Morning arrived not with a sudden shift in tide, but with a golden spill of light through the brass portholes, casting warm circles across the polished teak floorboards of the cabin. The calm water of the cove remained still, keeping our small vessel perfectly cradled between the limestone walls.
Ethan was already moving quietly around the galley, the soft clatter of a tin kettle against the stove bridging the silence. He turned as I stepped into the sunlight, his gaze catching mine with that immediate, quiet focus that had become my constant anchor.
"Sails are flaked, water tanks are topped," he said, handing me a steaming mug of black tea. The dark hair at his nape was damp from a morning dive into the bay, his posture completely loose in a faded navy shirt. "We have an open quarter-de
