Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

“Chicken noodle or clam chowder?”

“Why can't it be both?”

I agreed with a shrug and tossed both cans of soup into our basket. “Let's just stock up on the essentials for us and I'll make another trip the day before we leave to purchase the client's menu. I'm still waiting to hear back about food restrictions.”

“Sounds good,” Sam agreed. “Let's get some jerky,” he suggested, sounding way too enthusiastic about dried meat.

“So, listen, Nicky came to see me yesterday.”

“Oh good, did you take him to lunch?”

“I did.”

“What did he decide about college?”

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Sam paused with his hand on a bag of jerky, looking at me with raised brows. “Is he not going? ”

“No, he's going… eventually. But first, he'd like to come work with us over the summer.”

“On the boat?”

“Yeah,” I laughed. “On the boat. He knows his way around, and he takes direction well. I don't think it would be a problem.”

“Would it be a problem with his father?”

“I don't think so, as long as he's back in the fall for school.”

Sam shrugged. “If you want him there, then why would I care?”

“Just checking with my partner.”

“You know,” he said in an offhand voice, chucking six bags of jerky into our basket, “they're going to eat him up at the clubs. He'll be very popular on the islands.”

“What do you mean by popular?” I could feel the hair on the back of my neck standing at attention.

“ Popular ,” he said to me, stressing the word like that alone would make it sink in. “He's tiny, with a pretty face, lashes for miles, and pillowy lips. The kind of hair a man wants to run his fingers through and tug. Popular .”

I could feel my face heat with anger. A mild sense of panic clawed at my chest, and I placed my hand over my heart, struggling to keep my cool. “I asked him if he's interested in guys, in a roundabout way, and he said he wasn't interested in anyone.”

“Why would that matter?” Sam argued. “He doesn't have to return their attention to receive it. He's going to draw many eyes, especially when you put him out in the sun in a bathing suit.”

Suddenly, the idea of spending the summer with Nicky seemed a lot less appealing.

“Are you prepared to beat his suitors off with a stick?” Sam asked.

“If I have to, I will.”

“Who knows, maybe he'll enjoy the attention and you won't have to.”

That really made the indigestion hit hard. Heartburn seared my esophagus, climbing into the back of my throat and making my tongue taste bitter. “Let's just drop this for now,” I said tersely.

When we made our way up to the register, I spotted someone I recognized and got in their line. Tapping Sam on the shoulder, I pointed out, “Look who it is. Your nephew.”

“ Step -nephew,” he corrected.

“Damn, tell me how you really feel. What makes you say it like that?”

“He's a total brat.”

“Oh, just like you were at that age. Still are, actually. You two should have a lot in common.”

“You're hilarious. Fucking hilarious.” He began emptying the contents of our basket onto the conveyor belt, drawing his nephew’s attention.

“Hey.” The kid smiled and brushed his hair from his eyes .

“Hey yourself,” Sam replied without a smile.

Matteo inspected the six bags of jerky, canned chicken, sardines, and the variety of soups with minimal enthusiasm. He scrunched his face like he found it gross.

“This is the shit you eat?”

“Hey, watch your mouth; you're on the job,” Sam warned.

“Don't you eat any fruits and vegetables?” he asked.

“We're getting ready to head out on the boat for a trip, and this is just to stock our pantry. The fresh foods and vegetables we’ll pick up in the local markets when we hit the islands. They have a better selection at better prices than you can find here. Customs also get nitpicky about bringing fruits and vegetables into their countries.”

“Oh, cool.” Matteo looked impressed with that bit of information.

I watched Sam pick up a candy bar from the rack and throw it on the conveyor belt. Before Matteo could add it to our bag, Sam explained, “Keep it. That's for your break later. Stay out of trouble, kid,” he warned, handing over the cash to pay for our order.

“Don't call me kid,” Matteo snapped, handing him a receipt.

“I'm your uncle, and you're a kid.”

“You're not my damn uncle,” Matteo stressed, glaring at Sam .

“Your father's marriage certificate to my sister says otherwise.”

And then, just to be a dick, because I swear he was a brat just like his nephew, he reached over and ruffled the kid's hair. Matteo shot daggers at his back as Sam sauntered out the door, leaving me trailing in his wake, laughing at the exchange. I stowed the grocery bags in the back of the truck and climbed into the cab.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” he asked, sounding clueless.

“Fuck with him like that. You just can't help yourself, can you? Total fucking brat.”

“I guess some things you never outgrow,” he smirked.

I watched as Nicky walked down the pier toward my boat slip, with his duffle bag and backpack in tow. He was looking everywhere but where he was going. The seagulls overhead, over the side of the pier looking for fish, at the names painted on each boat he passed. He could have easily tripped on a loose board and taken a dive headfirst into the water. Shaking my head, I kept my eyes trained on him, making sure he didn't need rescuing before he covered the twenty feet that separated us .

“Watch where you're going,” I called out. He just waved and smiled.

He was such a dreamer, the eternal optimist. Nicky saw the good in everyone and everything, leaving himself exposed and vulnerable to heartache. How many times had I wrapped him in my arms as he cried about some bully at school? Or when his rabbit died? He was sensitive and felt everything so deeply. Just another reason I'd always felt overprotective of him. Someone had to keep him safe. Now I had to keep my eye on him all summer to keep him out of trouble. Sighing heavily with my hands on my hips, I watched him climb aboard the Harlowe Two, our largest boat.

Sam and I had pooled our trust funds and bought the used, sixty-five-foot yacht five years after starting our business. She had two cabins—one for guests, and one for crew—a dining area, kitchen, the flybridge, and four seating areas; two inside and two above deck.

The Harlowe One, a smaller, forty-foot boat we used for deep-sea fishing and day trips, was docked next to us.

“You all packed and ready?”

“Aye-aye, captain.” He actually saluted me. Fucking adorable.

“Go stow your bags below deck. I left a couple of shirts on your bed with our logo on them. You'll need to wear them whenever clients are on board.”

He nodded and headed toward the stairs. Thirty minutes later, he resurfaced wearing the navy blue polo shirt with the Harlowe Charter Adventures company logo on the breast.

“How do I look?”

Sam’s warning rang through my head like a bell, and I couldn't un-hear his words. Pillowy soft lips, lashes for miles, hair that a man wants to tug between his fingers. Fuck, why did he have to put that shit in my head?

“You look…ready to sail.”

“Great, point me in a direction so I can get started.”

“I'm going to show you how to do a system check before we take off. We're just waiting for the clients to arrive.”

“Is that them?” he asked, pointing to the end of the dock.

A man and woman made their way down the dock carrying way too many bags for a ten-day trip.

“Yep, that would be them. Remember, watch the things you say and do. The clients are our bosses, and we are on call 24/7. Everything we do is scrutinized and we have to provide excellent customer service always. Even when we're tired and hot and hungry.”

“Okay, Cass. I won't let you down.”

I believed him. Nicky had never let me down.