to get ready for tonight." He flashed a smile then, the sort of dangerous grin she remembered. "I'll pick you up at seven. We'll have dinner, then head for the dance."
Jennifer, what have you gotten me into?
Five minutes later, Claire parked her car behind Blake's motorcycle in the shadow of a massive wooden boat in front of a green building. She climbed out and stared up at the hull looming overhead, the network of planking and ladders surrounding it.
"You're building this? It's immense."
"Not building it, just trying to repair the damage of neglect. Come on in here." He opened a door in the wall of a tall green building and she followed him inside.
From somewhere nearby, she heard a rhythmic sound.
"Reminds me of the observatory," she said. "No windows."
He threw a switch somewhere and light flooded over a glistening wooden hull. She smelled wood, fresh wood, and saw the reddish tinge of newness on the planking.
She couldn't resist stepping closer, reaching up to feel the smoothness.
"It's gorgeous... and so big."
"It's only a thirty-seven footer. Boats always look bigger out of the water."
A muffled voice called out, "That you, Mac?"
"Yeah," shouted Blake. "You seen anything of the kid?"
"Not a sign."
The owner of the voice must be inside the boat.
Blake said, "I may have to go hunting for Jake."
"If you want to go look for him, I don't mind."
"I'll give him a couple of hours. Better if he turns up on his own." He gestured to a strange, four-sided stepladder that must have had treads six feet wide. "Come on up."
"I see the point of the jeans," she said, grasping one of the higher treads and starting to climb.
As she climbed, the topsides of the boat came into view, all glistening wood and smooth curves. She spotted what looked like a steering station, but no sign of a wheel or tiller.
"Is it a sailboat, isn't it?"
"Mm-hmm. A good size for family cruising."
He had climbed up the second broad ladder, and now he stepped onto the curve of the deck and held out a hand to help her make the transition from ladder to deck. She arrived with a feeling of breathlessness, high above everything, with a queen-of-the-castle view of the boat shed.
"Where woes the mast go?"
"Right here," he said, gesturing.
"It just sits on the deck?"
"There's a support post underneath, and shrouds and stays to keep it in place."
"Shrouds and stays?"
"Steel cables."
"I'll take your word for it."
She turned slowly, feeling precarious with the edge of the boat so close. As if sensing her thoughts, he reached out and caught her hand.
"There'll be lifelines, of course."
"How do you start something like this?" She tried to ignore the sensation of his palm against hers, the fact that her fingers had twined through his as if they belonged there. "First the plans, you said. But what then?"
"I lay the keel first. We put down timbers, four-inch oak beams. Once the keel's true, everything else is built onto it."
"Can I see inside?"
"Have you ever been on a sailboat?"
She shook her head.
"Step down into the cockpit, and then turn backward to go down the companionway steps." He kept a hand on her arm, steadying her, she supposed, then he called out, "Tim, we're coming down."
No wonder he recommended she turn backward – the steps were more like a ladder.
Down below, she spotted Tim, a muscular man dressed in a sleeveless T-shirt and tattoos, his body wedged into a ledge in the boat's miniature living room. He appeared to be sanding the wood.
"You sand the whole thing by hand?"
When Tim turned his head, she realized he couldn't be more than seventeen.
"You think we're nuts?" he asked.
Blake laughed. "Claire, meet Tim, my number one man on this job."
"Number one slave," muttered Tim, sliding out of the tiny space he'd been wedged into. "Check this out, Mac. I got it smooth as a wha— Ah, pretty smooth. You new around here?"
"I'm here for the reunion," she answered, watching Blake twist his body into the narrow space
Jennifer, what have you gotten me into?
Five minutes later, Claire parked her car behind Blake's motorcycle in the shadow of a massive wooden boat in front of a green building. She climbed out and stared up at the hull looming overhead, the network of planking and ladders surrounding it.
"You're building this? It's immense."
"Not building it, just trying to repair the damage of neglect. Come on in here." He opened a door in the wall of a tall green building and she followed him inside.
From somewhere nearby, she heard a rhythmic sound.
"Reminds me of the observatory," she said. "No windows."
He threw a switch somewhere and light flooded over a glistening wooden hull. She smelled wood, fresh wood, and saw the reddish tinge of newness on the planking.
She couldn't resist stepping closer, reaching up to feel the smoothness.
"It's gorgeous... and so big."
"It's only a thirty-seven footer. Boats always look bigger out of the water."
A muffled voice called out, "That you, Mac?"
"Yeah," shouted Blake. "You seen anything of the kid?"
"Not a sign."
The owner of the voice must be inside the boat.
Blake said, "I may have to go hunting for Jake."
"If you want to go look for him, I don't mind."
"I'll give him a couple of hours. Better if he turns up on his own." He gestured to a strange, four-sided stepladder that must have had treads six feet wide. "Come on up."
"I see the point of the jeans," she said, grasping one of the higher treads and starting to climb.
As she climbed, the topsides of the boat came into view, all glistening wood and smooth curves. She spotted what looked like a steering station, but no sign of a wheel or tiller.
"Is it a sailboat, isn't it?"
"Mm-hmm. A good size for family cruising."
He had climbed up the second broad ladder, and now he stepped onto the curve of the deck and held out a hand to help her make the transition from ladder to deck. She arrived with a feeling of breathlessness, high above everything, with a queen-of-the-castle view of the boat shed.
"Where woes the mast go?"
"Right here," he said, gesturing.
"It just sits on the deck?"
"There's a support post underneath, and shrouds and stays to keep it in place."
"Shrouds and stays?"
"Steel cables."
"I'll take your word for it."
She turned slowly, feeling precarious with the edge of the boat so close. As if sensing her thoughts, he reached out and caught her hand.
"There'll be lifelines, of course."
"How do you start something like this?" She tried to ignore the sensation of his palm against hers, the fact that her fingers had twined through his as if they belonged there. "First the plans, you said. But what then?"
"I lay the keel first. We put down timbers, four-inch oak beams. Once the keel's true, everything else is built onto it."
"Can I see inside?"
"Have you ever been on a sailboat?"
She shook her head.
"Step down into the cockpit, and then turn backward to go down the companionway steps." He kept a hand on her arm, steadying her, she supposed, then he called out, "Tim, we're coming down."
No wonder he recommended she turn backward – the steps were more like a ladder.
Down below, she spotted Tim, a muscular man dressed in a sleeveless T-shirt and tattoos, his body wedged into a ledge in the boat's miniature living room. He appeared to be sanding the wood.
"You sand the whole thing by hand?"
When Tim turned his head, she realized he couldn't be more than seventeen.
"You think we're nuts?" he asked.
Blake laughed. "Claire, meet Tim, my number one man on this job."
"Number one slave," muttered Tim, sliding out of the tiny space he'd been wedged into. "Check this out, Mac. I got it smooth as a wha— Ah, pretty smooth. You new around here?"
"I'm here for the reunion," she answered, watching Blake twist his body into the narrow space
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