.”
“Well, thank you.” I held out my hand. “I’m Mia.”
“Ja, I know.” He grinned and shook my hand enthusiastically.
I leaned in and stage-whispered, “That’s my way of asking what your name is.”
He laughed and palmed his forehead, pulling his hand away. “Ah, of course. Jonas.” 
Standing in Welina, he made the space look small. He must have been around six feet tall and he towered over me as he carefully made his way around the boat, ducking slightly to protect his head. 
Jonas looked around the boat and I braced myself, expecting him to ask about Liam. Instead he turned around and gave Welina a once-over. “She looks good. You have worked hard on her,” he said approvingly.
“Thank you,” I said. “She was hauled out for nearly a year, and it was tough to have the boat out of the water for so long, especially one that shows her age like Welina.”
His eyes turned to me and they were startlingly blue. “You have not made a video in a while.”
“Right. Well . . .” I let my words trail off, not knowing how to explain to a total stranger that I wasn’t very inspired to create anything right now. I finally went with: “I don’t have any internet out here.”
He nodded, accepting my answer. “How long have you been here?”
“A few weeks. I saw a few people on your boat. Are you the owner or crew?”
“Eik is all mine. My brother is with me, his girlfriend, and two other crew members.”
I raised my eyebrows. “That’s a pretty full boat.”
He chuckled. “Some days it feels more full than others.”
“Well, thank you for the tuna,” I said, and his face fell.
“Ja, of course.” He hesitated before climbing up the companionway and into the cockpit, with me following closely behind. Before he could climb down onto his paddleboard, he stopped and palmed the back of his neck. “How much longer will you be staying here?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure yet. I don’t have any plans.”
“Okay.” He hesitated and looked out at his boat. “If you need anything . . .”
“Thanks,” I said. “Same for you, being neighbors and all.”
I helped Jonas climb onto his board and then waved goodbye while he paddled away. Most boats that had passed through here only stayed a night or two. It was unlikely that Eik would linger, so soon I’d be alone in the anchorage again. 
I needed to get better at entertaining myself. 

 
Three
The next day, there was a knock on the side of the hull, and the voice that accompanied it was not Jonas’s. Instead a woman called out, “Hello!”
Coming out of the cockpit, I looked left and right. There was no one. 
“Hello?”
“Over here.” I peered down the side of the deck and found a young woman sitting on her knees on a paddleboard. “Sorry, mate, I’m not as good with the board as Jonas is.” She had a light Australian accent, a mess of brown curls pulled back into a ponytail, a sunburned nose, and a pair of sunglasses protecting her eyes. 
“Mia, right? I’m Lila, from Eik. Eivind’s girlfriend.”
“Eivind?” I waved Lila in and she climbed up.
“Yes, Jonas’s brother. I’m here on a super-special international relations mission.” Lila wriggled her eyebrows.
“Oh?”
“Yes, can we borrow some sugar?”
I laughed. “Sure, come on in.”
Lila followed me into Welina. “How long have you been here in Kauehi?”
“A little less than a month,” I called back over my shoulder. My galley was to the right at the base of the stairs, so I turned in and opened cabinets to pull out the container. Lila stood in the center of the salon, looking around. My cheeks burned a little bit; Welina was not looking her best right now. I’d tried to tackle a project this morning rebuilding an old pump, but it wasn’t going well. Clutter was everywhere and, not expecting company, I had left the project strewn about the main salon. 
Lila’s lips pursed and I braced for a comment, but instead she climbed onto the couch. There was a half-wall between the salon and the galley, and she kneeled on the seat and leaned over to watch me pour some sugar into a baggie.
“So,” she started. “Jonas came back from saying hello yesterday completely soaking wet. What happened?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“Yeah, no. He just kind of mumbled something, wouldn’t meet my eyes, and disappeared into his cabin.”
I grinned despite myself. “Well, he scared the crap out of me. He was giving me the tuna fillet”—I looked up and she nodded—“and he fell in the water with the fillet.”
“Oh my God!” Lila shrieked. “There are so many sharks here. Thank God he didn’t get bitten.”
“I know. And we’re so far from medical care too. I do not want to be attempting to stitch up a shark bite.”
Lila rolled her eyes. “The irony. Of all of us, Jonas is the one I would want to stitch up my shark bite. I’m going to stay the hell out of the water.”
I finished zipping up the bag and raised my hands. “It’s not a big deal. Normally they won’t bother you at all. Just don’t dump fish guts overboard and jump immediately in the water. That’s just asking for it.”
She shuddered. “Where I come from, shark attacks are a serious deal!”
“Aussie, I’m guessing?”
“Yes! A shark ate our prime minister once, thank you very much.” She paused. “Allegedly.”
I handed her the bag of sugar. “Are you going to be okay paddling back to your boat?”
“Nah, yeah. Probably.” She looked thoughtful. “Hopefully. I’m kind of new to the paddleboarding thing.”
“Well, I do have a dinghy, but it’s pretty heavy and really hard to get up and down by myself. But we can call your boat on the radio if they are listening?”
“That’s okay. Thanks, though.” She took a step toward the companionway and then hesitated. “Listen, based on the whole falling-in-the-water thing, and the way Jonas is behaving back on our boat . . .”
My brows rose. “How is Jonas behaving on your boat?”
Lila placed a hand on my arm in reassurance. “Jonas is not himself right now. I don’t watch sailing vlogs, so I, like, don’t understand your fame and whatnot, but he’s excited and clearly way too enthusiastic. I promise, he’s a nice guy. He’s just . . . fangirling?”
I tried to hide a smile behind my hand, but Lila caught it.
“I know, it’s hard to picture a six-foot-tall hardy Norwegian man fangirling, but he is.”
“I mean . . . it was kind of adorably dorky?”
“Well, get ready for more adorable dorkiness. Come over for dinner tonight. I promise I’ll act as a buffer and calm him down if he gets to be too much, but by the end of the night I bet we can get him to be his normal, charming self.”
“Ah, I don’t know . . .”
“Well, Marcella, our chef, insists, since you’re giving us sugar.”
A grin tugged at my lips. “You have a chef?”
Lila sniffed and stuck her nose up in the air, a teasing glint in her eye. “Yes, Eik is serving the hottest cuisine this side of Tahiti. You would be remiss if you ignored my invitation. Tonight will be the party in the lagoon.”
I giggled. “All right, count me in.”
“Good. You saved our captain from near death. We owe you.”
I escorted Lila back out on deck. “Your paddleboard is cool.”
“I know, right? I’ve only used it a couple of times, so I need to get more practice in. Do you have one?”
I shook my head. “I wish. It would make my life a bit easier right now, but it was the last thing on my mind when I was getting ready for the season.”
Lila carefully stepped down onto the board and lowered herself to her knees. “We have two. Maybe once I get the hang of it, we can go for a paddle together. But for now, I’ve got to get this sugar to Marcella. Thanks, Mia!” 
***
At five o’clock sharp I heard an outboard fire up. I grabbed a plate of cheese and crackers I’d made and went on deck to greet my ride as Jonas pulled up alongside Welina. 
We exchanged little smiles and I sat on the edge of the boat. He wiped his hand on his shirt nervously and then offered it to help me down into his dinghy.
I slid my palm into Jonas’s, braced for the drop down, and slipped off the deck. The dinghy rocked and my momentum pushed us together, our chests brushing.
Jonas caught my waist with a firm grip and gave me a shy smile. “Hi.”
“Hey,” I said back, a blush rising at his proximity. “Thank you for having me over.” We stepped apart and I settled onto the tube.
He nodded and focused on driving us over to Eik, a fast and quiet ride.
Eik was filled with music and laughter, quite the contrast. I climbed aboard—using Jonas’s firm grip to help me again—and followed him onto the boat.
“Mia!” Lila cried out when she saw me. “Welcome to Eik. Oh, you brought something; that’s so nice of you.” 
I shrugged. “Honor among thieves, right? We may be seaward vagabonds, but at least we have our social niceties.”
Lila laughed and led me by the elbow. Jonas’s brother Eivind, broader, but with the same light hair and blue eyes, sat at the main salon table rolling meat and cheese and stabbing them with skewers. Lila took the plate of cheese and crackers from me. “Eivind, this is Mia. I think you can stop rolling nibbles now.”
Lila’s boyfriend tossed the skewer aside and collapsed back. “Thank God.” He smiled and leaned forward to offer me a cheek. We kissed on both sides and Lila spun me around.
“Marcella,” she called out. “Here is your sugar fairy godmother.” Marcella oversaw two pots in the kitchen, a wooden spoon in one hand and a potholder in the other. Her hair was dark and long, spilling over her shoulders and accenting her olive complexion.
“Benvenuto,” she said, and we kissed cheeks too.
“I’m lucky to have her,” Lila stage-whispered. “You should see what the boys cook when they give Marcella a night off.” Lila shuddered dramatically. 
Marcella rolled her eyes. “Those boys. I’m a professional chef,” she explained. “And thank you for the sugar.” Marcella’s accent was light and sultry. She was a little bit older than the rest of the crowd, more in my age group than the others’.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do when you’re gone,” Lila moaned.
Marcella grinned and patted her head. “You’ll be my little sous chef until then; I will teach you not to starve.”
Lila focused her attention back on me. “Elayna is the last of our group—I think she’s back in her room still. Oh, we have a special treat for you.” She turned us both until we found Jonas standing in the corner. His eyes immediately snapped to mine and he shifted uncomfortably.
“Jonas, offer her the drink.” She elbowed him and gave me a wink.
Jonas licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair. It was loose now, the blond strands grazing his shoulders. “I, ah . . . I got you something. While I was onshore.”
He pulled open a drawer in the galley once Marcella was out of the way, and reached in and pulled out a husked coconut, the pale fibers roughly cut. Jonas blushed and held it out to me.
My heart melted a little bit. “Aw, that’s so sweet. They’re my favorite.”
“Ja,” he mumbled.
Lila stifled a giggle behind her hand.
Marcella peeked over Jonas’s shoulder. “Take that outside and open it for her.” She passed Jonas a chef’s knife. “Careful!” she called out to him as he climbed up the stairs. She craned her neck and caught sight of the sky. “Actually, all of you outside; it’s almost sunset time.”
“Sunset time, Elayna!” Lila yelled toward the front of the boat.
We gathered up drinks and platters and napkins and trooped upstairs. Eik’s cockpit was spacious, so much bigger than mine, and filled with stuffed pillows and cushions. I took a seat in the aft corner, out from under the Bimini so I could see the sky. Instead of raising the table in the middle, Lila climbed up behind me, where the back of Eik was flat and wide-open. Eivind tossed her some pillows and a beach blanket, and she made a nest on the deck.
“This is where we lie to stargaze,” she told me. The platters of snacks went between us, and Lila and Eivind lay down on their stomachs.
Elayna appeared at the top of the stairs. She was willowy, with dishwater-blond hair and a bohemian style that Frenchwomen always pulled off so effortlessly.
She offered me her hand and a brittle smile, her eyes taking my measure.
“So, you are the sailor girl we hear so much about from Jonas.” She had a thick French accent and the way she said Jonas’s name was much smoother than my American tongue could handle.
“Yes, Mia. Nice to meet you.”
Marcella came up the stairs with a drink in one hand and a reusable straw in the other. Jonas returned from the stern and wordlessly offered me the coconut. He’d skillfully cut a square out of the top. Marcella dunked the straw in, and I gripped the coconut with both hands. Looking up, I caught Jonas’s eye. “Thanks for the coconut. That was thoughtful of you.”
He ducked his head and sat in the corner across from me. Marcella sat beside me, kicking her feet up on the center console, while Elayna sat next to Jonas, tucking her feet delicately underneath her and resting her elbow on the back of the bench. She gave a melodramatic sigh and touched Jonas’s cheek lightly with her fingers. “You are being so shy.” 
Jonas blushed and swatted her away.
“Your boat is gorgeous,” I offered. 
He brightened immediately. “Thank you.”
“How long have you had her?”
“I bought her in England, about a year and a half ago. She was built only two years ago, and had just one owner, who never took her out.”
I nodded. “That’s a nice find.”
“Mia.” Lila picked up a cheese-covered cracker. “Tell me more about your sailing channel?”
I cut my eyes to Jonas. His face flushed again and he looked away.
Lila continued. “I’ve never watched your channel or any YouTube sailing channel. I mean, I didn’t know it was a thing before meeting Jonas and Eivind. You’ve been pretty successful, yeah?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Jonas cut in. “The channel is very successful.”
I snapped my mouth closed. Not exactly the word I would use, but okay. “Thanks,” I said with a smile.
Jonas took it as permission to say more. “She has a lot of subscribers. Maybe a hundred thousand?”
“Wow, that’s impressive.” Lila looked at me.
“They bought the boat in California,” Jonas said. I shifted a little bit at the near mention of Liam, but Jonas plowed on. “And Mia spent a lot of time working on it. She made dozens of videos of boat projects.”
Lila’s eyes were round when they turned back to me. “That’s amazing. I have a degree in engineering, but I’ve discovered I’m fairly useless on a boat.”
“You are not useless,” Eivind chided her, and brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear.
She patted his cheek. “Liar.” They grinned at each other.
Elayna leaned in for a snack and asked, “So when did you start sailing your boat?”
“We left California about two years ago.” Before I could continue, Jonas butted in again.
“They sailed down the coast to Mexico, and crossed the Pacific from there, ja?” 
I nodded.
“You must have done a good job with all the work on your boat, to get her out here from California,” Eivind remarked.
“I guess so.” I thought about my current project list. I knew logically it was shorter than in those early days, but it didn’t feel like it. “It sure did take longer than we thought it would. We ended up leaving California late, and hustled to cross the Pacific, which was a disaster.”
Lila chortled. “Yeah, nah, does anyone’s crossing really go all that well?”
I raised an eyebrow. “You had some trouble?” I looked over Eik’s deck. She was sparkling clean and nearly new. 
“A lot of small things, and errors on our part, made for an eventful trip,” Jonas said. 
“You crossed the Pacific and came here, yeah? To French Polynesia?” Lila asked.
I nodded. “We were late, and the passage had been hard and that’s kind of where things fell apart, so we stored the boat over in Apataki and flew back home.” I picked at the fringe on my sarong.
“And then . . .” Lila trailed off. 
Ugh, the stupid d word.
“Liam and I got divorced,” I said, averting my eyes from the sympathetic gazes. “And I kept the boat.” 
Lila wrinkled her nose. “So you came back alone? That must have been scary!”
“Well, to be fair, Apataki isn’t far from here. I’ve just been puttering around a few hours at a time, hopping around the islands.”
Jonas came to my defense. “Mia is an amazing sailor, and has been since she was a kid.”
“Mon Dieu!” Elayna rolled her head back against the wall. “We get it—you have watched all  the videos.”
Jonas covered his face with his hands, his ears turning red. Lila and Eivind teased Jonas, but I didn’t think Elayna was teasing. I bit my tongue to keep from coming to his defense. He wasn’t the first person who’d tried to impress me with their knowledge of my videos.
“I think that’s amazing.” Marcella turned back to me. “There are so few women out here who are, you know, active sailors.”
“Right, well, even with all this experience, people still think you’re crazy. First, we told our families we were going out sailing, and my family wasn’t thrilled, but they were supportive. Liam’s family was vocal about their feelings.” I hesitated, not wanting to get too messy, and decided to move on. “And then, when you share your adventures online, the internet is full of the naysayers, the armchair sailors who are not afraid to tell you that you don’t know what you are doing and you are going to die.”
“Fuck them,” said Eivind, and I surprised myself by laughing. 
“Yeah, fuck them.”