Chapter 23
The bell on the door of the fish house chimes Monday morning, and I look up to see Stewart taking his place at the back of the line.
He’s in that blue linen blazer that makes him look like a movie star.
I’m in the jean shorts I was wearing the day I met him, and I have a flash of him saying something about my legs on the beach.
The thought of it makes a slow blush rise up from my chest. I ring up three live lobsters, four swordfish steaks, and two pounds of tilapia before he gets to the front of the line.
I try for the vibe I give Gus in front of his friends. It’s no big deal that you’re here.
“Hey,” I say. “Out of shrimp?”
“I wanted to talk to you in person, but I have a call at four so I couldn’t wait till you were off. Is there any way we can just—” He gestures to the door. His face is extra serious.
“Sure,” I say, and call to my dad that I’ll be right back. There’s something about Stewart’s demeanor that’s telling me this isn’t a talk he wants to have on Main Street. “Come around the counter,” I say. “Let’s go out back by the wharf.”
Stewart follows me through the deveining room and out the back door.
It’s quiet here and smells fishy in a different way than it does in the store.
Besides multiple aluminum tubs and all of our bikes, there’s nothing much back here and nowhere to sit.
I square my shoulders to his and tuck my hair behind my ear to brace myself.
“What’s going on? You look stressed.”
“I need to go to Boston on Wednesday night. Overnight, because I’ve been forbidden from helicoptering back here after dark.
It’s with the Kramer people. This is the last meeting before we sign, and they want to know the company’s fully behind the project.
So I invited my dad.” He looks over my shoulder and out at the water.
“Okay,” I say.
“It’s kind of make or break. I really want you to come.”
“Because you think I can help you do deals?”
“No,” he says. “You just help. Me.”
My heart does something I can’t quite explain. I want to step toward him and also away.
“I’m really only good for a tire change and a hand massage,” I say.
“You’re good for a lot of things. And I know we discussed a trip to Boston before, but I wasn’t sure how comfortable you’d feel with an overnight now. Because of what happened on the boat.” His eyes dip to my legs, and he quickly catches himself.
“I’d be fine overnight,” I say, though I’m not so sure.
We’re looking at each other, and I feel a thousand possibilities playing out in the space between us—everything from the two of us in our pajamas, playing cards in a room just like the library from Beauty and the Beast to the two of us tangled up in his sheets.
Either sounds like a fantasy I need to ward off.
“But remember I’m not giving you a bath. ”
Stewart laughs and visibly relaxes. “I think that’s in our contract. I just wanted to make sure you felt comfortable. I have five bedrooms, you’ll have all the space you need. And if you freak out, I can take you to a hotel.”
“I’m not going to freak out,” I say. I’m kind of freaking out. It’s too close, it’s too much. I’m already thinking about him all the time, the way he looked up from the backgammon set and caught my eye in the kitchen. Like he’d been waiting his whole life to do me a huge favor.
There are men on my roof again when I get home. My dad called Izzy’s crew because the tarp came unsecured and is blowing on top of the house. It looks like the whole thing could set sail. Christopher is in a beach chair again under the maple, watching it fly.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, and stop to kiss the top of his head. “I’ve got salmon for dinner, but I’m making pasta too, so no complaining.”
“Gross,” he says with a smile.
“Another week or two and it’s going to be a serious circus around here,” my dad says when we’re all seated for dinner.
“It’ll be quick. Izzy says the new roof will be good for fifty years, so that stress is over,” I say. I pass the salad around. “So, I might be going to Boston on Wednesday night and staying over. But just for the one night.”
My dad raises his eyebrows. “Where are you staying?”
“At Stewart’s,” I say. “His mansion has a few extra bedrooms.”
“Can you go by our place and get my Red Sox sweatshirt?” Gus asks.
“We’re probably not going that way,” I say. I serve myself some more green beans and catch a mood shift off him. “Don’t you have that blue hoodie here?”
“I do but it’s stiff, like too new. Kids here don’t really wear stuff like that.”
“They don’t wear new clothes?” my dad asks.
“They do,” Gus says. “But they don’t seem new.”
This is fashion. I literally never thought I’d see the day. “I know what you mean, it’s a thing. Clothes that look like you’ve had them forever, which is funny for a kid your age because you’ve only been this size for a week.”
He smiles at me because he likes that he’s growing. And maybe because I’ve met him where he is. Life’s weird enough at thirteen, you do what you can to fit in.
“I’ll go by and grab it,” I say. “I could use a few things myself.”
I picture myself sneaking out of a Beacon Hill mansion and spending double the cost of that sweatshirt Ubering there and back. Totally worth it.