Salt Spray And Sweet Trouble Ch 02

Jack woke before sunrise, as always. The world was still, the water glassy and the sky was just beginning to lighten with the sun's rising. The Wandering Tide rocked gently in the shallows of the Marquesas.

For a long moment, Jack enjoyed the solitude and serene quiet. The air was cool, the scent of salt and mangroves lingered on a light breeze. He brewed coffee, checked the weather, and out on the deck watched the day come alive as he let himself believe--just for a moment--that the world was his again.

Then Cassie stirred below deck, and reality reasserted itself.

The first sign of her was a rustling sound. Then a muffled groan. Then a very distinct thump as she rolled--he assumed--straight off the berth onto the floor.

Jack took a slow sip of coffee. He gave it five seconds.

"...shit"

There it was.

Jack sighed. "You alive?"

More rustling. A dramatic groan. "Barely. What time is it?"

"Time for you to get up."

Cassie made a noise that could be interpreted as dismissive. "Five more minutes, Captain Sunshine."

Jack shook his head. He'd let her stay burrowed in blankets for now--better to enjoy the last of the peace before she stumbled onto deck, full of trouble.

By the time she emerged, hair wild and eyes still heavy with sleep, Jack had almost finished securing the deck for the day's sail. She padded up barefoot, yawning so wide it made him feel tired.

She stretched lazily, arms overhead, spine arching--her breasts pushed out and her tank top riding. Jack stared for half a second too long before looking away.

Cassie grinned, catching him. "Morning, Captain."

Jack, foolishly, thought he might get through breakfast in peace.

Soon enough she was munching on a piece of toast, cross-legged on the deck, when she slowly turned to Jack.

"The name of our boat, The Wandering Tide," she mused. "That's kinda poetic."

Jack, finishing his coffee, grunted in response. "It's not our boat. It's my boat."

Cassie waved her hand dismissively, completely unfazed. "Whatever." She chewed her toast thoughtfully crumbs collecting on her shirt. "But it feels like we could do better. Something with a little more personality."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "No."

Cassie grinned. "No, hear me out! What about something that really captures the spirit of our boat? You know, something that speaks to the moments you and I have shared on our boat together." Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she held his gaze using the toast in her hand to gesture between the two of them, making it abundantly clear exactly which "moment" she was referring to.

Jack's face reddened. "Cassie--"

Cassie tapped her chin, eyes dancing with mischief. "Ooh! What about The Oral Report?"

Jack choked on his coffee. "Jesus, Cassie."

"What? It has a nice ring to it."

"No."

Cassie ignored him, dramatically snapping her fingers. "Wait, wait, wait. What about... Knot Swallowing?"

Jack shook his head at her.

Cassie pouted. "Too subtle?"

Jack sighed. "I'm not renaming MY goddamn boat."

Cassie smirked. "Fine. How about Deep Throat Waters?"

Jack set his mug down hard.

"The Salty Seaman?"

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose.

Cassie bit her lower lip, barely containing her glee as inspiration struck. "The Swallow's Nest?"

Jack stood up and walked away.

Cassie, cocking an eyebrow, leaned in. "Come on, Admiral Grumpypants, you gotta admit that last one was good--"

Jack turned sharply. "We're not naming my boat after your mouth."

Cassie gasped, a hand over her chest. "Captain. That was filthy."

Jack leveled a flat look at her. "You started it."

Cassie, grinning wickedly, took one last exaggerated bite of her toast, her lips wrapping around it before chewing and brushing the crumbs from her breasts. "Did I?"

Jack exhaled sharply. Four more days.

"Alright," he said, deliberately changing the subject. "We're setting course for the Dry Tortugas today."

Cassie perked up. "That sounds exotic."

"It's a national park." Jack moved toward the helm. "We should make it by tomorrow."

Cassie stretched again, the movement doing nothing for Jack's concentration. "So, what do I do? Besides admiring the view, and adding charm to this cruise of course."

"You learn." Jack tossed her a coil of rope. "Starting with how to properly secure a line."

Cassie eyes lit up. "You're going to teach me? For real?"

Jack sighed. "I guess I haven't given up hope you might be useful while I'm stuck with you."

"Useful? Stuck?" Cassie repeated, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "I think I proved that I am neither last night."

Jack shot her a look that would have wilted anyone else. Cassie just grinned wider.

"Rope," he said firmly. "Focus."

Cassie gave him a mock salute, back straight, expression exaggeratedly serious. "Aye aye, Captain Tight-shorts of the USS No Blow Job Talk Allowed. Permission to handle your rope, sir?"

Jack spent the next hour running Cassie through the fundamentals of handling a sailboat this size--or at least, attempting to. He showed her how to tie a proper knot without creating a tangled mess, how to read the wind direction from the masthead, and how to steer without treating the wheel like a steering wheel on a bumper car. She was enthusiastic but terrible, her hands eager but imprecise, her attention span drifting with every passing bird.

She managed to jam a rope in a winch so badly that Jack almost had to cut it loose, badly misread the navigation screen, and the only time he ever even thought to let her take the wheel, she oversteered so wildly that the boat lurched hard enough to spill his coffee.

Jack ran a hand down his face. "Jesus. Have you ever driven anything before?"

Cassie grinned, unfazed. "Sure. But my last ride didn't fight back." She patted his arm sympathetically. "Don't worry, Commander Caffeine.'"

"Okay, okay," he gritted out, setting the autopilot so the boat wouldn't drift while he fixed her mistakes. "New rule: Stick to cleaning and maybe working on your tan or something."

Cassie wiped sweat from her brow with exaggerated drama. "I'm learning!"

"Yeah? Then learn this--when you adjust the sail, ease it in, don't just let it go. Unless you want to see how fast I can throw you overboard."

Cassie frowned at the ropes like they had betrayed her. "I thought you said this boat was designed for one person to handle?"

"It is," Jack muttered, double-checking that nothing was about to fly loose. "Which is exactly why I don't need someone actively making it harder."

Cassie saluted. "Aye, aye, Captain. Next time, I'll sink us efficiently."

Jack sighed, already regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

By mid-morning, they were making good progress, the boat cutting smoothly through the Gulf waters. Jack had managed to keep Cassie occupied with basic tasks, though each one seemed to end in near-disaster. She'd somehow managed to spill half a container of fresh water all over herself--which might have been deliberate, given how she'd made a show of the wet fabric clinging to her chest.

By mid-afternoon, the wind had picked up, a steady breeze from the southeast that pushed them smoothly through the turquoise waters. Jack stood at the helm, one hand on the wheel, his eyes scanning the horizon.

Cassie sat nearby; her endless energy momentarily contained as she watched the clouds drift overhead. She'd been suspiciously well-behaved for almost an hour, which meant trouble was brewing. Jack could feel it as surely as he could read the water.

"So," she said, breaking the silence. "When do I get to do something important? You know, besides not breaking something?"

Jack glanced at her, then at the sails. The wind had shifted slightly, the telltales on the mainsail fluttering in a way that told him they needed adjustment. Perfect timing.

"You want to be useful? Come here." He gestured to the winch beside him. "Time you learned how to properly trim a sail."

Cassie perked up instantly, bouncing to her feet with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Finally! I was beginning to think you didn't trust me with the important stuff."

"I don't," Jack said flatly. "But you're here, and the sail needs trimming."

Cassie moved to stand beside him, her earlier languor replaced by genuine curiosity. "So, what's involved in this 'trimming' business? Sounds like a haircut for canvas."

Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Trimming is adjusting the sails to catch the wind most efficiently. See those little ribbons?" He pointed to the telltales fluttering along the luff of the mainsail. "They tell us how the wind is hitting the sail. Right now, they're fluttering too much on the leeward side."

"The what side now?" Cassie tilted her head, squinting up at the sail.

"Leeward. Away from the wind." Jack exhaled slowly, reminding himself that she hadn't grown up on boats like he had. "Look, there's windward--" he pointed to the direction the breeze was coming from, "--and leeward." He gestured to the opposite side.

"Oh, so the windy side and the less windy side," Cassie nodded, scrunching her nose. "Why not just say that?"

"Because we're on a sailboat, and sailboats have proper terminology," Jack said with strained patience.

"Windward, leeward," Cassie repeated, nodding too seriously. "So, we need to adjust the big flappy cloth thing based on those tiny flag thingies?"

"It's called a mainsail," Jack corrected, his eye developing a slight twitch. "And they're telltales, not flag thingies."

"Got it, Captain. Totally clear. Crystal clear. Clearer than these absolutely gorgeous waters." Her overly earnest expression made it obvious she was either only partly following or deliberately trying to drive him insane.

Jack sighed. "Just watch." He moved to the winch, demonstrating how to adjust the mainsheet. "When the telltales flutter too much, we need to trim in the sail. Too flat, and we ease it out." His hands moved with practiced efficiency, the winch clicking softly as he worked. "It's about finding the sweet spot where you get maximum power without stalling the sail."

Cassie watched his hands with surprising focus. "So, it's like... finding the perfect balance?"

Jack nodded, momentarily thrown by her apt description. "Exactly."

"Okay, let me try." She stepped closer, her shoulder brushing against his as she reached for the winch handle. The casual contact sent an unwelcome jolt through Jack's system. Reminding him of the warmth of her touch and last night's...

"Careful," he warned, his voice rougher than intended. "That winch has enough power to take your fingers off if you're careless."

Cassie shot him a look of offense. "Your faith in me is overwhelming."

"Just being realistic," Jack muttered. "Here, like this." He positioned himself behind her, his chest almost touching her back as he guided her hands to the proper position on the winch. The scent of coconut shampoo invaded his senses, making it harder to focus on the lesson.

"You want to keep tension on the line," he explained, his voice low near her ear. "One hand on the winch handle, the other controlling the line tension."

Cassie nodded, her body instinctively leaning back slightly, pressing against his chest. "Like this?" she asked, her voice deliberately innocent even as she shifted against him.

Jack cleared his throat, creating a small space between them. "Yeah. Now turn the handle clockwise--slowly."

She complied; her movements awkward at first as she struggled with the resistance. "It's harder than it looks," she admitted, genuine frustration creeping into her voice.

"Most things worth doing are," Jack found himself saying. "Keep going. You're looking for even flutter on both sides of the sail."

Cassie bit her lower lip in concentration, focusing on the task with uncharacteristic seriousness. The winch clicked steadily as she worked, her inexperienced hands gradually finding the rhythm. Jack watched the sail respond, the shape changing subtly with each adjustment.

"There," he said when the telltales began streaming properly. "Hold it there."

She beamed up at him, genuine pride lighting her features. "I, did it?"

Jack nodded, refusing to acknowledge the warm feeling her smile triggered. "You did. Now cleating the line--" he began, but Cassie was already reaching for the cleat with surprising confidence.

"Like this?" She wrapped the line around the cleat in a figure-eight pattern that was, while not perfect, surprisingly functional.

Jack blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Yeah. Where did you learn that?"

Cassie shrugged, a mysterious smile playing at her lips. "I've been paying attention."

Before Jack could respond, she turned her attention back to the sail. "So now what? Is there, like, a test to see if I did it right? Will the boat suddenly zoom forward at ludicrous speed?"

Jack snorted. "No. But you'll feel it in how she moves." He gestured for her to return to the helm. "Here. Take the wheel."

Cassie's eyes widened in genuine surprise. "Seriously? You're letting me steer your precious boat?"

"Just for a minute," Jack said, fighting the impulse to take it back immediately. "And don't--"

"Crash into anything? Hit an iceberg? Steer us to Narnia?" Cassie grinned, moving to the wheel with exaggerated caution, as if approaching a sleeping tiger.

"There's nothing to hit for miles," Jack said dryly. "Just hold her steady on this heading." He pointed to the compass. "Two-seven-zero degrees."

Cassie wrapped her hands around the wheel, her posture shifting as she took up the responsibility. For a moment, she stood there silently, feeling the boat respond to her touch. Then a slow smile spread across her face--not her usual mischievous grin, but something quieter, more genuine.

"Oh," she breathed. "I can feel it."

Jack nodded, unexpectedly pleased by her reaction. "That's the sail doing its job. When it's trimmed right, everything just... works."

"It's like she's alive," Cassie murmured, her eyes bright with wonder. She adjusted her stance slightly, finding her balance as the boat moved beneath her.

Jack watched her, caught between attraction, annoyance, and something dangerously close to respect. For all her chaos and deliberate button-pushing, there were moments like this when she surprised him--when the performance dropped away and something real shone through.

"Not bad," he admitted grudgingly. "You might actually have a decent feel for it."

Cassie's eyes widened comically, her hand flying to her chest. "Hold everything. Was that almost praise from Captain Grumpy? Quick, someone check if hell's frozen over." She made a show of looking around the boat. "Should I write this down in the ship's log? Carve it into the deck? 'On this day, the Captain almost said something nice about my sailing skills.'"

"I said 'not bad,'" Jack clarified, fighting to keep his expression stern. "It's a long way from good."

"Too late," Cassie grinned, turning back to the wheel with renewed confidence. "I'm counting it as a win. Maybe there's hope for me yet."

"Keep your eyes on the heading." Jack countered, but there was no heat in it.

Cassie saluted dramatically with her free hand. "Aye aye, Captain Bringdown." But she turned her attention back to the compass, making small adjustments to maintain their course with surprising precision.

As Jack moved to check the jib, he noticed a subtle change in the air--a slight drop in pressure, a shift in the humidity that raised the fine hairs on his arms. He glanced toward the eastern horizon, where a faint darkening had begun to gather along the edge of the sky. Nothing immediate, but something to watch.

The wind shifted again, this time more noticeably. The telltales on the jib began to flutter erratically.

"We need to adjust again," Jack called, moving toward the headsail sheets. "The wind's backing."

"Backing? Is that bad? Is it something I did?" Cassie asked, her voice carrying a note of genuine concern.

"Not necessarily," Jack answered, though the sudden pressure change made him wary. "But it means the weather's shifting."

As if on cue, a distant rumble of thunder reached them, so faint it was barely audible over the sound of the hull cutting through water.

"Was that--" Cassie began.

"Thunder," Jack confirmed, scanning the horizon more intently now. The dark line along the eastern sky had definitely grown, rising upward in the telltale anvil shape of a building storm system.

"I thought the forecast was clear," Cassie said, her usual playfulness momentarily subdued.

Jack moved to take back the wheel, his hand brushing hers as he did. "Out here, forecasts are just educated guesses. The sea has its own ideas." He checked the barometer mounted near the helm, noting the subtle but steady drop in pressure. "We might have some weather coming our way."

"Weather," Cassie repeated flatly. "You mean like, a little rain, or...?"

"Could be nothing," Jack said, not wanting to alarm her unnecessarily. "Could be a squall. We'll keep an eye on it."

"A squall," Cassie repeated. "Is that like a storm's angry cousin?"

Despite the situation, Jack couldn't help the slight twitch of his lips. "Something like that."

Cassie glanced toward the darkening horizon, her earlier confidence wavering. For the first time since she'd emerged from his storage cabinet, Jack caught a glimpse of genuine uncertainty beneath her carefully constructed bravado.

"Hey," he said, his voice gentler than intended. "We've got plenty of time to prepare if it turns into something. And the boat's solid."

Cassie nodded, visibly rallying. "Well, good thing you have an expert sail-trimmer on board now." She gestured to herself with exaggerated pride. "Between your stern grumpy experience and my natural talent, what could possibly go wrong?"

Jack shook his head, but couldn't entirely suppress the slight curl of his lips. "Don't push your luck."

"Too late for that, Captain," she replied with a wink. "Remember that time I stowed away on your boat? I've been pushing my luck this entire time, so stopping would be bad."

Our boat, Jack mentally corrected her statement before catching himself with a jolt of alarm. Christ. When had he started thinking of it that way? He turned his attention firmly to the sails, refusing to examine that dangerous thought too closely.

Behind them, the storm continued to build, its dark mass rising steadily against the afternoon sky.

"So," she said, plopping down beside him as he took the helm, "what's the story with you and this boat?"

Jack kept his eyes on the horizon. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, most guys your age aren't living alone on boats in the middle of nowhere. There's usually a reason." She tilted her head. "And this boat--she has character. History. You didn't just buy her on a whim."

Jack was quiet for a moment, considering how much to share. Cassie waited, not pushing for once, her expression genuinely curious rather than teasing.

"My grandfather taught me to sail," he said finally. "Nothing fancy--just a little Sunfish on a lake near our house. Couldn't have been more than eight years old."

Cassie smiled. "So, you were a sailing prodigy from the start?"

Jack snorted. "Hardly. I capsized that thing more times than I can count. But my grandfather..." He paused, a distant look in his eyes. "He had endless patience. Never got frustrated, even when I got us stuck on the shore three times in one afternoon."

"He sounds wonderful," Cassie said softly. Then a mischievous smile played at her lips. "So that's where all the patience in your family went, huh? Used it all up on little Jack, leaving none for you to use on me."

Jack's smile faltered, her words landing with unexpected weight. For a moment, he saw himself through her eyes--the sharp contrast between the patient man who'd taught him and the irritable captain he'd become. He opened his mouth, then closed it, momentarily at a loss.