“What are you doing?” I heard Ryan ask as he looked over my shoulder.
“Just texting pictures of your boat to Anna.”
“Tell them hi.” He went into the cabin and then reappeared wearing a Husky baseball cap. It made him look so much younger. “Ready to go?”
It was a beautiful day with a light ocean breeze, and we took six leisurely hours to make the trip northward towards the islands. Even though I grew up in the Pacific Northwest, I often took for granted how beautiful it was here; the islands and all of the inlets were breathtaking. We spent much of our time in comfortable silence, listening to music. I smelled the familiar scent of salt and ocean. I heard and felt the boat move through the waves. Ryan had to steer the boat, but I read my book once the initial novelty of being on a yacht wore off. Even though he suggested I relax in the lower main cabin, I stayed with him for most of the trip, sitting in the pilot room on a cushioned bench.
I tried my best to read my book, but I occasionally stole glances at him while he was preoccupied navigating the boat. His presence made me feel giddy, hopeful and as madly in love as a schoolgirl with her first crush. Today he wore faded khaki shorts and a pale green polo shirt, which made his eyes look deeper and bluer. I noticed faint wrinkles around his eyes, especially when he was concentrating. His lips were smooth and rosy pink. It always amazed me how some men could have such smooth, kissable lips and not wear lip balm of any sort. His body was lean and strong, his arms toned and muscular, and he looked confident and comfortable as he manned the boat. I shamelessly ogled him, gloating to myself that he was mine.
Going by boat was also so much more enjoyable than going by car. My last trip to the islands was preceded by a four hour car ride in Friday afternoon rush hour traffic. I recalled waiting for another hour and a half at the ferry terminal before taking the one hour ferry ride to our final destination. I think it took us just about the same amount of time as this trip did, but with more stress and less enjoyment. I could get use to this method of travel around the Puget Sound.
As we neared the main island of San Juan, I was surprised when Ryan didn’t take us into Friday Harbor. Instead, he navigated us further north towards Roche Harbor on the other side of the island. As we anchored the boat alongside one of the docks, I spotted a hotel in the distance with Hotel de Haro painted in large black letters across the top of the building. It looked like something built during the turn of the century and looked like it belonged in the French Quarter of New Orleans. The hotel was made out of all white wood with balcony decks framed along each floor that spanned across the whole front of the building. The grounds were made up of beautiful gardens looking out into the marina. There was a historical feel to the whole area, giving me the feeling that I had just stepped into an old classic Cary Grant movie.
The harbor was lined with dozens of sailboats and other large yachts. This was no fishing boat harbor that was for sure. It was much quieter here than in Friday Harbor. There were far fewer shops and tourists and much less town and boat traffic. This little corner of Roche Harbor was really more of a quaint boating resort.
Now that we were docked, I noticed that the smell of salt and ocean was stronger here than out on the water. I could hear the seagulls squawking as they flew overhead.
“Are you hungry?” Ryan asked.
“Yes.” I found I was quite ravished, come to think of it. By the time we finished mooring the boat, it was almost six.
“I know this great little place not far from here. Come on,” he said as he took my hand and helped me off of the boat.
“I hope it’s casual,” I mumbled to myself, a little concerned with my windblown hair, t-shirt, and cutoff shorts.
“Don’t worry about it, you look great … and sexy, too,” he whispering the last part intimately into my ear, his warm breath giving me goosebumps.
We walked down the dock towards the port hand in hand. In less than a minute, he stopped and said we were here. We hadn’t even made it off the dock yet. In front of us stood a little market umbrella stand of fresh seafood. I noticed live crabs crawling around in a tank as well as pre-cooked crabs sitting in ice next to it, ready to be scrubbed. There were also buckets of fresh clams, crayfish, squid, and shrimp. A basket of local artisan bread sat off to the side of the cash register.
“Do you like shellfish?” Ryan asked hopefully.
“Yes, of course,” I nodded enthusiastically toward the Dungeness crab, my mouth already watering.
“Good. What do you think about steamed clams and crab tonight? I’ll make you the best steamed clams you’ve ever tasted,” he said confidently.