Is It Any Wonder (Nantucket Love Story #2) - Courtney Walsh Page 0,100
under the light of the sun, and his muscles rippled underneath his gray Coast Guard T-shirt.
“Everything okay?” he called out.
She waved in response—words failed her.
“We’re changing direction. You ready?”
She gave him a thumbs-up and braced herself, determined not to be the space case that cost him this race.
As they took the second half, only one other boat even stood a chance—Charlie Pope and McKenzie Palmer. Of course.
Blondie let out a loud cheer as they pulled ahead, and Cody’s face turned serious. They raced neck and neck, the cheers of the crowd propelling them forward. The wind kicked up and Cody adjusted the sails, shooting a nose in front of the other boat. Louisa stood and cheered as the boat sped out in front, but her movement created enough of a disruption to Cody’s perfectly calculated plan that the other boat passed them just in time to claim first place.
McKenzie and Charlie both whooped and hollered as they sailed swiftly in.
Louisa glanced back at Cody, who stood stone-faced and seemingly unaffected. She turned toward the victors, only to see McKenzie rush straight into Charlie’s arms and plant a kiss square on his mouth.
The kiss turned decidedly PG-13, and Louisa looked away. “Does that bother you?”
Cody tossed a glance toward the make-out session, then shrugged, still maneuvering their boat. “Why would it?”
Louisa faced him now. “I mean, you and McKenzie have been getting close and everything.”
“No, we haven’t.”
“The sunrise? The ‘Still on for tonight?’ Spending the evening at Queequeg’s with her?”
He didn’t stop in front of the yacht club. He sailed on past as if the other regatta attendees didn’t even matter. To some, he might look like a sore loser, but Louisa knew it was something else. Had she upset him?
He didn’t respond for a long time, just sailed them toward the shore, then hopped out and pulled the little boat up onto the beach. She stayed still, feeling like a child about to get a stern talking-to, and she maintained the appropriate level of silence.
He took off his hat and messed up his hair, perfectly disheveled the way only his could be. “Louisa.” He turned away from her.
She hopped out of the boat and walked toward him, the wind tugging strands of hair from her ponytail. “Sorry I said anything.”
Was he upset about McKenzie? She didn’t think it was possible for anyone to like the woman that much, but maybe she was wrong.
“I don’t care about McKenzie,” he said, answering the question she never asked aloud.
“You don’t?”
“No.” He faced her now, but the sunglasses made him hard to read.
“I just thought—”
“You thought wrong.”
She stilled. “Sorry.”
He removed his glasses and hung them on the collar of his shirt. “She wanted to interview me. Duncan thought it would be good publicity.”
An interview . . . ?
“Besides, she’s really not my type.”
“Tiny blondes with perfect bodies aren’t your type?”
His eyebrows shot up and she chewed the inside of her lip, wishing like crazy she hadn’t just said that.
“Nope.” He looked at her with such intensity Louisa had to wonder if he was purposely trying to knock her off-kilter. She searched his eyes for a clue—anything that would let her in on what was running through his mind—but nothing came.
Her guard went up and she told herself not to read into any of this, but oh, how she wanted to. She wanted this feeling to last—this bright-lighted sizzle of electricity, a stronger draw than any she’d ever felt in her life.
But this was Cody. She and Cody were just (barely) friends.
But this was Cody. And she couldn’t ignore the power of that.
“So you have a type?” She dared the question because the silence overwhelmed her.
He took a step closer, eyes still fixed on hers, then reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, and he held the hair safe from the wind.
“Not really a type,” he said. “Just a person.”
Her heart thumped against her rib cage so loudly he could probably hear it. If there had been a marching band nearby, it could’ve been the drum line. It pounded and crashed—an ocean of force—and everything else faded away.
“You don’t mean . . . ?” Me? Her mind finished the sentence and followed it up with Please mean me.
“I do mean . . .”
And then he did something she would relive every single day until the day she died. He brought his free hand to her face, and for a brief moment she saw a flicker