“Truth,” I say.
Ollie’s expression turns serious. He caresses my cheek with the back of his hand. “What’s this really about?”
I glare up at him.Thisis not part of the game. We don’t talk aboutwhywe do things. We just do them. “I’ve been at sea for four months; what else could it be about?”
“Come on, kitten. You’re obviously upset. Talk to me.” His voice is so gentle it makes my chest ache.
When I don’t say anything, Ollie pushes my hair, down from its usual high ponytail for once, over one shoulder. He tugs gently at one of my unicorn earrings. “These give a man false hope, you know.”
My eyes leave Ollie’s to run over his gently sloping nose, his mouth, the wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Please don’t,” I say, surprised to find myself blinking back tears.
How do I always end up kissing Oliver Dunne in secret? Despite what he says about missing me and breaking up with his girlfriend, this thing between us is not serious. It shouldn’t be, anyway. And I should be inside celebrating the next chapter of my best friend’s life. But instead, I’m in a bar parking lot making out with Ollie so I can forget about it.
Ollie’s hand drops from my ear. He pulls me to him, and I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he tucks my head beneath his chin and holds me against his chest. “It’s all right,” he whispers. “Nothing has to change. You and Jo will be the same as ever.”
I want to believe him, but Ollie is wrong. I can feel it. My entireuniverse is being reordered, just like when he quit the boat last year. The distance between us grew, and these days we hardly see each other. My bad knee is throbbing now. It’s the same feeling I get when I’m on theSerendipityand know a storm is coming. The sky may be cloudless and calm, and RJ and Xav can tell me there’s nothing on the radar until they’re blue in the face, but I’m never wrong about storms. It’s like they’re part of me.
Ollie can pretend he doesn’t feel it too, but I know he does.
Everything is about to change.
2
Eight months later, February, first day of charter season
“Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine?” Jo says when I fling myself into the passenger seat of Alex’s van.
It’s a bright February morning. The perfect day to set sail and escape South Florida for a few months. I shoot Jo a glare before dropping my sunglasses over my eyes. “Why must you drive the man van, Josephine? Just because we’re in our thirties doesn’t mean we have to act like it. Please tell me you’ve discovered you despise the restaurant business and have changed your mind about charter season.”
I know she hasn’t. The restaurant, Serendipitous (a little on the nose, if you ask me), had its grand opening the other night. The food was brilliant, and Jo looked happy, completely in her element. I’d nearly gnawed off my arm to punish myself for being such an asshole about it when she’d told me she was quitting the boat. Of course Jo would make a great manager. Why wouldn’t she? The woman is marvelous at everything but cooking. She was made to please difficultpeople. Like the guests on the yacht. Like picky eaters at a restaurant. Like me.
Jo ignores my plea. “The van is all part of the soccer mom vibe. You can’t be mad at me in this. Look, I’m even wearing the shirt.”
She stretches out the shirt she’s wearing so I can read it, though I already know it saysI only raise BALLERS #soccermom, seeing as I’m the one who bought it for her. Man, she’s really laying it on thick. Jo knows my three favorite things are her, Craigslist, and soccer moms (in that order). Target clothing and minivans aren’t my personal aesthetic, but I can’t deny that caffeine-fueled rage and aggressively blunt bobs have a certain allure.
“That shirt is a lie,” I say. “You’re ten months from becoming a track-and-field mom, thanks to your future stepdaughter. One day you’re bringing snacks in a cooler, and the next you’re buying matching USA Olympic Team tracksuits for the whole family.”
Jo laughs. “As if Alex would let me do snacks. Besides, I don’t know a thing about running.”
“You don’t know a thing about runningyet. All I’m saying is there’s a seedy underbelly to the sports-parenting world. It changes a person. I’m doing you a favor by warning you.” I’m reminded of a photo of myself at twelve years old, wedged between my parents in our—you guessed it—matching Olympic tracksuits. It was taken not long after I’d started competing in gymnastics at the elite level. That sweat-wicking fabric haunts my dreams.
“Sports-parenting world? Seedy underbelly?”
“Just get on the boat, Josephine.”
Jo sighs in her seat, eyes on the road as we drive toward the marina. “Are you going to be mad at me forever?”
“Possibly. But don’t worry, it won’t detract from my love for you. I’ll deduct the love points from Alex.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Jo says. She navigates through a roundaboutand eyes me when we come out on the other side. A flash of nervous energy passes over her face. “Will you promise me something?”
I hold up three fingers. “On my honor, I will try: to serve captain and crew, to help my primary at all times, and to not replace Jo Walker as my best friend.”
“Not that.”
My hand drops into my lap. The road runs alongside the ocean, but I look at Jo instead. I’ll have plenty of time for ocean gazing over the next few months. “What, then?”
Jo bites her lip. “Promise you’ll be open to any new opportunities that arise. Or, you know, old ones.”
