Ryan pointed the boat into the wind, and it rocked gently while he hauled up the sails, first one, then another. Then he returned to the wheel, adjusted the angle and worked the lines until the wind filled the sails, and the boat seemed to come alive in the water. And then they were moving, skimming the surface of the water at a speed that took her breath away. It felt like flying, and Emily felt a sharp stab of anxiety. Then he turned his head and shot her a smile, and anxiety gave way to exhilaration. The wind whipped at her hair, and the spray of the sea showered her skin, and in that brief moment she understood why so many considered sailing to be the ultimate adventure. There was a rhythm to it that she hadn’t expected, a beauty to the curve of the sails and the gleam of sunshine on the polished wooden deck.

Ryan stood at the wheel, legs apart and braced against the rise and fall of the boat as he judged tide and wind. He sailed along the rocky coast of Puffin Island, past the lighthouse that guarded the rocks by Shipwreck Cove, and across the inlet. They saw large houses tucked along the shoreline, children exploring the mysteries of the tide pools. From here she could see where the forest touched the sea and rocky outcrops that provided home to a variety of nesting seabirds.

It was a clear day, with not a hint of the fog that had a habit of shrouding the sea in the summer months.

As they sailed away from the island toward Puffin Rock he pointed out Castaway Cottage and Shell Bay.

He allowed Lizzy to steer the boat, an offer that resurrected Emily’s anxiety until she saw him put the little girl between himself and the wheel and cover her hands with his.

They dropped anchor in a little cove, and Ryan pointed out a seal pup and its mother lying on a sunny ledge.

“Take a look at the puffins.” He helped Lizzy adjust binoculars. “Puffins only come on land when they’re breeding.”

“They live on the sea?”

“Yes. They’re skilled divers, and, here’s the coolest thing of all—” he crouched down behind her, helping her focus in the right place “—when they’re flying, they beat their wings up to four hundred times a minute and reach speeds of around fifty miles an hour.”

“How do you know?”

“Because biologists study them.” Ryan took the binoculars from her, and Lizzy peered over the side of the boat.

“My mom said I should be an actor or a ballerina, but I think I might want to be a biologist or the captain of a boat and do this every day. Can women be captains?”