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“Well, some t’ings, I s’pose. But I try to be gentleman-like.”

Taking hold of her hips, I steady her as she climbs up onto the boat’s deck, before following after her.

“Miss Céleste, dis here is my friend, Jordan Thibodeaux.” Luc steps aside for the man with the tattoos, who removes his hat before shaking her hand. Once again, I find myself observing a little too closely, but unlike my cousin, he doesn’t dare flirt with her.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Once we’re settled, Luc fires up the boat, and I sit beside Céleste, watching the bayou slip past, as we weave through cypress trees and duckweed. He slows the boat near a patch of land covered in tall grass, and tugs one of the cages from the water. Dozens of critters crawl over each other, all trapped in the center of it.

“Wait. You’re telling me this is crawfishing? You’re not even physically fishing. What’s the point of being out on the water all day?” Céleste’s question is answered by the crack of a beer can, and Luc chuckles as he holds it up, tossing one to each of us.

“Ain’t about watcha catch, but da company you keep. To crawfish in our nets, sac-à-lait on our lines, ice cold beer, and a sun dat always shines.”

I raise my beer and tip it back, reluctantly gulping down the godawful flavor. “Like piss water.”

“Ah, you been drinkin’ dat fancy stuff too long, Cous’. Need to return to your roots.”

“Pretty sure I swallowed one just now.”

The day rolls on, as we stop at each spot, collecting the traps that Luc set the night before, and by mid-afternoon, we’ve got about forty pounds of crawfish, sorted and sacked. Kicked back beside Luc, I watch Jordan and Céleste leaning over the edge of the boat, Céleste snapping pictures, while Jordan tosses lunch meat to a gator. The sound of her laughter makes me want to smile, in spite of the turmoil brewing inside my head.

“I need a favor,” I say to my cousin beside me.

“Anything you want. All you gotta do is aks.”

“I have to go out of town for a couple days. I need you to keep an eye on Céleste for me.”

“She in trouble, her?”

“Someone’s taken an interest in her, yes.”

“Da ones you work for?” Perhaps Luc is more perceptive than I give him credit for, most times. At my silence, he smirks and takes a sip of his beer.

“There are things I can’t divulge. For your safety.”

“I’ve known for a while, Cous’. Have to be deaf and blind not to see you got yourself tangled up in a line.”

“One I’m hoping to untangle soon.”

“Well, you can count on me to keep a close watch on your fille. And, I promise, I won’t lay a finger on her. But I will happily break anyone’s finger dat touches her.”

“You’re a good man, Luc.”

A scream swings my attention back to Céleste, who shoots up onto her knees, hands covering her mouth on a gasp, as Jordan jumps into the water.

“Oh, my God! What are you doing?” she calls after him.

A split second of tension settles and I push to my feet and cross the boat. Peering over the edge shows Jordan inching his way toward the gator, and when he slips beneath the water, I feel Céleste’s hand squeeze my arm.

A few seconds later, the gator rises up out of the water with Jordan’s head pressed into its underbelly. The guy is known throughout the bayou, and particularly amongst tourists, as the Gator Boy. He runs a swamp tour and makes a spectacle of himself, jumping in to swim with the gators. Shit luck, is what I call it, but he’s made quite a name for himself, even showing up on YouTube a few times.

“That’s one crazy couillon,” I say over Luc’s hooting, shaking my head as the guy lowers the gator back into the water.

Céleste laughs, snapping pictures of him. “I’ve known some certifiable lunatics in my life, but you’re all the craziest bunch I’ve ever met.”

“You haven’t seen the half of it.”

“Who’s ready to head back an’ eat some crawfish!” Luc fires up the engine, and I reach down to help Jordan back into the boat.