Float Plan(9)

“Wow, um—thank you for being so kind.”

He rubs a hand over his messy hair and glances down at the floor before looking at me. “Well, I didn’t want to see you come to any harm, is all.”

“And it’s not that I’m not completely grateful, because I am, but … who are you?”

“Oh, right. Keane Sullivan.”

“Anna.” I opt not to overshare on the personal details. Lord knows what I might have said last night when I was drunk. “How did you guess which boat was mine?”

“There was only one without a dinghy,” Keane says with a one-shouldered shrug. “The odds seemed favorable.”

“Well, thank you. For everything.” I take a sip of coffee and steal a quick glance at my phone to see if anyone responded to my job offer while I was off making bad choices. There’s a notification, and a string of digits that don’t look anything like a telephone number. The text says: I am a professional sailor and delivery captain currently in Bimini. If you haven’t already filled the position, I’m interested.

“Excuse me one second,” I say, typing a quick response.

I haven’t filled the position.

“Are you hungry?” Keane asks, digging into his back pocket. He pulls out his phone and looks at the screen. “My apologies. I’ve got to check this.” He quickly taps out a message as he talks. “Whenever I’m hungover, fried eggs and buttered toast usually set me to rights.”

The thought of food makes my stomach queasy, and this man has done more for me than anyone should have had to do. “I don’t know if—” My phone chimes with a new text.

Meet me at the Big Game restaurant in an hour? I’ll be wearing a green shirt. I’m Keane, by the way.

My shoulders shake with suppressed laughter as I respond.

You’ll probably recognize me by my ass.

Keane looks down at his phone, and up at me, laughter escaping him in a great gust. We laugh until I have tears in my eyes and my sides ache. I haven’t laughed this much since before Ben died. The sound withers in my throat because … shit … I’m not ready for this. I didn’t think about having to share the boat with someone, even for a few days. Keane is taller and broader, and his presence takes up so much space. My second thoughts have second thoughts.

Keane notices. “Doing okay there, Anna?”

“I, um—”

He hands me a worn, folded piece of paper, his résumé, a two-page list of boats he’s crewed aboard and yacht deliveries he’s done. Ben bought a boat before he knew how to sail it, but Keane … he’s sailed all over the world, even raced across the wild Southern Ocean.

“Listen, if it’s the leg, I assure you I’m more capable with one than most people are with two,” he says without a hint of swagger. “I can get you to Puerto Rico.”

“It’s not the leg. Truly,” I say, as I hand back his résumé. There’s a just-rightness about Keane Sullivan that is comforting. He feels like someone I can trust. “I mean, what you did for me last night proves you’re the perfect person for the job, but I didn’t think this through. Since leaving Florida, I’ve made a series of bad decisions and I need to consider whether continuing this trip would be one more.”

He nods as he folds the list back up and shoves it into his pocket. “I understand. If you change your mind, you have my number.”

“Thanks again,” I say.

“Think nothing of it, Anna,” Keane says. “Would you mind giving me a lift back to the dock?”

Carla once told me that the best way to make a decision is to flip a coin. She said that when the coin is in the air, you’ll usually figure out what you truly want. There’s no spinning coin here, but as Keane turns to climb the companionway ladder, I realize that if I let him leave, I will not find anyone better. And I don’t really want to go home.

“I’ve changed my mind about those eggs.”



* * *



Keane plows into his breakfast as though he’s being clocked for speed. His cheek is stuffed with food as he tells me how he left home in County Kerry, Ireland, when he was only seventeen.

“My older brothers were footballers and hurlers, but I was drawn to the sea and loved mucking around in boats,” he says, smearing red currant jelly on his toast. “As soon as I was able to swim, my mom signed me up for sailing lessons at our town club and that’s all I’ve ever done.”

“So, you just … sail?”

“Essentially. I began as crew on local boats for fun, then team raced for the College of Charleston in South Carolina and worked my way onto yachts that were seriously campaigning,” he says. “Built something of a reputation as a world-class bowman and became a hired gun for anyone who wanted to win races.”

“Oh, um—we should probably talk about pay.”

“That was not meant to be a segue,” Keane says, gesturing at me with his fork before stabbing a piece of egg. “But listen … I need to get to Puerto Rico, so if you’re willing to give me a lift, I’ll do the job for free.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods. “Absolutely. To be honest, I’m eager to have a sail on this gorgeous boat. How did you come by it?”