The mainsail was a tad bit too loose. She hauled on the main sheet line with one hand, keeping her hand on the tiller with the other. The winds were shifty here. Gusts buffeted the small boats, and she had to spill wind to keep her craft righted.

Squinting across a grey expanse of water at the far-away speck of red that was the buoy, she pointed her bow even closer to the wind, now sailing so tightly to the breeze that a move closer would land her in luffing, dead-stop irons.

She grinned. The race was going just as she wanted--her excellent start, her position in the center of the pack of small boats, even the wisps of hair that escaped her Spartan ponytail--everything boded well, except for . . . well, anyway, that was not important. But supposing she should get back to the dock and find--she stopped her treacherous train of thought. He won’t be there, the logical part of her brain concluded.

The buoy was in just the right spot in relation to her boat, as far as she could tell. She swung the tiller over and hauled on the main sheet, switched her weight and her hands, and was safely onto starboard tack. Regaining her speed, she overtook another boat to her leeward, one from her team.

“Hey, Laura!” her friend Allyson shouted. “Stop stealing my wind!”

“Make me!” Laura replied, grinning at Allyson as her boat reached out, half a length ahead.

Their friendly banter continued as the boats tacked back and forth at both sides of the powerful breeze. Laura’s body fell into the rhythm, and sailing became automatic, leaving her mind to wander. This was dangerous. There were simply some topics of thought that were--unacceptable. Unfortunately, her mind tended to stray to them. I hope Josh comes, she thought. No, that’s a pitiful thought, she told herself. It’s nothing. Now, concentrate on this tack.

Luckily, the buoy soon swam into sight, a reddish inflatable blob in a grey sea. At last, a diversion from her mind’s perverseness. She headed down, sailing farther and farther off the wind until her boom swung out from the body of the boat. Laura let her lines out just a little more, daring it to luff. It did not dare. This was excellent. What a fabulous race for him to--she stopped herself yet again.

Her eyes scanned the water, searching for the second buoy. Ah, there it was. Her course wasn’t exactly right on, but, well, after all, it was only the second leg of the race. Plenty of time for adjustment later.

Upon reaching the second buoy, her boat was in fourth position. She let out the sail still more, allowing the boat to turn so that the wind puffed from behind. With the wind behind her, her boat was on a run. Now she just had to keep her course and not allow a jibe, a costly and often wet mistake, as she had found out before.

Laura grinned at the memory--a summer day long ago, on a lake in a brightly colored little boat, the sudden gust, the slanting, slanting, slanting deck, dumping her down into the wet, then the moment to disentangle herself, grabbing hold of the dagger board, pulling it down. But, most of all, she remembered the laughter--that one laugh in particular . . .

She snapped out of her reverie; the finish line was approaching. There it was, the imaginary line between the race council’s boat and the last shiny buoy. She trimmed her sail, feeling the slight shifts in the breeze, which was now blowing wisps of hair into her open mouth. Yes, this was going well.

Four more boat lengths to go. It was between three boats--hers, the grey one from the other club, and the team captain, Jamie’s. Laura was happy. So what if she herself did not win? If Jamie did, the team still benefited. So what if she placed third? So what if she placed last? There was no one here who really counted. What did it matter if it was probably her best time of the season? Her mood sobered.

Still, when she crossed the finish line in third place, a grin spread across her face. She came about, milling around the line to wait for the rest of her team.

They chattered. They joked. They made plans for the night. It was to be a victory celebration, an out-on-the-town sort of thing, the kind of thing she endured for their happy sakes.

She trailed along with Allyson at the back of the pack of boats as they headed for the marina, smiling and talking quietly. They rounded the point and hove into view of the docks.

A quick glance at the dock confirmed her suspicions. There was no t-shirt and jeans clad figure waiting at the end. The realization was painful.

“Hey, Allyson?” Laura asked. “I think I might sail around out here a little more. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

“Cool,” her friend replied. “Just don’t fall asleep at the helm, captain.”

She smiled. “Of course I won’t. See you in bout an hour.”

“OK.”

Laura flipped her tiller around and headed back out into the open harbor. She needed some time to think, to school herself into recognition of the Josh issue. So, he had not come. The disappointment was piercing, even though she didn’t exactly know where it came from. He was just a friend, a supportive one, but only that. It wasn’t as if she had a right to claim every Sunday afternoon that she had a race. That was simply unreasonable. A good word, that. Unreasonable. Yes, that was what she was--unreasonable about this whole problem.

Perhaps she ought to prove that she wasn’t unreasonable. That would mean sailing right up to the dock, de-rigging her boat, and going to join the girls at whatever they’d decided upon this time.

On second thought, maybe she should stay until the sun started to go down. When the sky turns pink, I’ll go in. Besides, I need to practice my runs and reaches, she thought. Today was sloppy.

Practice was a magnificent idea; a justification and a distraction. She threw herself into the tautness of the lines, the set of the sails, the spray off the bow, and the firmness of the tiller. The moves, ingrained in her body since girlhood, became ever more precise in the light of her intense scrutiny.

The sky was tinged reddish in no time. Reluctantly, Laura pointed her boat in to the cove and the docks, where land-lubbers’ troubles awaited. (Ah, but sailors had their troubles they carried onto the sea, too, come to think of it). She willed herself not to examine the dock, which was empty, empty, empty. Instead, she kept her eyes just ahead of the bow. No harm there.

She landed, jumped out with the painter and cleated the boat down. She took down the sail, popped the rudder out of its sockets, and drew up the daggerboard. She scrambled off the boat again, carried the things to the boathouse at the end of the dock, and locked them up there.

She walked along the wharf towards the parking lot, glancing up at the small little waterfront park. There was a figure sprawled on one of the benches. She looked again.

No way, it couldn’t be.

The man got up, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and walked toward her, smiling.

Yes! It was! She ran toward him and hugged his tall, lanky frame, grinning. He took it all in stride, happily returning her hug with equal enthusiasm. “Hey,” he said.

She pulled back in confusion. “Josh! It’s amazing to see you, but I thought you were going home for the weekend . . .?”

He smiled down on her and shrugged. “I couldn’t miss your race, so I came back early,” he said simply.

That made her hug him once again, which had been his intent, judging from the twinkle in his eye when she did it.

“Oh! So that was why I didn’t see you before we went out.”

“Yes. I came in time to get on the chase boat, not the race committee boat. Sorry about that. But, I actually saw you sail better from the chase boat. You raced a fine race, Laura.”

She was drenched in feeling. Not only was he here, now, but he had been there for the whole thing, AND he had noticed how well she had sailed.

He continued, “I couldn’t meet you at the dock, because we were putting the chase boat away. Then I noticed that you hadn’t come in with the rest of them. Allyson said you’d stayed out a little longer. I figured I didn’t have anything better to do than sit here and wait for you to come.”

“Awww, Josh,” she said, touched. “Thanks.” It was so very inadequate, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Anyway, you, young lady, are an excellent sailor. Just one thing, my dear. You’re not accustomed to reaches or runs, in many senses of the words.”

She grimaced. “I know, I was just out practicing them.”

He smiled. “Were you? Well, now, how about a little practice now?”

“More? Now? Ummm, okay . . .” She began walking back to the dock.

He caught her hand and stopped her. She raised an eyebrow at him. He ignored her. “Now, see, Laura? This is a close reach.”

He drew her closer, leaving half a foot of space between them. “Come on, bear off the wind with me,” he entreated. “See? This is a beam reach.”

She refused to let her mind dissect this. She was determined to stay in the present.

Next, he pulled her arms up and wrapped them around his neck. Putting his arms around her waist, he hugged her close. “A broad reach,” he told her.

She looked up at him, questioning. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Come now, my love. Go on a run with me. I promise, no jibes.”

She smiled. He needed no other urging. He closed the distance between the two of them, pressing his lips on hers in a sweet kiss.

This was Josh, and he was kissing her. She felt like she might sail away.