Misty and the Single Dad

There was nothing else to aim for.

Oh, for heaven’s sake, what was wrong with her? If Gran could hear her now she’d give her a tongue-lashing. What was the point of complaining about something you couldn’t change?

What was wrong with settling for dogs and a lovely tenant-a tenant who’d kissed her…?

The boats were tacking backwards and forwards behind the starting line, trying to gain an edge. There were up to thirty Sharpies who raced each week. The yacht club kept some available for hire, so visitors to the town could join in. That made it more fun; often an out of town yachtie could surprise them. But no out of town yachtie could beat them.

Di had the experience. Misty had the local knowledge. It was Di or Misty, almost every week.

She checked Di’s boat. Di was geared up, ready to go.

The starter’s gun fired. Mudlark flew, streaming across the water, her sails catching the wind at just the right angle.

The wind was in her hair, on her face. She was sailing fast and free. If she couldn’t have her list, this was the next best thing.

And Nick? Was he the next best thing?

A boat was edging up on the same tack as Mudlark. She saw it out of the corner of her eye and was surprised. She’d expected to be well in front by now.

And then… Startled, she realised it wasn’t Di. It was one of the little orange Rentaboats.

Hey, an out-of-towner pushing her. That’d do to keep her mind off things. She tightened the jib, read the wind, tightened still more.

She passed the marker buoy. Brought her round. The Rentaboat was closing in. What the…?

No matter. Just win. Tug those sails in. Go.

Rentaboat was almost to the buoy and, as she caught the wind and sailed back, she passed within ten yards.

‘Hey, Miss Lawrence, we’re racing you.’ The high, excited yell pierced her concentration and Misty came close to letting go of her stays.

Bailey.

Nick.

‘Go faster, Dad, we’re catching up,’ Bailey yelled and Misty saw Nick grin.

Her heart did this stupid crazy leap.

Nick was racing. Nick and Bailey…

Bailey was crouched in the bow, whooping with excitement, bright with life and wonder. Nick was at the helm, intent, a sailor through and through.

‘Miss Lawrence!’ Bailey yelled across the water. ‘Miss Lawrence, we’re going to win.’

Maybe they would. Her jib had slackened. She was tightening, tightening. Of all the…

She and Di were competitors with each other. Occasionally something happened and another local took line honours, but to concede honours to a Rentaboat…

Pride was at stake here.

She tuned and tuned, every sense totally focused on the boat, the water, the wind. But no, that was a lie because overriding everything else was the awareness that Nick was in the next boat.

He’d brought his son sailing.

A risk…

Hardly a risk. They were both wearing life vests; of course they were. They’d not be allowed to race without them. They were surrounded by a fleet of small boats. Even if they capsized, they’d be scooped up so fast there was never a hint of risk

But still…it was a start, Misty thought.

No, she corrected herself. Getting Took had been a start. This was simply the next step.

As finding Ketchup had been her start. Her start of retreating from her list, from her dreams.

What was her next step?

The wind rose, just a little. She should have seen it coming. Maybe she had seen it, but she was away with her lists. The sudden gust caught her unaware, pushed her sideways, dropped her speed.

Nick surged ahead.

‘Hurray, we’re winning,’ Bailey yelled and they would; the finish line was in sight. But then…

Di. Misty hadn’t even noticed her coming up on the far side of Nick. Di’s Sandpiper edged just ahead. Nosing over the line.

Local pride was intact. Di first. Nick and Bailey second.

Misty third.

But a win had never felt as good. It felt fantastic. It was as if she’d been granted the world.

Was it silly to feel like this?

Thoroughly disconcerted, she reduced sail, manoeuvred her little boat back to dock and was inordinately pleased to see Nick had trouble. You needed to know the currents around the clubhouse to get in tight. He didn’t know the currents and was having to take an extra run.

Di was calling to him, congratulating him over the water. On the dock, Fred, the vet, was watching. Fred’s son sailed. Fred usually watched his son but he was watching Nick now, and she remembered Fred’s reaction when he’d heard Nick was a painter.

Nick would be painting for Fred’s beloved repertory society in no time.

He’d be a local.

That was great. Wasn’t it?

Befuddled, conflicted, she pushed her little boat into shore, then tugged her out onto the hard. Nick needed to go further along, to return his Rentaboat. It gave her time to get her thoughts together, so when Bailey came hurtling through the yard gates and whooped towards her she could laugh and swoop him up into her arms and hug him. And smile over his shoulder to his father.

‘You beat me.’

‘Your mind must have been on other things,’ he said, smiling back, and he looked…fantastic. Faded sweatshirt. Jeans rolled up to his knees. Strong, bare legs. Bare feet. Wind-tousled hair.

He was smiling straight into her eyes, and something was catching in her chest.

Your mind must have been on other things. Really? What could they have been?

‘We should have warned you,’ he said, and she wondered if she was blushing. She felt as if she was blushing. Was it showing? ‘I believe Bailey’s yell might have distracted you.’

‘You really can sail,’ she managed.

‘It’s what I do,’ he said softly. ‘It’s what I love. I just…needed reminding.’

‘That it’s safe.’

‘That it’s still possible to have fun. We’ve forgotten a bit.’

‘And now you have a dog and a sailing club,’ she said, a bit more sharply than she intended, and then wondered why she’d snapped. What was wrong with her? She should be pleased for him. She was pleased for him. She was delighted that he was starting to loosen up, become part of this community.

But there was something still not right. Something…

‘Speaking of dogs… Did you leave them home?’

‘What a question,’ he said, sounding affronted. He motioned to the clubhouse yard. The dogs were tied under a spreading eucalypt, a water bowl in reach. They were occupied with a bone apiece. A vast bone apiece.

‘I didn’t do the bones,’ he told her. ‘But Fred told everyone their story within two minutes of them arriving and your local butcher headed straight back to his shop and brought them one each. Have you ever seen anything happier?’

She hadn’t. She felt herself smiling. But then… Tears?

Of all the stupid, emotional…

She did not cry. She didn’t. But now…

Dogs with happy endings. Nick and Bailey with happy endings.

And Nick was watching her. Mortification plus. But he wasn’t laughing at her. He didn’t look like her tears embarrassed him. He lifted his hand and he wiped a tear away before it had the chance to roll down her