“Have dinner with me?” Kara said, and the look in her eyes promised a whole lot more besides.

“You know all the best places to eat,” he said. "Let me guess. Take-out paella?"

“Not exactly,” she said with a small, uncharacteristically nervous smile. She handed him a set of keys he recognised instantly.

"It's yours," she said, watching his face as her words sank in.

"You bought the boat?"

His incredulous grin wiped the anxiety from her face.

"Every sailor needs a boat," she said, leaning in to kiss him. "Or a weekend shag palace…"

"Shag palace?" he said, mimicking her accent, smiling against her lips. "So English, as always."

Kara loved the sight of him stepping aboard the old boat again. So many good memories were wrapped up in one small, crazy old vessel. She accepted the hand he held out and stepped aboard, the heels of her cowboy boots loud against the deck.

Dylan pulled her against him, running his fingertip along the neckline of the tube dress he loved her in.

“Did you wear this for me?” he said.

“It is your birthday.” She leaned in close and kissed the warm skin beside his ear. “And I’m not wearing anything underneath it.”

“You know I’m going to check that later, right?”

“I’m counting on it, Sailor.” She started up the steps to the roof deck, then glanced back over her shoulder at him. “You can look up my skirt. Birthday treat.”

Dylan's eyes were so firmly fixed on Kara's backside that it took him a few seconds to realise that they wouldn't be dining alone. Lucien and Sophie sat alongside each other on the familiar low deck chairs, conspirators in Kara's birthday plan. Sophie jumped up as soon as Dylan appeared.

"Happy birthday!" she said, laughing as she threw her arms around him. He hugged her hard, blown away by their surprise arrival on the island. He kissed her cheek when she stepped back.

"You guys have been plotting,” Dylan smiled wide and easy. “When did you get here?"

"A few hours ago.” Sophie grinned, her eyes dancing with the thrill of the successful ambush. "We dropped Esther and the kids off at yours as soon as you guys went out."

Lucien unfurled himself from the chair as Kara bent to kiss his cheek then pulled Sophie into an expansive hug and led her away below deck.

Lucien advanced towards Dylan.

"Happy Birthday, bud,” he said, pressing a bottle of Dylan's favourite bourbon into his hands.

Dylan laughed, still a little shell-shocked by the unexpected birthday gathering.

"It's so good to see you, man," he said, pulling Lucien into a bear hug even though he knew his friend wasn't the most tactile of men. "Drink?" he asked, reaching out of habit into a low cupboard to the side of the deck where barware had always been stored in his time. He found a couple of glass tumblers and uncapped the bottle, splashing amber liquid into them.

They stood alongside each other, elbows on the railings and a generous measure of bourbon in their glasses.

"How long are you guys staying?"

"A week or so," Lucien said. "If you can stand it. Oskar’s cutting teeth. We make bad house guests. Trust me, you'll be ready for us to leave."

Dylan grimaced. "Teething, man. Gruesome. Billy screamed for weeks."

They contemplated the sea in silence for a few seconds, both men ruminating on how much had changed since they met.

Lucien and Sophie's family had expanded with the arrival of their son, Oskar, making Tilly a proud and mostly delighted big sister and Lucien an even prouder and more delighted father.

Knight Inc. continued to go from strength to strength, with Lucien on the final countdown to the opening of his eleventh club. The Knight family skipped happily around the globe in his private jet, a tightly knit clan rarely separated for more than a few days.

Kara and Dylan had taken a far more Bohemian approach, and it worked just fine for their relationship. Living together, absorbing Billy into their routine, his long afternoon siestas affording them the opportunity to make the most of each other’s company in all the ways they liked best. Ibiza suited them, and they suited Ibiza, having entrenched themselves firmly amongst the eclectic group of native and part-time residents they now counted as friends.

The Ibizan club had met and then exceeded even Lucien’s expectations under Dylan's expert stewardship, so much so that the venture had expanded this season to launch a luxury weekend party boat, currently the hottest ticket in town in every sense of the word. Kara had flexed her business muscles that summer too, opening a standalone boutique on the neighbouring island of Mallorca.

Kara’s and Sophie’s friendship was stronger and brighter than ever, and their two families grew ever closer, outside of work. They met up as often as their busy schedules would allow; snatched weekends in London, the occasional week soaking up the sun in Ibiza, idyllic Christmastimes in Norway.

It was a good life.

Lucien reached into the battered leather jacket he’d hooked over a chairback, then produced two cigars from the inside pocket. He shrugged, then smiled at Dylan’s surprised look. “It’s your birthday,” he said by way of explanation, coming back to lean beside his friend with a lighter in his hand.

“I haven’t had one of these in years.” Dylan placed the cigar between his lips, then leaned towards the flame that Lucien sparked. Lucien lit his own cigar and blew out a slow stream of smoke.

“My brother was the cigar smoker of the family,” Dylan said, remembering late nights and good times.

Lucien knew from the past tense that Dylan was referring to Billy. He took a deep slug of bourbon, the rich shot of alcohol combining with the taste of the cigar in his mouth. “I never had a brother.”

Dylan huffed lightly. “Yeah, well. Take it from me. It’s not all good news.”

Lucien nodded. From what he’d seen of Dylan’s surviving brother, there wasn’t anything to envy.

In the moments of companionable silence that followed, nostalgic memories of Billy merged with the closeness Dylan felt to the man beside him now.

“I know this kind of talk makes you freak out, but I'm gonna say it anyway,” Dylan said, laughing softly. “I fuckin’ love you, man.”

“Jesus Christ,” Lucien muttered, re-lighting his cigar and holding the flame out to Dylan.

It wasn’t his style to make such expansive comments, but he knew what Dylan meant all the same. Theirs was a friendship that he’d come to value very much in the years since their first encounter. Back then, he’d entrusted Dylan with the responsibility of running his club. These days, their bond ran so much deeper; as close as brothers, the best of friends.