formed by the cap, handing it over.
I take it, more grateful than I’ve felt about anything in a good while. “Thanks.”
She shrugs, shivering as the first rays of light turn the darkness a vague gray. “It is my job, Gabe.” She pulls the zipper of her parka up as far as it will go. Malkia is always cold.
“Where is your beanie?” I ask.
She offers me half a smile. “I will be wearing it today, that’s for sure. I do not have such luxurious locks on the top of my head to keep myself warm.”
She nods to my hair. I smile as I sip my coffee. “No, I suppose not.”
There is a noise from the deck below, several thuds and a yelp of pain. I sigh.
“I am going to go check on that,” Malkia says, handing me the thermos. “I should be back up to help you cast off soon.”
“Thank you.” As she heads downstairs, I head up to the pilothouse on the upper deck.
I check my watch; it’s 4:48 in the morning right now. At five, I’ll pull up the anchor so that we can set sail. I stand behind the wheel and look out at the sea. It’s calm, as I would expect here in a bay. It has to get pretty crazy out there beyond the land for it to affect these sheltered waters.
As I start going through my checklist in my head, I find the sweet spot. Too busy to worry about anything other than the task at hand, but not so busy that I’m frazzled. If I could just live in these moments… especially as the sun rises on the boat but almost everybody is downstairs getting ready…
I would be satisfied, I think. Maybe I wouldn’t be a whole person, but at least I wouldn’t have to go through any more heartache.
I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.
As the sun peeks over the horizon, officially making a showing of itself, I pull out of the bay. The clients aren’t up yet, nor would I expect them to be. But Malkia is up here, slouching against the wall of the pilothouse and looking somber.
Standing at the wheel, I look at her askance. “Everything is running smoothly downstairs?”
Her lips curve up. “It seems that way.”
“Sorry, um…”
I turn my head and see Luna in her yacht uniform. Her dark parka jacket and black skirt cling to her body just as I’d imagined when I ordered them for the voyage. Swallowing, I turn back to steering the yacht.
“What is it?” Malkia asks, pushing off the wall.
“Emma is asking for you, Malkia,” Luna answers. “She says that she can’t find the table linens.”
“Ah,” Malkia says, heading down to the lower deck. “I will be back as soon as I straighten this out.”
Glancing behind me, I see that Luna is still hovering in the doorway of the pilothouse. At the moment, she seems to be ignoring me in favor of staring out at the horizon. I look forward with a sigh.
“Are any of the clients up yet?”
She steps forward into my line of sight, shaking her head. “No.”
“Hmm.” I frown. “I guess if I had the money to charter this yacht for almost a month, I wouldn’t worry about what time I got up either.”
Her brow lowers. “They are on the first morning of their vacation. Can you fault them for wanting to sleep in a little?”
I slide a skeptical gaze toward her. “I hate wealthy people. You wait and see. I bet they’ll treat you like they treat the rest of us sooner rather than later.”
She scoffs. “You are painting with a broad brush, Gabe. Not everyone is like that.”
Reaching toward the colorful instrument panels, I press a couple of buttons. “You’re rich, then?”
Her cheeks flame scarlet. “My family is, yes. Not me personally.”
I roll my eyes. “This is going to be a reality check for you. Just because you are a doctor doesn’t mean that rich clients won’t treat you like shit. You wait and see. I know what I’m talking about.”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t realize that you were classist, Gabe.”
A scowl overtakes my face. “What? I am not.”
“You are!” she declares. “Hating people just because they are wealthy is the definition of classist.”
I feel a hot, dark center forming in my chest. “Look here, sweetheart. Just because you are a rich little daddy’s girl does not make me classist.”
Her face contorts. “Don’t call me that!”
I smirk. “Which part? A daddy’s girl? Or is it sweetheart that