Belowdecks her cabin was a woodworker’s pride, Cam’s for the most part, Phillip mused. Glossy cabinets were fashioned of natural wood, hand-fitted and custom-designed with sleeping room for four close friends.

She was sound, he thought, and she was beautiful. Aesthetically charming, with her fluid hull, glossy decks, and long waterline. Ethan’s early decision to use the smooth-lap method of planking had added hours to the labor but had produced a gem.

The podiatrist from D.C. was going to pay handsomely for every inch of her.

“Well. . . ?” Ethan, hands in the pockets of his faded jeans, eyes squinting comfortably against the sun, left it an open-ended question.

Phillip ran a hand over the satin finish of the gunwale, an area he’d spent many sweaty hours sanding and finishing. “She deserves a less clichéd name.”

“The owner’s got more money than imagination. She takes the wind.” Ethan’s lips curved into one of his slow, serious smiles. “Good Christ, she goes, Phil. When Cam and I tested her out, I wasn’t sure he was going to bring her back in. Wasn’t sure I wanted him to.”

Phillip rubbed a thumb over his chin. “I’ve got a friend in Baltimore who paints. Most of the stuff he does is strictly commercial, for hotels and restaurants. But he does terrific stuff on the side. Every time he sells one, he bitches about it. Hates to let a canvas go. I didn’t really understand how he felt until now.”

“And she’s our first.”

“But not our last.” Phillip hadn’t expected to feel so attached. The boatbuilding business hadn’t been his idea, or his choice. He liked to think his brothers had dragged him into it. He’d told them it was insane, ridiculous, doomed to fail.

Then, of course, he’d jumped in and negotiated for the rental of the building, applied for licenses, ordered the necessary utilities. During the construction of what was about to become Neptune’s Lady, he’d dug splinters out of his fingers, nursed burns from hot creosote, soaked muscles that wept after hours of lifting planks. And had not suffered in silence.

But with this tangible result of long months of labor swaying gracefully under his feet, he had to admit it was all worth it.

Now they were about to start all over again.

“You and Cam made some headway this week on the next project.”

“We want to have the hull ready to turn the end of October.” Ethan took out a bandanna and methodically polished Phillip’s fingerprints off the gunwale. “If we’re going to keep to that killer schedule you worked up. Got a little bit more to do on this one, though.”

“This one?” Eyes narrowed, Phillip tipped down his Wayfarers. “Damn it, Ethan, you said she was ready to go. The owner’s coming in to take her. I was about to go in and work up the last of the papers on her.”

“Just one little detail. Have to wait for Cam.”

“What little detail?” Impatient, Phillip checked his watch. “The client’s due here any minute.”