I take a sip from my coffee, and Ollie nods to the mug in my other hand. “Is that...”
“Yup,” I say, and hold it out to him.
“You’re an angel.” Ollie sighs as he takes the tea from my hands and moves the empty mug to make room for me beside him.
“I’m most certainly not,” I say, and sit down. “I’ll never understand your need for that stuff. It doesn’t even have caffeine.”
“I love a lot of things that don’t make any sense.”
“Aren’t you cold?” I pull my cardigan tighter around me. The coffee in my hands warms me as we gaze out at the ocean. We’re anchored at sea halfway through our fifth charter. There’s nothing but water all around us. How can five weeks have passed so quickly? The way time stretches and collapses in on itself during charter season is something I am never prepared for, no matter how many times I’ve experienced it. How is it that every day can feel eternal, and yet the weeks ripple by in moments? Three months until Ollie either changes course or... leaves.
I’d rather not think about that possibility. There’s enough to worry about. Crew drama, demanding guests. But up here watching the sunrise with Ollie feels like a moment outside of time. With all the guests and the rest of the crew asleep, it’s as if Ollie and I are the only two people in existence. The sun has only just made its appearance overthe horizon, bringing with it all my favorite colors—oranges and reds and pinks—to chase the night blues away.
“It’s gorgeous out here,” I say.
“Sure is,” Ollie says, and I can feel him watching me. “Areyoucold?”
“A little.”
Ollie puts his arm around my shoulders, and I let myself relax into his side. This moment doesn’t count. It doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind. Ollie knows that. At least I hope he does.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask.
“Not really.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Most people don’t get to see this side of Ollie. He’d rather show them the perfectionistic asshole in the kitchen. But I know that is only one piece of him. It bobs on the surface, distracting everyone from what’s underneath.
“I was thinking about my da,” he says. His voice is so quiet that at first, it takes me a moment to understand what he’s said.
Ollie doesn’t talk much about Ireland, especially his family, even to me. I know the basics. He grew up in Cobh, a pretty little harbor town in County Cork. His family owns a pub called the Local. He hasn’t talked to his parents or his brother, Jack, who is ten years his junior, since he left for culinary school. His father was... cruel. I look at Ollie and spot the small, almost invisible scar just below his chin. All he told me about how he got it was that his father had smashed a glass against the kitchen counter in a fit of anger.I think it was an accident, Ollie had said as he’d rubbed his thumb along the scar. ThatI thinkbroke my heart. Whenever I notice the scar, I’m tempted to try to kiss it until it disappears. For all the stories Ollie has told me, I’m sure there are a dozen he hasn’t.
Ollie catches me staring at him, and I drop my eyes to the mug in my hands. “What were you thinking about your dad?”
He takes a long drink of his tea. My mind is whirring with questions, but I keep silent and lean against him with a bit more pressure. Sometimes he needs a few moments before he can say something hard. The silence gives him space to think, but a little contact—my hand on his arm, my weight against his side—can help him work up the courage to say whatever he needs to get off his chest.
Ollie sets down his tea and rubs the scar beneath his chin. “I was thinking about how I only applied for that job at Il Gabbiano because of him.”
“What do you mean?” Last I knew, Ollie wanted that job because it was a good career move.
“I got an email from my da a few months before I quit theSerendipity. I don’t know how he tracked me down. It was... odd. It started with him saying how much he and Mum and Jack missed me. And then... well, he said he hoped cooking for rich bastards on fancy boats was worth abandoning my family.”
“He can’t say that. He doesn’t get to say that.” A life goal of mine is to one day sucker punch that guy as hard as I can.
Ollie shrugs. “Well, he did.”
“As if he doesn’t know why you left.”
He fidgets with the string of his tea bag. “If he was trying to make me feel guilty about leaving, he needn’t have bothered. I’ve felt guilty for the last fifteen years.”
“You shouldn’t feel—”
Ollie shakes his head, and I fall silent midsentence. I don’t need to tell him not to feel guilty. He knows he shouldn’t. Doesn’t keep him from feeling guilty anyway.
“It was just another way for him to try to control my life,” Ollie says after a stretch of silence. “I can’t believe I fell for it, but I thought... It sounds stupid now, but I thought if I had some impressive job, then I could show him I’d made myself into somebody without him. I’dbeen offered the gig at Il Gabbiano a few months before that and turned it down.”
He... what?This was news to me. “You were offered the job before?”
Ollie nods. “But I turned it down, like I said.”
