Lorne read the article again, then saved it, closed his computer and put it in the settee pocket. "How's your blog post coming?"

"It ground to a halt after I saw yours. Haven't been able to get it going again."

"Where were you heading with it?"

"The same duplicity thing as yours, but without the context or the depth. Without the hypocritic recruiting. I love that part. Mine seems totally flat now."

"Why don't you review a mystery place? Do a glowing review of last evening's dinner, but without the naming the restaurant. Start a guessing contest or whatever. There are other places you can review later to add to the theme."

"Hmm... Might be a way to salvage what I've already written... Hmm." Catherine nodded to him and smiled.

"What have you so far?"

"Last night's dinner drafted. Needs the details and polishing. I was struggling writing about that terrible... Yeah, I like that."

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Read me your draft — dinner last night."

By the time they were off Dundarave she had finished crafting, editing and polishing it. "Should be fun." She smiled as she closed her computer.

"It sounds marvellous. Love the way you've built the mystery through the piece. Get them increasingly salivating and wondering at the same time. Should be a lot of fun."

They did another horizon scan, checked the sails and the instruments, then sat cuddling on the lee settee as they sailed toward Lion's Gate. "We'll have to motor through the Narrows."

"Regulations?"

"Yeah. Designed to keep incompetent sailors from impeding the commercial ship traffic." He smiled at her. "We're allowed one sail sheeted home for stability through First Narrows. It's the same for Second Narrows."

"The current? I remember the currents under the bridge. We okay?"

"A small part of dawdling in bed." He leaned to kiss her neck and shoulder. "A tiny part was to wait for the tides to help us across English Bay to False Creek. We'll be in First Narrows toward the end of the flood." He clicked the tide symbol on the chartplotter, and they examined the current graph.

"Looks like a bit over three knots."

He pointed across the graph. "See it decreasing? It'll be below two by the time we arrive, and for the Narrows, that's almost as good as it gets, giving us a nice boost to help us through."

"Coming back out... What about then?" She ran her finger across the screen. "Turns at 1720. Spend a couple of hours in the harbour and head out with the beginning of the ebb." She smiled. "I love your way of moving with rhythms and cycles."

"Far better than fighting them." They kissed, scanned the horizon and returned to their cuddle.

Off Prospect Point, they luffed up into the wind. Lorne started the engine, furled the jib and staysail and sheeted the main home while Catherine handled the helm. As they were motoring under the bridge, steering by electrical autopilot, Catherine asked, "So when are you going to publish it?"

"I'm sure it's cooked enough now, two hours and a bit to —"

"You do that too? Leave it sit for an hour or two, then go back to it? I've been doing that for years."

"Saves publishing impulsive writing, the old sober second thought thing. It always looks different once the rush to write has passed."

"Yeah, same. I sometimes question whether I wrote some of the stuff." She chuckled. "Both the good and the ugly."

He took out his computer, logged in and read the piece. "This is good."

"Read it to me."

He read it aloud, seeing her nods in his peripheral vision, and when he had finished, they were silent for several seconds. "Publish?"

"Definitely publish, Lorne. It's needed."

He made a visual sweep, checked the plotter and turned back to his computer, clicked the Publish button and watched the confirmation. He clicked View Blog, and they examined it. "Looks good."

"Looks great. What's your normal response? How many hits?"

He made another visual sweep, checked the plotter again. "Depends on how many tweets and re-tweets it gets, how many Facebook posts, shares and likes, but usually, it's eighty to a hundred thousand in the first few days."

"Fuck! I barely get ten thousand."

"Great! Way more than most. Lots of room for growth." He chuckled, and they merged in a hug, then he looked up. "We can roll out the sails again, we're through the Narrows."

"So that was the tricky part?"

"Yeah, a fearsome white-knuckle passage for many."

He rolled out the jib, eased the main and shut down the engine. "That's better. Much more peaceful."

They sailed around Brockton Point and into Coal Harbour, flashing the engine and furling the sails as the waters became more restricted, and the winds became increasingly fickle. He radioed the yacht club and announced their pending arrival, giving his membership number and asking for a temporary mooring for a couple of hours.

"Screen says you need twenty metres. Correct, Sir? Over."

"Yes, still the same boat. We're dropping off something and then stretching our legs while we wait for the current in First Narrows. Over."

"I can put you on H-3. Over."

"Great! Easy approach. Over."

"I'll send line handlers. Over."

"No need, we're fine. Over."

"Very good, Sir. Over."

"Thank you. Tastevin Out."

"So you're a member of the Royal Van?"

"My parents gave me a junior membership for my fourteenth..." He stopped and stared. "Take the helm. I need a few moments. Can't see. Some tissue."

He dabbed his eyes after she had taken the wheel from him. "Point the right edge of the Bayshore tower." He moved behind her and circled her waist with his hands before bending to kiss her neck. "Sorry... I..."

"No need to be sorry. You've a lot of heavy stuff back there."

"Yeah, a lot. See the Rowing Club?" He raised his arm and pointed off the starboard bow.

"Yeah."

"Come starboard a bit now to steer on its right edge. Pull the engine lever back to the click."

"You want to take over again?"

"Why?"

"I've never done an approach."

"Great! No preconceptions, then."

"Fuck!"

"A bit later, you bring us alongside first."

"Fuck! All the way?"

"We've gone all the way before. Here's another version."

"Fuck. You're going to talk me through it, aren't you?"

"If you wish. You watched me do it the other day at Quayside. I'm sure you watched your father many times. Remember, everything dead slow. No need for anything quick. Feel the boat, become part of her."

"Dad loves to say: Never approach land faster than you wish to hit it. It's always made sense to me."

"Good one. My thoughts too. She has a left-hand screw — her stern kicks to starboard, astern."

"Yeah, Dad's too."

A few minutes later, Lorne stepped off onto the float with the breast line and turned it to a bollard, then smiled up at her.