“Here’s a quadrilateral.” I pretended to toss one his way and sank beside him on the cushion, then passed him my lighter with a sigh. “I know you’re speaking English, but I don’t have a clue what you’re saying.”
Ollie put a cigarette between his lips. “Quadrilateral, huh? Nice one. Would’ve gone with trapezoid myself. Throwing shapes is like... acting all tough.” He puffed out his chest and arched a brow. His expression was so ridiculous it made me laugh.
“Sothat’swhat you’re always doing.”
“Ha.” He held up my lighter. “Thanks, Neen.”
“Why can’t you just call people by their actual names,Oliver?”
He shrugged as he tried and failed to light his cigarette. “Nina. Neen. It is your name. You don’t like it?”
Neenwas better thanloveat any rate. “It’s not the worst name someone’s called me,” I said, which made him laugh. “So why the sketchy meeting? I was promised snacks.”
Ollie furrowed his brow. “Hush, now. The snacks are for later. Leta man smoke in peace before getting down to business.” He continued flicking at the lighter, but the wind was too strong up there. He finally gave up and held the lighter out to me with a sigh. “Do me a favor, will you?”
“You’re impossible,” I said, but took the lighter from him anyway. Ollie shielded the cigarette from the wind with cupped hands. I flicked the lighter beneath the cigarette, and the flame caught it on the first try.
“Thanks,Neen,” Ollie said after taking a drag.
“Should’ve burned your eyelashes off.”
“But then I wouldn’t be so pretty,” he said, and fluttered them at me.
Ollie helped me light a cigarette for myself. I watched the wind spiral the smoke away from us and into the sky, thinking about how different it felt to be sitting here with someone else rather than on my own like I usually did. The night was peaceful. The yacht was quiet, devoid of guests and crew, except for Captain Xav, who stuck to the captain’s quarters on our nights off. Up here, it was easy to forget how I’d ended up on a superyacht in a Saint Martin marina, smoking beside a hotheaded Irish chef who, up until a few minutes ago, I was sure hated me. The glow of other boats gliding along the horizon blinked at me like stars.I could be happy, I thought,if every moment was like this.Back then, I’d thought it was the hum of the yacht, the gentle sound of the ocean, the murmur of voices in the marina that made me feel that way. I didn’t even consider that it had more to do with the man smoking quietly beside me.
“I don’t get it,” I said once I’d burned through my cigarette.
“Don’t get what?”
“Why I’m here. I thought you hated me.”
Ollie turned to look at me. “You did? Why?”
“Oh, come on. You snapped at me on our first charter.”
“I didn’tsnapat you.”
“I don’t need any fecking help,” I said. A dimple jumped out on Ollie’s cheek at my impression of him. “Just last week you threatened to chop my hand off with a butcher knife when I borrowed one of your mint tea bags.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t need help, and I don’t share my tea. You can’tborrowa tea bag. That had nothing to do withyou.Don’t take things so personally.”
“You don’t like me,” I insisted.
He leaned in closer, and his shoulder brushed against mine. “Listen, I like you, Nina. You’re... amusing. You seem like a”—he tipped his head to the sky—“nice girl. No, sorry. Let me try again. Like a good person. Cool, I mean. I’ve never seen a yacht stewardess do a full gymnastics routine on the floating trampoline before,” he said. “That’s cool.”
Nice girl? Good person? Cool?I took another cigarette from the carton and rolled it between my fingers to slow my heart rate.
“What I’m saying is you seem like someone I’d be friends with.”
I glanced at him, skeptical, but he seemed sincere... embarrassed, even. “I guess you seem... okay.”
“Okay?Geez.” He helped me light my next cigarette, then drummed his hands against the whiskey bottle. “Are you ready for the plan?”
I narrowed my eyes, suddenly wondering what sort of plan this was. “As long as it’s not a plan to get in my pants.”
Ollie snorted. “No, Neen, that’s not the plan. Haven’t you ever heard the sayingDon’t screw the crew?” He patted the whiskey bottle between his knees. “The plan is, we drink this—”
I flicked the bottle with a finger. “I wouldn’t call drinking whiskey up on the bunny pad aplan. It’s an awful one anyway. Do you want to fall to your death?”
