He tapped his fingers against the doorframe. “For the funeral,” he said.
“Poison ivy.”
Ollie snorted, and I walked away before he could say anything else that annoyed the crap out of me.
When I stepped off the yacht and onto the dock, I slipped my heels on, feeling more hopeful than I had in months. I could fix my problems. I could fix everything. I’d get my life back on track, maybe even sooner than I’d planned. And no one, especially not a smug Irish chef with a nice ass, would get me off course.
4
Present day, four months left of charter season
“All right, all right,” Xav says. “Asses in chairsnow. That includes you, Nina.”
I give the coffee maker one last longing look before abandoning it to pull up a stool behind RJ and the deckhands. I try not to stare at Ollie as he makes his way to the opposite side of the crew mess table, introducing himself in amostlypolite way to the crew he doesn’t know and cursing at the ones he does.
Ollie settles into a seat beside Xav and catches my eye, a ridiculous little smirk on his lips. I think back to the text he sent only minutes ago about not missing me. Is this what he meant? He can’t be here for charter season, but he said it himself, he’s the chef. Why else would he be here?
“There are a lot of little rules and two big ones,” Xav says.
All the veterans, including myself and Ollie, chorus his next line: “Don’t embarrass yourself and don’t embarrass the boat.”
Xav laughs. “Well, at least you know them. I don’t want to hear otherwise when one of you dipshits inevitably does both.”
I have to keep myself together, and that means trying to pay attention to Xav’s kick-off speech, though I’ve got it memorized by now.Follow the chain of command, no drinking when guests are on board, fuck up and you’ll earn yourself a one-way ticket home. I lean between RJ and Simon to grab a yellow legal pad and pen from the crew mess table. I doubt I’ll need to take notes, but I can at least pretend that’s what I’m doing so I don’t end up spending the entire meeting staring at Ollie like some sort of mouth-breathing middle schooler.
True to form, by the end of the meeting I have a page of nonsensical notes before me. Some gems from the margins include:WTF?and a poorly drawn caricature of Ollie.
“Nice note-taking skills, chief,” Britt says.
I clutch the notepad to my chest and turn to find Britt, Alyssa, and Nekesa standing behind me.
Perfect.Ollie has been here for all of five seconds, and I’m already off my game. I try not to notice him as he moves around the crew mess and chats with the others as if his surprise arrival is no big deal.
And maybe it isn’t. We’ve worked eight seasons together. Sure, we fight the whole time and occasionally hook up in the laundry room, but I fight with every chef, and the hookups are a great stress reliever. Ollie being here ismorenormal than his not being here. It’s not like anything has changed.
“Nina?” Britt says, snapping me back to attention.
“Right,” I say. “Still haven’t had that coffee.” I reach into my pocket and pass Britt the to-do list I wrote the night before. “Once you three get unpacked we can get started. Alyssa, Britt will show you around since you already know what the job entails. Nekesa, come find me once you’re settled in your bunk and I’ll show you around the laundryroom. Keep your radios on you at all times,” I add, swiping mine from the table.
The way Britt wads up the to-do list like a used tissue and shoves it into her pocket makes me cringe. “Now get out of here,” I say, waving them away. “I don’t want to see anyone until I’ve had so much caffeine I’m literally vibrating.”
“She means it,” Britt says. She sticks one arm through Nekesa’s and the other through Alyssa’s and drags them to the far wall, where the rest of the crew is ogling the bunk assignments.
I make my way back to the coffee maker and stretch up onto my toes to reach for the highest shelf in the cabinet, where I stow my favorite mug so no one else will use it. But before I can blindly hook my fingers into the handle, Ollie is beside me placing it into my hands. It’s a seemingly boring white one that saysArubain gold letters, but when you pour coffee into it, hot-pink flamingos appear.
He grabs a mug from the cabinet, humming to himself as he makes his tea. Once he’s finished, he leans a hip against the counter and turns to me. “Haven’t seen you in ages, Neen.”
“It’s been a month.” I grab the coffeepot, watching him from the corner of my eye as I pour.
The last time I saw Ollie was New Year’s Eve. I was about to leave for a party when he showed up at my door without warning, pale and disheveled.Are you going out?he said. His eyes were red-rimmed, making them seem even bluer than they normally were.No, I lied. I knewheknew I was lying, but for once he didn’t argue with me about it.
I let him inside and changed into my pajamas. I found him stretched out on my couch, his eyes glued to the TV. When I asked what was wrong, he said everything was fine, but that was a lie too. I didn’t push him about it. I spent the evening watching TV with his head in my lap, running my fingers through his hair the way I know he likes andwondering what was wrong. Had something happened at the restaurant? He was inventive. A perfectionist. I couldn’t imagine him doing anything but thriving at Il Gabbiano. Or—my stomach dropped at the thought—what if hehadfound some other woman he really cared about, and she’d broken his heart? I tried not to think about that possibility. One, it was too painful. And two, I’d kept him at arm’s length for so long that I had no right to be hurt if he had found someone else.
I never found out what was bothering him. Other than mumblingfuckevery now and then, he hardly said a word the whole night.
We didn’t mark the passing of one year into another. No jokes about balls dropping, not a single ill-advised midnight kiss. That night, he dozed in my lap, seeming almost childlike. I spent more time watching him than the TV. When his eyes fluttered open, it was after two in the morning. “Sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse.For what?I wanted to ask, but I only smiled and ran a hand through his hair again. When he left, he paused to kiss me on the forehead on his way out the door. I didn’t hear from him for days after that, not even when I called to wish him a happy birthday. When he finally called me on his way home from work a week later, neither of us brought up that night. The whole thing was like a fever dream.
Ollie lowers his voice. “Surprised to see me?”
