“Will you also feed me?”
He nodded at a picnic basket.
Pretty stinkin’ romantic.
I put Boomer inside, apologized for not bringing him, grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and two glasses, and went back out. Sully handed me in, untied the boat and came aboard.
“Nice boat,” I said. It was—varnished wood, two seats behind the wheel, a bench in the stern and two outboard motors. Enough space between the wheel and the back bench for more people, fishing gear or, maybe, to stretch out and look at the stars and smooch a cute guy, if one were prone to that kind of thing. And yes, there was a blanket sitting under the picnic basket.
I sat in the passenger’s seat, and Sully got behind the wheel. “This is my grandfather’s boat,” he said. “A 1959 Penn Yan angler. He used to take us out on it to fish or to tie in Portland or Bar Harbor for the day. It’s not much in bad weather, but she’ll do just fine for tonight.” He glanced at me, and I smiled.
We purred out of the cove and headed east. The sky was raspberry pink now, deepening with every minute.
There was the boatyard with its docks and moorings. I touched Sully’s arm. “Does Audrey know we’re on a date?” I asked.
“Ayuh. Her idea to go out on the boat. Away from the mosquitoes, she said.”
“Tell her thanks for me.”
A light went on in one of the boatyard buildings. I touched Sullivan’s arm again so he’d look at me. “Does Luke know we’re on a date?”
He nodded and offered no more.
We rounded the western side of the island and passed Osprey Point. I could see Deerkill Rock, where Dad, Lily and I used to jump into the water. My heart curled in on itself, picturing Poe jumping from that height. But we’d never gotten hurt. I had to give him that, even if it had only been a matter of time.
The sky was violently red now, and from the water, the island looked so beautiful, the golden slabs of rock, the pine trees silhouetted against the sky. Scupper was beautiful.
Funny how I’d never missed the island. Now I couldn’t imagine being away from it, the smell of sun-warmed pine needles and salt, the pure air and cold water, the call of the loons at night.
I hope you’re at peace, Daddy.
We headed out to sea. As the color seeped into the horizon, stars started to emerge like magic—first the North Star, then the Big Dipper, then so many at once the sky went from navy to purple. The Milky Way in all its endless, mysterious glory.
Sully cut the engines, got out of his seat and dropped the anchor. Then he spread out the blanket and ran a hand through his hair.
He didn’t say anything. He might’ve been feeling shy.
I got up, too, uncapped the wine (a screw top, always thinking) and poured us each a glass.
“Have a seat,” he said.
We sat on the blanket opposite each other, our legs stretched out on the floor of the boat. Audrey was right. There were no mosquitoes.
“You hungry?” he asked. I shook my head.
“There’s a light I can put on if you want.”
“No, this is fine. This is beautiful.”
There was a pause. “It’ll be hard for me to know what you’re saying if I can’t see your face.”
I got up and moved to his left side, where his hearing was better. “How’s this?” I asked, taking his hand.
“This is just fine.” He cleared his throat. “What’s new with you?”
“Oh, let’s see. My mom’s in love with Donna Krazinski, and my father died seventeen years ago.”
He looked at me a second, then kissed my temple and pulled me a little closer, so my head rested on his hard shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that. The second thing, that is. I already knew about the first thing.”
I smiled, even though tears seemed to be leaking out of my eyes.
For a while, we just sat there, the rocking of the boat familiar, thanks to my houseboat, but more pronounced at sea than in the cove. My tears stopped, and my hand rested over Sullivan’s heart, feeling the steady, slow thud. The boat bobbed up and down, little waves slapping against the hull. The stars were blazing now.
When my wine was gone, and Sully’s was, too, I took our glasses, put them on the bench, climbed onto his lap and kissed him.
His hands slid into my hair, and he angled my head a little. The kiss was warm and long and perfect, his mouth moving gently against mine. He tasted like wine, and I slid my arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, a heavy, wonderful shiver moving through my bones, making me hold on a little tighter.
When we broke the kiss, we just looked at each other for a minute. Then he smiled, that irresistible half smile, and I found myself smiling back. “I’m glad we’re not just friends,” he said.
“Now that you mention it, me, too.”
He touched the tip of my nose with one finger.
We lay back, just holding hands for the moment, and stared up at the sky. The bottom of the boat was hard under my back, but I didn’t care. In this moment, I was completely, utterly happy, and moments like that don’t come around too often.
“You all done with your old boyfriend?” Sullivan asked.
“Ayuh.”
“You sure?”
“Very sure. He’s a bit...” I paused.
“Of a dick?”
I snorted. “Well, that, too.” I paused. “Arrogant. I think there was a part of him that really liked charging in after the home invasion. The whole white-knight thing, being so needed, having everyone tell him how wonderful he was. But he got bored with it.” I paused. “And me. I can’t blame him, though. I got bored with me, too.”
“So what changed?”
“I got hit by a van.”
“Jesus.” He laughed. I did, too.
“Yeah. Beantown Bug Killers. Such a metaphor.” I didn’t need to tell him about the grayness, making amends, being closer to my mom. I had the idea he already knew. “So I came back here.”
“Good.”
“You’re a man of few words, Sullivan Fletcher.”
“It helps with that air of mystery and sex appeal.”
“It’s working. What about you? You must’ve dated after Amy.”
He linked his fingers through mine and ran a finger up and down my arm, making my girl parts hum. One finger, ladies and gentlemen. I knew our mediocre sex had been a fluke. “Yeah, I dated a little. But once Audrey came to live with me full-time, not so much.”
“Can I ask you something I’ve wondered about since we were fifteen?”
His smile flashed in the darkness. “Sure.”
“Why her?”
His finger continued trailing up and down my arm. “She’s not exactly how she seems,” he said. “There’s a lot of sweetness there.” He paused. “You weren’t exactly how you seemed back then, either.”
“No, I was. I was miserable and lonely and an outcast.”
“Okay, yeah. I remember. But you were also smart and funny and good with people.”
“Good with people... You mean, like getting shoved in the hallway or having spitballs in my hair or getting picked last for gym every fucking class?”
He squeezed my hand. “You were great with teachers. And at the Clam Shack with the tourists. We worked together. I got to see you in action.”
“Ah, the Clam Shack. Nothing like smelling like grease on top of everything else I had going for me.”