This is a re-posting of an earlier story, re-edited with improvements to grammar, punctuation and hopefully, readability.
Steve couldn't believe their good luck. There were three moorages still open in the cove. He checked the chart and chose the one closest to the entrance. He had expected that he would have to mooch around and find a spot to anchor, but this was a windfall. He quickly tied off the bow line to the mooring float while Ingrid held the boat in position with her newly learned skills.
Steve walked briskly to the stern and pulled the small anchor out of the locker under the seat. It was linked to twenty feet of chain and a large coil of nylon line. He dropped it over the side away from the shore, making sure all the chain was on the bottom and tied the line off to a nearby cleat on the rail. He tucked the remaining line back into the locker, making sure there was none on the deck. The whole process had taken less than ten minutes.
Ingrid had left the boat in neutral when Steve had finished with the bow line. When he had secured the stern anchor, she pulled the throttle all the way back and killed the engine. It was suddenly quiet. No wind, no waves lapping on the nearby rocks. She looked around and she immediately thought of paintings she had seen many times. They may have been local clichés, but this scene was one of the inspirations for those paintings.
Seagulls and Cormorants stood on rocks and floats on the opposite shore. Several houses and a single store were visible among the trees on the steep cliffs. A narrow road ran down near the water. The dock consisted of a short pier and a ramp down to the three floats that were tied to the four sets of pilings extending out into the cove.
Several boats were tied along side each side of the floats. Two appeared to be work boats with LS followed by numbers painted on boards mounted on their cabins. Beachcombers. Three small pleasure boats were moored at the dock while two larger motor cruisers sat out in the cove with the 'Matron.'
"The attendant will be along shortly to collect his fee," Steve said. "Twenty dollars, probably."
"That sounds like a lot for one night," she said.
"Too many boats, too few sheltered mooring spots. Supply and demand," he said in a resigned voice. "However, it's a safe, quiet place, and we'll get an easy exit in the morning ... when we want to," he said, looking at Ingrid, his voice trailing off.
"If it's stinky or rough, we can stay here until noon, no extra charge. If it's really crummy, we can stay a second night. That wouldn't be tragic. We could take the inflatable ashore and go exploring. Or, we could stay aboard and do other kinds of exploring," he said slyly.
"Got it all figured out, eh Captain," she said returning his grin.
"Be Prepared, that's the Boy Scouts Marching Song!" he chortled.
She looked over his shoulder and saw a small dingy moving out from the dock. This must be the attendant.
It was soon along side and its occupant, a rough, heavyset, grease-stained man called, "Ya here for just tonight?"
"Yes." Steve answered.
"Fifteen bucks. Ya get the early season discount."
"Lucky me," Steve mumbled and fished in his pocket, pulling out a twenty. "Got change?"
"Sure." He took the bill, reached in his pocket and pulled out a greasy, rumpled bunch of bills, found a five and passed it to Steve. "Next day starts at noon, ya know," he said in a raspy growl.
"Right," Steve replied. The man sat back in the dinghy and put the tiny outboard in gear and scuttled back to shore. "How'd you like to have him serve you dinner?" he asked disdainfully.
"Yuck!" Ingrid replied quickly.
Steve turned back to Ingrid. "And now my lovely lady, tell me you're hungry and you're ready for something to eat," he demanded softly, wrapping his arms around her.
"I'm starved. Get to it, Captain."
"Give me ten minutes. In the meantime, I have a lovely Spanish Red that I know you'll like. Be right back."
He turned and slipped down the companionway to the galley. Ingrid lifted the port side bench top in the stern and removed four flat cushions and set them in place around the stern. Steve was back with two glasses of wine which he set on the dash. He went below again and returned with two sturdy teak folding tables that he set up near the stern, covering them with dark green fitted table cloths. The cloths had the MO monogram stitched in white at the corners.
He went back below deck while Ingrid placed the wine on one of the tables. She took a sip from one of the glasses and was rewarded with a cool, smooth, softly flavored red. It was the perfect choice. In a couple of minutes a familiar aroma began to drift up from the galley and a sharp hunger pang ran through her.
"Hurry with that Steve. The aroma is killing me," she pleaded.
"Coming up in two minutes," he called back.
She wondered if she would survive the next two minutes. Shortly, she heard the oven door bang closed and with a bit of clatter, Steve rose once again through the companionway. He was wearing an oven mitt and carried a large baking sheet covered with bruschetta.
The aroma nearly overpowered her. He had made then larger than the bite-sized ones at his apartment. He placed two pot holders on the vacant table and set the tray down. Ingrid was reaching for a piece as he warned her.
"Careful, they're hot!"
In his other hand he placed two side plates on the table beside the wine glasses. He zipped down into the galley and quickly returned with a wooden spatula and placed a steaming appetizer on each plate. Ingrid was almost beside herself wanting to pick up the seductive first course.
"Dinner will take a bit of time," he said apologetically, "so I thought I'd better have enough to ward off starvation." He looked apologetic.
Ingrid hardly noticed. She was concentrating on nibbling on the edges of the first piece, desperately trying to get some of the appetizer into her mouth without burning it.
"It will cool down quickly, so give it a minute and you'll be able to enjoy it."
