Dropping Anchor

The Countess D

… seven … eight … nine…

The stone sunk into the waves with a resounding plop, and Denny couldn't help but smile in mild satisfaction at the number before settling into the sand. The sun was just barely kissing the horizon, setting the sky ablaze and dyeing the ocean below her with deep indigo hues. It was warm, and the tropical evening breeze was delicious in the dying light, and in the end Denny lived for scenes like this, where the view of the waters teased him with the possibilities of where they could bring him as the waves stretched across the sand, tickling his toes and beckoning him to find out.

So was it really any surprise, then, that he could rarely resist obeying them?

No. How could it be? Over whom Denny's heart belonged to, which mistress owned him body and soul, no one had a doubt. It was the ocean that Denny loved, the scent of sea water and a life that, like the waters Denny lived it on, was anything but stagnant. Or at least, it had been.

Like the stone that had just sunk into the waves, Denny had lived skipping from place to place, barely staying long enough to make acquaintances, let alone friends, each time. And for a time, that life had thrilled him, satisfied him. So why, he asked himself, why on Earth had he yet to succumb to the waters' call here?

There was the crunching sound of boots trekking across the sand, and Denny didn't need to turn his head to know that a certain silver-haired cowboy was approaching. Other than the sound of his footsteps, Vaughn was silent as he took a seat beside the fisherman. He stretched one leg towards the ocean, his boots conspicuous beside Denny's bare feet, while he drew the opposite closer to his chest, gently plucking his hat from the top of his head and dangling it from his fingers as he propped his elbow against the raised knee.

Denny watched him out of the corner of his eye, though a few spare glances were the only acknowledgment of his presence. Finally, when dark blues began to bleed into the edges of the sky, Vaughn spoke. "Getting sentimental, sailor?"

Denny smirked at the accusation, moving to lay back completely across the sand. He didn't need to answer his question, and somehow he knew that his silence would give Vaughn all he needed to confirm his suspicions. After a moment or two, he said simply, "Don't you ever want to see what's out there?"

"Haven't you already seen enough?"

"Haven't you?" Denny returned, knowing very well that Vaughn had done his share of traveling despite his familial ties to the island. Vaughn looked at him blankly, and Denny shrugged, "Does it really make a difference?"

He turned to look at the waves, his eyes going soft as they settled on the water. "No matter how much you've seen, people like us are never satisfied. They always want to see more."

Vaughn listened to him before letting out a quiet scoff. "If you want to leave so badly, nothing's stopping you."

Denny hesitated, his lips twisting into a small frown. There wasn't anything stopping him; was there? His response was quiet, uncertain. "Yeah, I guess."

He felt the cowboy glance at him and duly ignored it, focusing his attentions on his own thoughts instead. For months now he'd been sitting on this same beach, with the same sunset, with the same urge to see the world. So what, exactly, was stopping him from leaving?

At first, he had chalked it up to common courtesy. The island was getting through a rough time, and they needed people like him to help develop it. So he'd stayed and fostered the growth of the fishing industry, attracting other sailors to the island and also making sure a certain farmer would be able to hold her own on the high seas.

Fast forward to the present, where the island now had a bustling fishing industry, and now had a modest, but steady flow of tourists that came to visit. Denny had done his part, and according to Chelsea, he'd done more than enough; so why was he still here?

Some part of him said it was because he'd yet to prepare for the trip, and he'd leave as soon as he had.

The more honest part of him thought it had something to do with the fact that he didn't want a certain farmer to hold her own on the high seas, or anywhere for that matter, without him.

Inwardly, Denny grimaced at the thought, having known early on that such an attachment implied far less possibilities, and far less exciting possibilities, than those of the sea. Relationships, commitments, domestics… It was so far from him, so very different from the life he'd planned for, that the first time he'd turned to the ocean and found himself thinking of the blue of her eyes instead, he'd shut out any and all thoughts of her from his mind, avoiding her for days in the process.

And yet, despite how terrifying it was, how different things would be if he pursued a life with Chelsea, Denny was all the more terrified by the fact that he still wanted it. He wanted those eyes to be turned on him, wanted to kiss away all her mischievous little smiles, wanted to build this island with her – wanted her to be his. Of course, he wouldn't be sitting on this beach contemplating his thoughts so hopelessly if an equally ferocious part of him wanted to run and never look back.

Sometime during his musings, the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon, and night had taken evening's place. Vaughn spoke in the dark beside him, pulling him from his thoughts. "Have you ever thought finding a place to settle down?"

Denny looked at him before shaking his head, laughing slightly. "It was always a ship for me. Honestly, dropping anchor was like a chore when I was younger; like it was an obligation to go on dry land."

Vaughn nodded understandingly, "I thought so." He was silent for a few moments before he said, "Sometimes I do think of what's out there, in the world."

Denny turned to him, propping himself on his elbows as he began to listen intently. Vaughn glanced at him before continuing, "I think a lot about what I have and haven't seen, sometimes. But in the end, I figure I keep on coming back to this island because I've already found something worth staying for."

The fisherman's eyes widened in surprise, his words escaping him in an awed breath, "What did you find?"

There was a beat before Vaughn looked at Denny with a pointed gaze, saying flatly, "The same thing that you did."

Denny stared at him as he processed his words, his expression slowly changing from confusion to disbelief. As he gaped at him, Vaughn shrugged. "Point is, if you're griping about wanting to travel without actually doing it, there must be a reason. You better start considering the idea that maybe what you really want is something else entirely."

"Something else…" Denny echoed, his mind stuck on determining whether he'd heard some sort of challenge beneath Vaughn's words. Oblivious to his struggle, or at least apathetic to it, the cowboy nodded.

Vaughn studied Denny's blank expression for a moment before giving a small smirk, turning away and putting on his hat before moving to stand up. "Who knows." He stretched, his darkly clothed form barely visible in the shadows. "Maybe dropping anchor isn't really such a chore for you after all."

Behind them, there was a sudden call, the voice distinctly feminine. "Vaughn!" The two men turned to see the form of the island's local farmer running towards them, her eyes bright even in the darkness. The cowboy in question looked towards her, and Denny could have sworn he saw the faintest trace of a smile as he did so. Vaughn ducked his head slightly, hiding his eyes beneath the brim of his hat as Chelsea ran up to him. She smiled, flicking at the hat to peer up at him.

Though Vaughn seemed unamused, his eyes softened as he looked at her. His voice, however, remained gruff as ever. "What is it?"

"Mirabelle's looking for you. Says she needs some help at the shop." Chelsea said, her smile bright.

Vaughn nodded, ruffling Chelsea's hair and bandanna until both were askew, and Chelsea yelled in protest as he walked past her. Denny watched as he left, still a little dumbfounded by the conversation they'd shared, and more than confused with the thoughts it had left him with. Unbeknownst to him, Chelsea was studying him with her fair share of puzzlement before she finally squatted down in the sand, looking at him curiously. "What are you doing?"

Denny looked at her, blinking in surprise. "Ah… Well… Vaughn and I were just talking."

Chelsea moved to sit beside him, giving him a small smile, "Anything interesting?"

He stiffened slightly at the question, his brow wrinkling in thought. "Traveling, I guess."

"Really?" Chelsea said, her eyes widening just a tad before the edges of them crinkled in another indulgent smile. "You two are the only ones on this island who could talk about something like that, I guess."

"You think so?" Denny asked curiously before giving a small shrug. "Well, I think Lanna's done her fair share, being a singer and all."

"Do you have long talks with her on the beach too, then?" Chelsea said, her tone acquiring a teasing lilt as her eyes sparkled devilishly. Denny gaped at her, at a loss of what to say before she said lightly, "Kidding. Lighten up."

He relaxed reluctantly before giving a mock sigh of exasperation. "Women."

Chelsea gave a little giggle beside him, and Denny's heart leapt at the sound. He struggled to hide a smile as he looked at the girl beside him, watching as Chelsea played absentmindedly with the sand. "It seems like it would be exciting, traveling like that."

"It is." Denny agreed, slightly captivated with Chelsea's tiny, distinctively feminine hands as they sifted through the golden earth. They were so small, seemed so delicate, yet Denny knew that if he reached out to grasp one there would be more than one callus spread across the skin.

The thought occurred to him that he'd kiss them anyway.

"You see so much, and you learn so many things… After all that, it's hard to stay in one place."

"I can imagine." Chelsea said, pausing a little as her fingers found a small, flat stone buried in the sand. She dusted it off, peering at it as she spoke to him, "It must be hard for you to stay on this island."

Denny hesitated before replying slowly, "I wouldn't say it's hard."

"Boring, then." She flashed him a quick smile before moving to stand up.

He watched her curiously, shaking his head. "Not really. Just… something to get used to, I guess."

"And have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Have you gotten used to it?" Chelsea asked as she dusted off the sand of her legs. Denny watched for a moment, his gaze lingering for just a moment too long before he averted his eyes, silently thanking the Goddess that the shadows were too dark to allow Chelsea to have noticed.

"It's… fun here. I like traveling, but I don't think I've found anywhere I like staying as much as this island." Denny replied honestly, pausing before finishing in a quieter, tender tone. "Probably because I haven't met anyone like you."

Chelsea paused, her hands poised on her mostly dusted shorts as she looked at Denny. Then, with a smile that made Denny's stomach do back flips, she said quietly, "I'm glad." She straightened herself up, looking out across the ocean, the stone in her hand. "It's selfish, but I really am glad. Because… I don't think it would be the same living on this island if you ever decided to leave."

Denny said nothing, though he knew that his expression as he looked at her was identical, if not softer than the gaze he'd so often turned on the sea. Even in the shadows, he could see the soft flush on Chelsea's cheeks, the hint of embarrassment in her features before she finally pulled her arm back and threw the stone across the waves. He turned to watch its journey.

… eight … nine … ten …

He turned to Chelsea, her eyes meeting his, and smiled. Maybe traveling wasn't all that it was cracked up to be.