CHAPTER TWO

Two years ago, Dylan had been sailing in Belize when he’d looked up and seen a rogue wave come crashing toward him and his boat. He hadn’t stopped to think, hadn’t had time to be afraid, had simply done whatever he could to sail through what was later called the “storm of the century.” And he’d known that every second he’d spent in a sailboat during the past two decades had been to prepare him for that moment.

Seeing Grace and Mason for the first time had felt exactly the same way. He’d been working in his boathouse, enjoying the quiet and the physical labor, when he’d heard crying, and then the somewhat desperate murmur of a woman’s voice as she tried to calm the baby. The moment he’d stepped outside to make sure neither of them were hurt, and set eyes on the mother and child, his entire world had spun off its axis.

Desire for the woman—and his need to soothe the little boy—had come so fast that he hadn’t stopped to overthink or be afraid of what he was feeling. He’d simply reached out for the baby at the same time that he’d confirmed the little boy’s mother wasn’t wearing a wedding ring...and thought, I’m going to marry her.

Maybe he should have been surprised, but he wasn’t. Not when he’d always known that this would be how he’d love. All or nothing. And faster than a sloop flying over the water at twenty-five knots. All the years he’d spent watching his parents together, along with the way his cousins and siblings had found love these past few years, had prepared him well for this moment when he’d be hit by his own lightning bolt straight to the heart.

Dylan had never second-guessed himself. He’d always known he would be a sailor and build boats. There had been small struggles along the way, of course, but he’d never doubted his direction or his beliefs. So when he’d stepped close to Grace and the sparks between them practically exploded from nothing more than that, he’d barely been able to keep from sealing both their fates with a kiss.

But he hadn’t been raised to be an idiot. Which was why he wasn’t going to let himself pull her closer and kiss her.

Not yet, anyway.

“I have some cold drinks inside the boathouse. If you have a few minutes, why don’t you come in and have one?”

“Thank you,” she said as she gave him a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Despite their obvious attraction to one another, she was wary, he could see that. Of him specifically? Or of all men? “I’d like that.”

Dylan settled her son more firmly on his hip as he moved aside to let her walk into the large building. Her eyes widened when she saw the interior of his boathouse. Framed in a classic Craftsman style, the ceiling was three stories high, with large wood-framed windows letting in light on every side. But the best part of the building was, hands down, that the skylights were retractable so that he could work under the open sky.

“Your boathouse is incredible.”

He grinned at her awed tone as he pulled a couple of bottles of water out of the fridge in the corner where there was a small kitchen area built in. “Thanks. My brothers and father helped me put it together, although the genius behind the design is my brother Adam.”

Before he could give her the water, she caught sight of the nearly completed sailboat in the back of the boathouse and headed toward it as if drawn by a magnet. “How do you do it?” she asked him. “How can you create and build something this amazing?”

“It’s all I ever wanted to do. I read everything I could find about making boats as a kid and then once I had the basics down, I started taking them apart. I’d save up my money to buy the junkiest sloops and my parents would let me haul them into their backyard. I’d saw through them, study the hulls, and then I’d try to replicate them as closely as I could.”

“Amazing.” She reached out to run her hand over the wood before drawing back.

“Go ahead. These things are designed to withstand more than forty knots in an open sea. If it breaks when you put your hands on it,” he said with a laugh that drew a giggle out of her little boy, too, “I’m going to have a seriously upset buyer on my hands when the Coast Guard has to come pick him up. Want to touch it, too, Mason?”

Together, the three of them put their hands on the wood, warmed from the sun beaming in from the clear blue sky above.

“I’m Dylan Sullivan, by the way.”

Turning away from the boat, she said, “I’m Grace. Grace Adrian.”

She held out her hand and when he took it he heard her breath go—easily the sexiest sound he’d ever heard. “It’s nice to meet you, Grace. Really nice.” But then he frowned slightly. “Your name—it’s familiar for some reason. But I’d have remembered if we’d met before.”

“We haven’t met. I have called you several times, though.”

“Right, that’s where I know your name from. Sorry about not getting back to you. I’m not great with the phone.”

She gave him a look that he could easily read as No kidding, before saying, “I hope we didn’t interrupt you too badly this morning. I was just really hoping to talk with you for a few minutes. Mason was supposed to stay home today with a babysitter, but she didn’t show up, and now we’re in the middle of his nap time, which is why he’s a little cranky.”

“Cranky looks good on him. And now that you’re here, what can I help you with?”

She took a deep breath, then pushed her shoulders back as if to ground herself before answering. “I’m a writer and I’d really like to interview you for a story I’m doing on sailing and building boats.” Clearly nervous that he’d say no, she continued quickly. “I know you don’t do many interviews, but this story isn’t going to be about your family, or about money or prestige. Instead, I’m going to write about the heart of a sailor, about loving being on the water, about building boats that help make people’s dreams come true. And before you recommend some colleagues that I could talk to instead of you, I need you to know that the editor told me he’ll only hire me to write this story if it’s about you. And...they need you to be on the cover, too.”

“You’re right,” he said slowly as he let Mason take his ball cap off again to chew on the brim. “I don’t normally do interviews. But for you,” he said with a smile that he hoped would help settle her worries down, “I’m happy to make an exception. How tight is your deadline?”