Coincidence - Alan May [15]
But that was before Melissa. There was just something about her, he thought. Something about the way she looked at him with her dancing eyes; something about the way she touched him, a touch that was exciting and comfortable at the very same time; something about the way she so often put into words exactly what he was thinking. There was, Pierre decided, something inevitable about her—about them.
Their feelings only increased as they spooned up their ice cream. They had both been torn between the espresso chocolate chip and the triple chocolate treat, so they ordered one of each to share. They were oblivious of Nancy and Dan as they talked about their families, their friends, their hopes. They found their outlooks remarkably similar despite their different backgrounds. By the time they reached the ship, just before curfew, each was convinced they were a perfect match.
Scarcely noticing when Dan and Nancy bid them good night, Melissa and Pierre moved to the bow and talked for another hour. They were both dead tired, but neither wanted to break the spell. Eventually, however, exhaustion took over and they agreed it was time to turn in.
Melissa took Pierre’s hand in hers and looked into his eyes, marveling again that she had to tilt her chin to do so.
“I’ve really enjoyed this evening. I am so glad I met you, Pierre. Good night.”
He squeezed her hand, then quickly raised it and brushed his lips against it, murmuring, “Bonne nuit.”
7
The next day, after breakfast and colors, it was time for sail training. Mac, the bosun, handed out a sheet of paper with diagrams identifying every line and sail onboard. All students, he announced, fixing them with his intense blue eyes, would be expected to know and understand the function of each one. Over the next few months, they would have training and theory classes every week for two hours at a time. A lot more time, he went on, his soft Scottish burr lingering over the r in more, would be spent on deck for hands-on experience.
“For example, ye need to learn how to handle a line under load and where to position yer fingers so you don’t lose them,” he said.
He and Anika passed out a numbered harness to each Floatie.
“Ye must wear yer harnesses at all times aloft and on deck during watch. Is that clear to everyone? Right. Now ye’ll have yer first try at climbing the yardarms. The lowest yard there is called the ‘course.’ Who’ll be first, heh?”
Pierre’s hand went up like a shot. Piece of gateau, he thought, after the rock-climbing he had to do at Caneff. And Melissa would be watching.
He climbed the rat lines to the course, then beyond it all the way to the “royal,” the small sail at the very top of the mast.
All of the students managed to get at least to the course, but some of them needed several more days of training before they could get to the royal. And a few were so uncomfortable with the climb that they never made it to the top.
“There’s nae shame in that,” Mac assured them. “We’ll work ye just as hard down the lower levels.”
Right after lunch Mac led the students back onto the deck. His stride was surprisingly long for such a short man. He walked with purpose, head down, bent forward slightly at the waist, with the barest hint of a left-to-right roll in his gait, the sole remnant of an accident many years ago. At fifty-seven he had more stamina than most of the kids on the ship. Combined with the advantage of experience,