On Saturday morning, we remained in bed for a long time, pleasuring each other, sharing stories and anecdotes from our past and trying to catch up on lost years. When Lorne mentioned sailing, I asked, "Have you a regular crew?"

"No, but occasionally I take guests out – colleagues, friends, family – though I prefer the peacefulness of solo sailing."

"Solo? In that huge boat? We're always two or more in Dad's, and it's less than half the size."

"Ah, but Tastevin was designed and set up for single-handing. Even with others aboard, I usually do everything until I'm sure my guests not only know what and how, but also why."

"Yeah, wise. Dad has a similar attitude with those unfamiliar. Do you go out often?"

"I try to sail every weekend to help clear my head of the crud from the court cases. This week, I had planned to sail across to the southern Gulf Islands, and while the bourguignon cooked Thursday afternoon, I was aboard stocking the fridge, freezer and pantry, changing the watermaker filters and ensuring all was ready for an early morning departure."

"Oh, God! I ruined your plans, didn't I?"

"No." He cupped my butt cheeks, pulled me closer and gave a long, slow thrust. "No, you changed my life."

I churned my hips, moaning a deep sigh. "Yeah, and you mine."

Lorne picked up his pace. "We could finish here, then go sailing. Continue our research aboard."

Moving into rhythm with him, I moaned in agreement.

Half an hour later, I watched Lorne flip the last line off a bollard on the float, coil and stow it and walk aft to join me in the cockpit. As he clicked the Lewmar lever to forward, I said, "You make it look so easy."

He smiled and shrugged. "It is easy. The breast line holds us in place while the springs and fore and aft lines are undone, coiled and stowed. No need to rush anything."

Twenty minutes later, after wending our way through False Creek, under the bridges and out into English Bay, Lorne pointed Tastevin up into the wind. Then after pressing some buttons, he walked to a winch at the front of the cockpit and began pulling out the mainsail.

As he cranked, he turned his head and smiled at me. "Watch what I do, Kate, so you can help the next time."

The next time? Oh, God! I shook my head to focus. Then looking at the abandoned helm, I asked, "Should I steer? Hold her into the wind?"

"No, she's fine; the autopilot is handling that. But next time."

Yeah, next time. Be better the next time. Fuck! Nathan's expression. I winced as images of him flashed through my mind. Always going to be better the next time. I began deep breathing to help me calm.

Then focusing on Lorne, now grinding the jib winch with arm and shoulder muscles bulging, my mind eased. Nathan's gone. This is the next time. The better one he always promised. Yes! Oh, God, yes!

Once we settled onto a broad reach toward Dundarave under genoa, staysail and main, Lorne explained the Hydrovane while he set and adjusted it. After we had sunk into the deep cushions of the starboard settee, he swivelled the chartplotter, pulled it toward us and demonstrated how to apply the AIS and radar overlays and set their proximity alarms.

When done, he stood and pointed toward the companionway. "I'll go below, pull espressos and prepare breakfast."

"Hunh? What if something happens? I can go down and do that."

"Easier if I do it this time. I know where everything is and how it works. Besides, the closest danger is more than twenty minutes away on this course."

"Hmmm! How long will you be?"

"Less than five minutes." He chuckled. "But If I think about you, a tad over eight inches."

I giggled, looked at his trouser front and smiled at the growing bulge, and after our eyes met, he shrugged, turned and disappeared down the steps. I stared at the chartplotter, my mind spinning. If only I had known. All those years. What if I had –

"It's now safe to remove your scarf and smock, Kate." Lorne's words startled me from my mental churning.

"Ummm, yeah."

A short while later, with my hair freed and blowing in the warm mid-morning breeze and my low-rise jeans and crop top allowing me to cool from the sweltering confinement, I heaved a contented sigh. And another when he emerged from below with two large mugs and set them on the gimballed table. "Double espressos to start. Back in a bit with the rest."

Lorne returned and set a large tray of cold cuts, cheeses, nuts, olives and fruit on the table and placed a basket of croissants, scones and pastries beside it. "My usual sailing breakfasts are rather European – I hope you don't mind – it's all I had stowed aboard."

"Perfect. My preference, as well."

While I broke a point off a croissant and savoured it, my mind drifted to Nathan again. Then looking up from our breakfast spread, I asked, "Do you ever have fried sausages or bacon with eggs?"

Lorne scrunched his face and shook his head. "Not by choice. But I can –"

"Oh, thank God."

"Hunh? What?"

"I'd go without breakfast if there were no other choice. The lingering smell of frying grease. The splattered stovetop. Never properly cleaned. The –"

"Hmmm! I'm lost, Kate."

I slapped my hands to my cheeks. "Sorry! My mind flashed to Nathan a while ago when you said next time. That was his favourite expression – be better next time. Oh, God! How did I get from that to this?"

Lorne sidled closer and pulled me into a hug. "Cuddle time, Kate."

After he had guided my head to his chest and cupped it with a pulsating hand, he said, "Normal grieving, Kate. Remember what I had said – memories such as these will continue to flash from seemingly nowhere. Accept them. Examine them. Find the positive. Let them pass."

"Ummm, I did that – or I thought I did."

"How so?"

"Nathan's mantra – be better next time – and I realised that now can be the better next time he always promised."

"Then, let's ensure that it is."