“I appreciate that, Oliver. It means a lot,” she said, holding his gaze. “All of this means a great deal to me. I hope you know that.”
Oliver picked up his fork again. “There’s no one I’d rather be on this boat with, so I’m the one who is thankful that you came.”
The words fluttered in Molly’s chest; the man knew how to compliment even if it was an exaggeration.
They fell into silence as they ate, Molly’s attention being drawn to all manner of things from the seagulls swooping into the water, the different varieties of people coming and going on the dock, to the rippling waves sparkling like diamonds under the sun. She could barely believe this was her home for the next month.
“You know, two days ago it was snowing in Denver,” she informed, shaking her head. “And those poor jerks are still there.”
Oliver laughed. “It hasn’t snowed in New York yet, but it’s damn cold for sure.”
“Suckers.” Molly chuckled and Oliver followed.
“Another toast then, to us, for being smart enough to leave it all behind.” Then he raised his mimosa and she clinked her glass against his, smiling as their eyes met once again.
They continued eating, Molly quickly working her way through the delicious eggs and toast, finally arriving back at the fruit salad.
“So we know why I’m on this trip,” Molly said, swallowing a sweet strawberry. “Why now for you, Ollie?”
Oliver raised a brow at the shortened version of his name, which she knew he hated. “I knew if I didn’t do this now, I never would. I was up for the promotion in the firm and the next step after that would have been the job my dad holds now and I don’t want it. The chain ends with me.”
“I see,” Molly said, nodding. “Your parents okay with that?”
“No,” Oliver said, leaving it at that.
“And you’re okay with that?”
“No.”
Molly grinned at his willfully obtuse answers. “Not giving me much to work with here, Oliver. You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m a grown man, Molly,” Oliver said after a moment of hesitation, as if revealing something real about himself was difficult. “I can handle my parents being angry with me. What I can’t handle is spending the rest of my life on someone else’s terms. So it stops now.”
Molly was struck by the intensity of his voice. This time it was she who took his hand and gave it a squeeze, and she felt the same electricity she had before but something else as well. Maybe this time, unlike when they’d been younger, she might actually get to know Oliver for real. The thought sent a little bit of alarm through her because instinctively she knew that it might be dangerous. He was already breathtakingly handsome and lovely; she didn’t need him to be vulnerable as well or she was definitely going to be a goner.
“I hear you,” she allowed, letting go of his hand and sitting back in the chair with her second mimosa. “So what’s the plan? This trip is an exploratory mission?”
Oliver nodded. “Yes, I want to tour more boats when we go to port. I’ve already had meetings with the CEOs of the current US yacht companies and toured their facilities. I’ve offered to buy one of the companies that I know is struggling.”
“Oh, so you won’t start from scratch?”
Oliver shook his head. “I’ve run the numbers. It would be far more expensive and a time suck for me to start one up myself, purchase the equipment, find or build a brand-new facility, hire employees, et cetera. All that work has been done and I can just buy the whole thing, change the name, assess the personnel and go from there.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a plan.”
Molly said the words but she couldn’t even imagine having enough money to just, poof, buy a yacht manufacturing company like it was a bag of taffy.
“Always,” he said, a corner of his mouth lifting in that ornery way he had when he decided to be silly. “It’ll be great and I’ll need your help every step of the way. The sale will go through any day now, and I’d love it if you’d consider heading up the design team. I want my company to stand out, to make eco-luxury yachts that people can be comfortable sailing.”
Molly’s eyebrows rose, her chest going concave. “You want me to design yachts?”
He shrugged. “You design rockets, don’t you?”
“Not actually rockets, mostly satellites and reusable crew capsules, but—”
He interrupted with, “Well, I’d think yachts would be easier.”
“Well, maybe, but I’m not an expert on them. I can definitely make sure the engine on this boat is in tip-top shape, but to turn around and just design one that can compete with all the other designers out there who are formally trained is totally different.”
Oliver shrugged as if this didn’t matter. “You’re a genius, Molly. I don’t know why you’re making it out like building a little fuel engine and designing an aerodynamic yacht body is some Herculean task. Maybe you haven’t done it for a while, but you’ve sent people to space for indeterminate periods of time.”
“I’ve worked with a team of people who did that, Oliver,” she pointed out, because it was true. One person alone was not responsible for the lives of astronauts and building whatever kind of ship propelled them into the outer reaches of space.
“Well, that’s what yacht manufacturing is, a team of people creating plans. You’d still be doing that, only you’d be making more money and be in charge.”
She bristled at how easily he was suggesting she give up the life she’d created for herself. The life she
