The Smile That Lingered

The smile came first.

Only afterward did Saar notice the woman behind it: standing on the aft deck of a pristine white catamaran, barefoot on the immaculate deck, a glass held casually in one hand. The sun sank through a sky the color of copper and rosewood. Her white blouse stirred in the breeze, as though even the wind knew exactly how to show her off.

Behind her, broad windows gleamed, reflecting the anchorage. Everything about the catamaran looked effortless: the neatly coiled lines, the deep cushions, the ice chiming softly against the glass. Farther out lay Wild Side, smaller and darker, with a rust streak beneath a stanchion base and a towel Saar had draped over the rail before they left.

She was suddenly seized by the urge to go and take it down.

The woman held out her hand.

“Floor.”

Her fingers were cool and almost dry. Saar became aware of the rough patch along the side of her own thumb, left there when a screwdriver had slipped during a repair. She withdrew her hand a little faster than necessary.

“And this is Michiel,” Floor said.

Beside her stood a man wearing a sports watch and an easy smile. One hand rested casually on the rail. As he greeted Pim, his gaze flicked toward Floor, as though checking whether she was enjoying herself. Or perhaps Saar was only imagining it.

The conversation moved from boats to anchorages and recipes that required no oven. To watermakers that always broke down when they were needed most, and the endless search for fresh vegetables. The kind of ordinary conversation shared by people who had only just met, already pretending they might one day become old friends.

Floor asked each question with such attentiveness that, at first, Saar felt truly seen.

“Did you cut your hair yourself?” she asked.

Saar’s hand went automatically to the back of her neck. “With Pim’s help. Well, help… Mostly he held the mirror.”

Floor laughed. Warm and clear, like sunlight skimming across the water.

“That’s impressive. I’d never dare.”

It might have been admiration. It probably was. Even so, Saar heard herself respond with just a little too much enthusiasm.

A little later, Floor glanced toward Wild Side. “And you really don’t have a washing machine on board?”

“No. I’m guessing a bucket doesn’t count?”

“I suppose it does.” Floor took a sip of her wine. “Oh, I’d go crazy. I can’t believe you manage without one.”

Her smile stayed in place even as her gaze shifted to Pim and Michiel, who were bent over a screen discussing a technical problem. It lasted no longer than a single breath. Still, Saar kept watching her.

She smoothed her dress over her thighs and forced her hand to remain still. Floor hadn’t said anything wrong. Quite the opposite. She was welcoming, attentive, and funny. Perhaps it was the boat—the gleaming galley beyond the glass sliding door, the platter of appetizers arranged as though someone had positioned every basil leaf individually. Or perhaps, beside her, Saar simply felt rougher around the edges than usual: legs that always seemed too long, sun-bleached hair, scratches on her arms, and nails that even a brush could not rid of every trace of engine grease.

Floor caught her looking and smiled again.

This time, Saar smiled back.

Later that evening, she sat in Wild Side’s cockpit. Pim was reading beside her, his feet propped casually on the bench. The last color had faded from the sky above the anchorage. Only Blue Horizon remained lit, warm golden light glowing behind its broad windows.

In the distance, a loose halyard tapped against a mast in a slow, steady rhythm.

Saar drew her knees to her chest and thought back to Floor’s questions. To her cool fingers. To the brief moment when her smile had remained in place even though her attention was already elsewhere.

“That was nice,” Pim said without looking up from his book.

“Yeah,” Saar replied.

And it had been.

Still, she kept watching the white catamaran for a while. She wondered why that particular smile had lodged itself in her mind when so many other things had been said that evening.

Much later, in a place where the sea was black as oil and every sound was swallowed by the darkness, she would no longer remember what wine Floor had poured or what they had laughed about that first evening.

But she would remember that smile in perfect detail.