"Can you grab me another glass of champagne?" Emma called over her shoulder, her voice barely audible over the thrum of the yacht's engine and the chatter of the party. She leaned against the railing, her sundress fluttering in the salty breeze, her bare feet tapping lightly on the polished deck.

Emma and Jake had known each other for years, ever since their college days, though they hadn’t seen each other much since. She was the kind of woman who turned heads effortlessly—her sun-kissed skin glowing under the string lights, her auburn hair catching the wind in loose waves. Jake, tall and broad-shouldered in his crisp white shirt, had always been the reliable one, the guy who could fix anything, including her drink order.

"Sure, but only if you promise not to spill this one," Jake teased, handing her the glass. Their fingers brushed briefly, and she laughed, a sound that seemed to cut through the noise of the party. "You know me too well," she said, her green eyes locking with his. Just then, the yacht hit a small wave, and Emma stumbled forward, her drink sloshing dangerously close to the edge. Jake caught her arm, steadying her. "Careful," he said, his voice low. "You’re not exactly dressed for rough seas." She smirked, glancing down at her dress. "Maybe I just needed an excuse."