It was supposed to be a quiet Saturday. Coffee, errands, maybe a book. But that was before Nate Archibald showed up outside your apartment in Manhattan — grinning, windblown, and holding two life jackets.

“You ever been sailing?” he asked.

You blinked at him. “On the East River? Are you insane?”

He laughed, tossing you a jacket. “Relax. It’s not as dangerous as it looks. Come on, you’ll love it.”

You hesitated — but something about that boyish smile made it impossible to say no.

The boat was smaller than you expected but sleek, anchored under the glittering skyline. The water shimmered with light as Nate guided you aboard, his movements smooth, practiced.

“Okay,” he said, handing you a rope, “rule one: never fight the wind. You use it.”

You raised a brow. “And rule two?”

He grinned. “Don’t fall in. I’d hate to have to dive in after you.”