I look at her. “You didn’t have to.”
She hesitates.
Then, more quietly, “I wanted to.”
I shrug. “Okay.”
I could thank her.
I don’t.
She covers it with a small smile. “They’re there if you want them.”
“Come on!” Jameson shouts from up the ramp.
Ryan turns back. “You two coming or what?”
Tara steps aside. “Careful. It’s a little slippery.”
I walk past her without answering.
The ramp creaks under our feet as we climb aboard. Jameson gets to the top first and stops dead, staring around like he’s just walked onto a movie set.
“Whoa.”
Ryan steps up beside him, glancing around. “It’s even bigger up here.”
He’s not wrong. The deck stretches out in every direction—stairs leading up, doors into the cabin, polished railings catching the light. Crew members move around like it’s nothing, carrying lines and gear, talking over the low hum of the engines.
Good.
The bigger the boat, the easier it’ll be to keep my distance.
Up near the bow, Dad’s crouched by a cleat with Charlotte beside him—the brat—a thick rope looped in her hands while he talks her through it.
“You start with the loop like this,” he says, guiding her fingers. “Then bring it around the standing part.”
Charlotte frowns, concentrating. “Like this?”
“Close. Under, not over.”
He adjusts her hands, and she tries again.
Dad gives the knot a firm tug. “There you go. Bowline.”
Charlotte pulls on it, testing it as if she actually cares whether it holds.
Tara steps up next to us, watching them with a small smile. “She’s been practicing knots all week for this trip.”
Dad looks up then and spots us. “There they are!”
He straightens, wiping his hands on his shorts as he heads over. Charlotte stays where she is for a second, still holding the rope.
I keep looking at the loop in her hands.
Dad never taught me that.
The brat jogs over after him, brushing her hands on her shorts like she’s proud of getting it right. “Hi.”
