The Sailing Lesson – Part 2: Anchored

On the last evening, Luka did not turn back toward Split. He steered Vesna around a pale limestone headland and into a cove so small and green and silent that Ana forgot to speak.

"No road," said Luka. "Only boats. And goats, sometimes."

He dropped the anchor. The water was clear as glass, the seabed pale gold twenty feet below. A single gull wheeled overhead, and the light across the hills turned the colour of honey.

They swam. The sea was warm and silky, and she floated on her back looking up at an apricot sky while Luka dived for something and came up with a spiny sea urchin held out like a prize.

"Do not eat that," said Ana.

"I would not dream of it." He threw it back, grinning. "You have learned fast, Ana. This week. The tiller, the sails. You are almost a sailor."

"I have a very creative knot."

"It has improved."

They ate on the deck: bread, olives, hard cheese, a bottle of local wine she held while he found the opener. The sun slid slowly down behind the islands, and the cove turned violet.

"Can I ask you something?" said Luka.

"Yes."

"I do not want to be your instructor tomorrow."

Ana's heart turned over. "What would you rather be?"

"Someone you let kiss you. Now, on this boat."

"Yes," she said. "And if I say stop, you must teach me the whole rigging by heart."

"That is a dreadful punishment," said Luka, and kissed her.

It was slow, salt-sweet, the boat rocking gently under them, his hand cupping her jaw as the first stars pricked out above the headland. The water lapped at the hull, and neither of them heard the gull go home.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Ana. "Very green. Stay anchored a while?"

"As long as you like," said Luka.

Above the cove, the sky filled with stars.

More travel romance stories: Snowfall in Nagano · Tapas Crawl in Seville · Whistler Bike Trails