The Sailor in Polynesia

Two

Two

Welina was an excellent place for hiding. And also for being a creeper. Or spy, if you wanted to sound fancy.

I watched my new neighbors from the windows of my salon, confident no one could see me in the porthole. They were too busy to notice me anyway.

The two from the bow were obviously a couple. They’d puttered around tidying the boat up, staying close to each other, and I could hear their occasional laughter drift over. The tanned brunette had disappeared below, so that left me watching the skipper.

Which was the best option of all. This guy was tall and lean, and he’d bent to work inflating a stand-up paddleboard. I could barely see what he was doing, but I was curious about what brand of paddleboard it was. I could barely make out an a and a p.

Binoculars were helpful. Yes, I could definitely read the name of the paddleboard company now.

There was a lot of muscle flexing going on. I’d never inflated a stand-up paddleboard before—I always wanted one, and nearly had a sponsor give me one, but I had to back out—so I didn’t know how hard it was, but based on the way this guy’s muscles were moving, it was quite a workout.

I nibbled my lip. I might have been a bit deprived lately.

Once the board was inflated and pushed into the water, I watched the man climb down and stabilize himself. The brunette came out of the boat and handed him . . . something. I couldn’t tell what it was. He placed it on the board between his feet and pushed off his boat.

And pointed directly at me.

“Oh crap,” I muttered. Still peeking through the binoculars, I watched him paddle toward me, strong arms stroking a few times on each side before switching. I shook myself: time to stop peeping before he gets close enough to notice.

“Hallo?” a man’s voice called out.

I stepped into the cockpit and looked toward the starboard side. At the gunwale a few feet away, strong fingers gripped the rail, and a moment later a blond head popped up. His hair was pulled back in a bun, his skin tanned and eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

When he saw me, his eyebrows rose and his mouth fell open.

“Uhhh . . . hi,” I called back, not moving from my cockpit.

He stared at me briefly and then shook himself. “Yes, I have . . . I have a gift for you.” He had a thick accent that must have been Norwegian, and his fingers twitched nervously on the rail.

Despite the minor annoyance of my busy afternoon being interrupted—naps were important—I was intrigued. Who came bearing gifts to total strangers?

Reaching down, he lifted the gift, a fillet of tuna in a plastic bag. “We . . . we caught this on the way here from Rangiroa, and even though there are five of us on board . . .” He trailed off and his mouth opened and closed a few times.

“That looks like tuna?” I supplied.

For whatever reason, he hastily started opening the bag and then tried to pull out the fish.

“You don’t have to . . .”

In doing so, he let go of Welina and started to drift away. When he noticed, he lunged for the gunwale again, throwing himself off balance. I watched in horror as he, and the tuna fillet, plunged into the water.

I scrambled to my knees. His boat had just come in, he may not know . . .

“Get out, get out, get out,” I chanted as he surfaced, the tasty morsel of tuna bobbing next to him. “Sharks swim around here all the time.”

His sunglasses were gone, so I saw his eyes widen. Thankfully, he was still tethered to the paddleboard, so he turned and grabbed it, lunging to climb on.

I saw the moment he made the decision, but I could only watch in horror as he swept his hand through the water and scooped up the tuna.

Safe on his knees on the paddleboard, he panted and rubbed his hands over his face. He cursed in Norwegian.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He held up one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. “I know—I should not have done that.”

“Which part? The falling in or the scooping up?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

He laughed darkly.

“Why don’t you come on board? I’ll put the tuna away and if you need a shot for fortitude, I’ve got tequila.”

He smiled weakly without meeting my eyes and then paddled over. I helped him up and when I turned to follow him into my boat, a shadow in the water caught my eye.

I only made it a few steps before I ran into his back. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes tracking all around the salon. I cleared my throat, and he shook himself as he moved out of the way.

“So you arrived from Rangiroa?” I asked, fishing out the bottle of tequila from the cabinet. There were only a few inches left in the bottle, but I waggled it at the man anyway.

He swallowed and nodded. My muscles still felt jumpy and quivery, the adrenaline working through my system, and I hadn’t even been the one in the water. I fished out two clear plastic tumblers—cloudy with age and remnants from Welina’s previous owners—and sloshed a finger of tequila into each one.

“Cheers.” I offered up my glass, and he clinked his with mine and quickly tossed the tequila back. With his chin raised, the long column of his throat throbbed as he swallowed, and I turned my attention to my glass. I wasn’t a big tequila drinker, but sometimes it was called for.

I tossed mine back too, grimacing.

Then I busied myself with the tuna, chopping it, sealing it, and putting it in my fridge. My guest stood in the center of the cabin, his gaze flitting around. I saw the guy run his hands over his face and then he actually . . . laughed?

When he caught me watching him, he broke into a smile that lit up his whole face. “I cannot believe I am here. This is surreal. You always filmed your outros in that corner”—he pointed to the couch with the globe behind it—“and I remember there used to be a heater in here that you ripped out.”

“Oooooh,” I said, realization dawning on me. “You’ve watched my videos.”

While it was true that in the whole scope of the internet, my little sailing videos were moderately successful, one of the unexpected pleasures of making videos was how passionate the audience was.

When Liam and I had left Welina in Apataki and flown home to Seattle, we had thrown a little meet and greet. It was our first “public” event, and we walked into the bar thinking that there was an office happy hour or something going on, but no. It had all been for us. People had taken time out of their lives to come meet us, and in some cases they’d even driven up from Portland.

We had spent the entire night talking with like-minded people, fellow sailors or future sailors who had watched our videos and learned from us. I’d left feeling energized and nostalgic to get back to the boat, something I desperately needed at the time.

So I was, in a sense, mildly famous, and I had an enthusiastic—and nervous—fan on board.

“Yes!” he said. “They were amazing. You did a great job with them.”

“Well, thank you.” I held out my hand. “I’m Mia.”

“Ja, I know.” He grinned and shook my hand enthusiastically.

I leaned in and stage-whispered, “That’s my way of asking what your name is.”

He laughed and palmed his forehead, pulling his hand away. “Ah, of course. Jonas.”

Standing in Welina, he made the space look small. He must have been around six feet tall and he towered over me as he carefully made his way around the boat, ducking slightly to protect his head.

Jonas looked around the boat and I braced myself, expecting him to ask about Liam. Instead he turned around and gave Welina a once-over. “She looks good. You have worked hard on her,” he said approvingly.

“Thank you,” I said. “She was hauled out for nearly a year, and it was tough to have the boat out of the water for so long, especially one that shows her age like Welina.”

His eyes turned to me and they were startlingly blue. “You have not made a video in a while.”

“Right. Well . . .” I let my words trail off, not knowing how to explain to a total stranger that I wasn’t very inspired to create anything right now. I finally went with: “I don’t have any internet out here.”

He nodded, accepting my answer. “How long have you been here?”

“A few weeks. I saw a few people on your boat. Are you the owner or crew?”

“Eik is all mine. My brother is with me, his girlfriend, and two other crew members.”

I raised my eyebrows. “That’s a pretty full boat.”

He chuckled. “Some days it feels more full than others.”

“Well, thank you for the tuna,” I said, and his face fell.

“Ja, of course.” He hesitated before climbing up the companionway and into the cockpit, with me following closely behind. Before he could climb down onto his paddleboard, he stopped and palmed the back of his neck. “How much longer will you be staying here?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure yet. I don’t have any plans.”

“Okay.” He hesitated and looked out at his boat. “If you need anything . . .”

“Thanks,” I said. “Same for you, being neighbors and all.”

I helped Jonas climb onto his board and then waved goodbye while he paddled away. Most boats that had passed through here only stayed a night or two. It was unlikely that Eik would linger, so soon I’d be alone in the anchorage again.

I needed to get better at entertaining myself.