"You have the helm," I say.
"Oh... ok, I have the helm," she answers, stepping into my place and taking the wheel in both hands.
"Give us a bit more throttle and then take us out through the breakwater. Try to keep to the starboard side of the channel."
"What's our depth under keel?" she asks, and I smile at the way she's soaking up the art of helming a boat.
"Plenty, tide's coming in so we're in no danger of touching anywhere. I'll yell if we're somewhere we shouldn't be. Relax and enjoy, skipper!" She laughs, and I climb onto the transom behind her so that I can keep an eye on where we are. And, by virtue of my position, on her.
Em is dressed in short white linen pants and a turquoise sleeveless vest. The straps of her olive-green bikini top are fastened in a scrappy bow behind the
