Four o'clock. Emery’s flat. Grian knocked on the door hesitantly, dressed in his only dinner suit (which was cleaned just for this occasion). Had he been more of a romantic, he probably would have held a rose and had a limo waiting instead of his old Range Rover. As he waited for the events to unfold, he considered just how well his work had gone in finding everything necessary to make this night work.
A company in Scotland allowed for him to rent a sailboat for a reasonable price and even offered to ensure there was food–good food–in the icebox on deck. They said they understood because of “young love” or something like that (Grian couldn’t quite get through the accent). The day was pleasantly sunny and promised a beautiful sunset. On Thursday, Grian pulled out his Range Rover and drove to the dock and check out the boat.
Of course, he only had a few days worth of absolute research, but he was able to rig it and sail it smoothly with a little help from the workers who asked if he would be proposing that night. He said yes (they wouldn’t quite understand his reluctance anyway), and they were even more overjoyed.
The name of the ship was Emma III. Emma, as he learned, was the name of the oldest sailor’s deceased wife of twenty three years. A moment of silence was given to her, and Grian hoped that this would go well. Yes, sailing a boat required a massive amount of flexibility, but he could manage (even in the dinner suit).
In fact, it was the same dinner suit he wore in the dream he had with Emery. This thought struck him and made him shudder on her doorstep. But he really didn’t have anything different. His ears burned with embarrassment, but he forced it down in a reasonable amount of time.