Summer Blues: Episode 1 (Little Pink Book: Season 1) Sample by Adell Ryan

Little Pink Book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2021 by Adell Ryan and Anita Maxwell All Rights Reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher and the copyright owner constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights. Published by Upside Down Red Umbrella First Edition: August 2021 Cover Art by Upside Down Red Umbrella Edited by Upside Down Red Umbrella

PROLOGUE Lainie The scratch of my marker moving furiously back and forth across the paper echoes throughout the room as I cross out the word Black on the newlyreformed title page of my notebook. Black seems an unfitting color; my “Little Black Book” is not for booty calls or one-night stands, after all. This book will help me narrow down my choices — emphasis on plural. Because I will have options. That is the plan anyway. After disastrous recent events, my heart is no longer permitted to make all the decisions. Instead, my brain will. What better way to do that than by coming up with a scoring system? Scoring… as in points and tallying. Not as in the other kind of scor—never mind. Anyway, a detailed documentation of the pluses and minuses against each potential guy to help me narrow them down to “The One.” The One to rule them all. 4

Ha, no. Just kidding. The one lucky guy who I will give my virginity to before college starts. The one who will help me prove to Mother that men do want me with my yearround hoodies and lack of feminine artistry. The one who will give a big ol’ middle finger to the guys who have broken my heart in the recent past. This book might be little, but it will do big things. But how to fix the title? Tapping the end of the marker against my chin in thought, my gaze scans the room for inspiration as my fingers play with the remnants of ripped paper along the inner spine. The room, originally designed by Carrick’s late mother in shades of pink and teal, now showcases enough hanging neon signs and paintings to blind any potential trespassers. Previously the guest bedroom that I always slept in while crashing here to escape home life, it is now all mine, aside from the pictures remaining of Carrick and me… and a couple of him

and his mom. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of those. Ms. Lolita and I both shared a love for the color pink, so the pink walls still remain, too. In fact, after officially moving my stuff in, I took it one step further and covered the teal with a more vibrant, accent pink to bring out all the neon. Ohh… Pink… Yes! That is perfect! I toss the black marker back into my case and pluck out the newly decided upon color. Directly above where I crossed out Black, I write Pink, looping the capital letter to make it fancy. With a smile of accomplishment, I add tiny little hearts on top of the lowercase Is before meticulously drawing a folded-over ribbon border around the whole thing. Over time, I will embellish it with a range of colors. Everything is finally falling into place… At the end of summer, I will step onto the local state college’s campus for the first time, and Car will finally get his captain’s license. 6

I just have one more goal to achieve: lose my virginity in the next eighty-something days. Well, when put that way, it sounds more than achievable! What could possibly go wrong? Ha, famous last words, right? Anyway, hence the reason for my top-secret notebook. After all, a girl’s gotta be able to organize the oodles of guys that will no doubt be lining up to get a piece of this. Who am I kidding? The reason for the book is because that’s exactly what I don’t have — oodles of guys. But by the end of this adventure I will. Well, one at least. Title sufficient for now, I flip the page and, in a cute block font, draw a number one in the top, lefthand corner. Now, the question is… Whose name should be added first? Who is lucky enough to make my list? Glancing at the torn and crumpled sheet of notebook paper on the floor, a shudder jolts through me. Definitely not Evan Dillon.

CHAPTER ONE Lainie Three days earlier…

he only thing keeping my head upright is the support of my fist pressing deep into my cheek. Each heavy blink becomes harder to

reopen with every monotonous tick of the clock. Since we don’t have anything left to learn in this class, even the teacher has succumbed to the end-of-year feels, letting the students have quiet “study” time instead of making us sit through additional lessons. Just a few more days and high school will finally be nothing more than a distant memory. I spent the past thirty minutes drawing squiggles and swirls on the new notebook I purchased for the sake of trying my hand at bullet journaling, considering it’s all the rage right now. Lists aren’t normally my thing, but I figure giving it a try will be fun. A bracket here, an accent there. I especially like the fancy banner I drew around my future last name. Which is Dillon, by the way. Most certainly not 9

Sallow… Kaxin Sallow is a jerk, and I would no longer take his last name even if he was the last jerk on earth. I absently turn the “i” in my married name into a little flower, switching from pink to green and adding leaves at the base for good measure as my gaze drifts sideways to the super-hot, dusty-blond sitting beside me. Evan Dillon. My future husband. He just doesn’t know that yet. Pfssshhh, I blow a mental raspberry. Formalities schmoralities. At the vibration of my lips and the small bit of spittle that lands on my drawing hand, my eyes blink rapidly, and an unintended snort puffs out of my nose. Apparently, I closed my eyes for a brief moment in reverence of his amazingness, and they stayed closed a smidge longer than intended. Also, that raspberry was not as mental as I thought. With a sigh, I readjust my arm-support-beam and roll my eyes up at the clock. 10

Ten more minutes. The mechanisms continue to tick-tock, and I narrow my focus on the second hand, watching as it moves way too slow. The stints of time between each jerk of the slim metal arm match the dip of my eyelids until there is no more clock.

*** AN ALARM WAILING pierces my ear drums. My head jerks to attention, eyes staring wildly ahead until my brain catches up, and I realize the alarm was actually the school bell. I fell asleep after all. If only it would have woken me before the memory of the night things ended with Kaxin decided to infiltrate my sleep. The racket of students gathering their things and leaving class fills the room. Shakily, I rush to collect my notebook along with the pile of accompanying colored markers, stuff everything in my bag, and toss it over my shoulder. Unfortunately, in my hurry to make sure that little nap went unnoticed, I 11

didn’t pay close enough attention to my escape path. Standing, I come face to chest with… Well… with Evan… because no one in class is as tall as him. And because that’s the type of luck I always have. I puff my cheeks out and release a breath of air with a pop, head tilting back to look up at him. “Ssorry bro,” I stutter, clearing my throat. Bro?! What the hell, Lainie?! His gaze travels over my face, and my heart goes into panic mode, pounding like crazy beneath my rib cage. A half-smile lifts the side of his mouth, and he huffs out a short laugh. “See ya tomorrow,” he says, taking a step back and giving me space to make it down the aisle of desks we both apparently decided to take. At the same time. “Mm-hmm. Yep. Thursday. Tomorrow. Heh. See ya.” I duck my head, slide past him, and speed walk toward the door. Outside the classroom, my speed-walking continues. I squeeze those invisible quarters between 12

my butt cheeks like my life depends on it. Carrick is supposed to help me fix something in my car so I can work tonight, and I promised to meet him right after class. Plus, I am both emotionally and physically running… like I always do when getting even remotely close to someone I have the hots for. Fight or flight and all that. After the Kaxin incident, my flight level upgraded to eyes-trained-on-the-ground status in order to keep from making eye contact with all the students staring at me. That Monday was hell, exactly as predicted. The rumors were endless and not at all flattering toward me. “Hey guys,” I huff out, bending over and clasping above my knees for support. For someone who sure loves to “flight,” I can’t run — or speed walk — for anything. “Hey, Lainie,” Car responds, doing a double take at my breathless state. Richard, Becker, and Dean just bestow me with a mix of cocky grins, waves, nods, and eyerolls.

“Ah, work starts in a couple hours and the belt, or something, fell out of my car last night. You promised to help me get it taken care of.” “We’re supposed to play ball this afternoon!” Becker grinds, darting a strange side-glance in my direction. Car gives the guys some sort of code look before turning his attention to me and nodding. “Yeah, let’s go.” A collective groan comes from the group. “Low blow, dude.” Dean scoffs. I give them all an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Gotta pay the bills.” “I’ve got a way for you to make a killing, Lainie.” Richard cups his junk and gives it a little jostle. “Right here. Name your price. Though, I’ve heard you don’t charge. Unless of course you’re saving yourself for Evan Dillon.” What a Dick. Wait. Only one person knows who my crushes a—

Carrick takes me by the forearm and pulls me away before I can retaliate with a not-so-witty remark. Because he knows all too well that when someone pisses me off, I say stupid — not helpful — things. “What the actual hell, Car?!” I whisper-yell as he continues dragging me toward his truck. My breathing picks up pace, not from the speed he uses to direct me through campus and out to the parking lot, but from a budding anger at being betrayed. Car remains quiet, refusing to answer me for whatever stupid reason. He opens the passenger side, helps me into my seat, closes the door, and moves to the driver side, hopping in and slamming the door shut behind him. Then he reaches across me, opens the glovebox, and takes out a baby wipe — a habit his mom had that he never quite let go. With the faintest of pressure, his finger and thumb grasp my chin, and he turns my head toward him, lifting the wipe to my forehead. In a moment of realization, my eyes widen and I jerk away from him, pulling down the passenger side visor to flip the— 15

Carrick is faster than me, slams the visor back up against the roof, and swipes the baby wipe across my forehead. I yank the wipe out of his hand and, once again, open the visor. However, the only thing that remains on my forehead is the imprint of a tiny, handdrawn flower. I dart my gaze down to the crumpled wipe in my hand and back up into the mirror. “Why?” I whisper. “Why am I such a klutzy ditz sometimes?!” The rare and amazing smile I got from Evan was not because he finally saw me, it was because his last name was imprinted in reverse. On. My. Damn. Head. I dare a glance at Carrick expecting to catch that sympathetic, “Poor Lainie” face he makes on occasion. Instead, he stares ahead through the windshield, avoiding me entirely, and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Let’s go,” I mumble. Rainbow-tinted soap seeps through my fingers as I squeeze the wipe with all my might.

CHAPTER TWO

“L

ooks like your accessory belt broke.” Carrick’s voice is muffled from behind the hood of my car.

“Mm-hmm, exactly.” I press my lips together and nod, raising my eyebrows and rolling my eyes up toward the sky. Someone bumps into me, drawing my attention back to the constant flow of people along this section of The Strip. A drunk college guy attempts to turn around, stumbles over his own feet, and offers me a handful of beads with a lopsided smile. Uh no. I raise one eyebrow and wave my hand in a shooing motion, to which he responds by giving me a wink and continuing on his way. On the bright side, there wasn’t a towing sticker on my car. At least I have that, and the fact that no one took off with it, going for me. When the rubber loopy thing just plopped out onto the ground during a delivery run last night, I had to get out and push the car to the side of the road and leave it there in the middle of about fifty random 17

strangers crowding the street, clearly already enjoying their summer vacation. At one in the morning my options for places or people to call were limited. And while Carrick would usually be my go-to, with as often as he is on the water and in the sun he is rarely awake after nine. So, instead, I just left the hunk-of-junk and a co-worker brought me home. Luckily, Amalia answered the phone back at the shop, otherwise it would have been Reid picking me up. The guy is a casanova. Or at least, he seems to think so. Unfortunately, that last hour on the job often results in the best tips. Drunk college students ready for their two a.m. snack means bank here at one of the top summer and spring break destinations in the world. The fact that I am the only female pizza delivery driver in the entire county helps, too. So, anyway, not only will I need to swing the cost to fix the issue, I also lost out on the money I could have made to cover it. Double whammy. “Can you fix it here?” Please say yes. 18

Carrick can’t see me, but I press my hands together beneath my chin in prayer while awaiting his answer. “Uh, yeah… I mean it’s not impossible. But we need to make a trip to the auto parts store first.” Well, that’s not the exact answer I wanted, but it’s not terrible either. I reach into my pocket and slide my phone out to check the time. With a sigh of defeat, I slide it back in. “Didn’t you say you have a night dive?” “Yeah. Gotta be in by four to load up the boat. What time is it?” “Three thirty-seven.” When he leans over and looks at me from behind the hood, I clench my teeth together in a nervous smile-slash-grimace. His eyebrows curve inward, so I wave off the apology before he can even open his mouth. “Yeah, I know, I know. All good. At least it isn’t the weekend, right?” We both make more money on the weekend, but my two-hundred-plus each night far surpasses his shop pay. Night dives are a different story entirely, though. Stacked up against my early-summer, mid19

week shift, the pay from night dives trumps mine. If the charter is full and they tip well, it can easily bring in a few hundred bucks. Plus, they only happen a few times per summer since the college crowd is usually too cheap to swing the cost, or too drunk or stoned to be allowed on the boat. Carrick responds with the mix between a “right” and a grunt, the hood closing with a thunk soon after. Dusting his hands off, he grins and says, “I could use a deckhand.” With an exaggerated groan, I toss my head back, close my eyes, and slump against my passenger car door. Carrick laughs. “Tell me how you really feel.” “Okay, first of all” — I narrow a glare at him and hold up one finger — “spending four hours on a boat with a bunch of old men hardly sounds entertaining. Second” — up goes the next finger — “the depths of the gulf in the dark of night sounds like something out of a horror movie. Thir—”

Carrick steps forward and wraps his warm hand around my three pointed fingers. “One of these days, I’ll get you wet,” he whispers. “Fat chance, buddy. This girl is staying dry.” A side-smile forms on his face, and my eyes widen as the double meaning finally dawns on me. I yank my fingers out of his grip and swat him on the arm, laughing. “Perv. Ah, you sure Deb will approve?” “Deb is just there for the one-third and because she has to be. She doesn’t give a damn about anything else.” A group of girls walking past us catches Carrick’s eye, and he watches as a car full of guys driving by encourages one of their own to hang out the window with a loop of beads dangling from his palm. Welcome to the Gulf Coast, where we keep it classy by throwing millions of plastic beaded necklaces at random strangers, just for a peepshow. Nope, it’s not just for Mardi Gras, folks… step right up, and join all the twenty-something-year-olds as they sexualize an age-old tradition.

One of the girls’ hands moves to the triangular tips of her bikini top and she plops her boobs out. The guys whoop and holler, throwing beads in her direction. She greedily collects the payment and tosses them over her head to wear with pride. Being Carrick’s deckhand is sounding more and more appealing as the minutes pass. “So… yeah… about that offer.” Carrick’s attention returns to me in an instant, eyebrow raised. “Uhm… the one about being your deckhand.” Truth is, it looks like I don’t have much of a choice anyway, considering he’s kinda my only ride right now. He claps his hands together. “Hell yeah! Got a suit in your trunk?” “Not getting wet,” I singsong, walking to my car to grab the only item of clothing in there that isn’t my work uniform. Kaxin’s blue hoodie. Because, apparently, I am a masochist when it comes to boys. Carrick eyes the hoodie as I slip it on. Brows pulling together, he groans. “Really, Elle? It’s ninety degrees out.” 22

“Not on the water. Plus, the wind out there always freezes my nips off, and I would quite like to keep them intact thank you very much.” With an amused eye roll, he jogs to his truck and opens the passenger door. Another college girl walking by nudges her male companion in the ribs, and coos, “Aww, see… chivalry is not dead.” “Chivalry is never dead when you’re trying to get laid,” the guy returns, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and placing a kiss on her temple. Carrick chuckles, bends at the waist, and flips his hand in a circle, gesturing for me to enter. I grab my backpack and do a quick scan inside my car, make sure there are no valuables visible inside, and triple check that the doors are locked before rushing to join Carrick. While he gets situated and turns the truck on, I shoot Amalia a quick text, giving her the unfortunate news that she will be short one driver tonight and to look out for my obituary in the paper tomorrow: cause of death, lost at sea. 23

The truck inches forward and Carrick positions its nose just far enough into the bumper-to-bumper traffic to piss people off — and hopefully weasel his way into a spot. I roll down the passenger window, knowing we’ll be lucky if this line of vehicles moves enough for us to get out of here in any decent amount of time. Might as well enjoy the show. Doing my best to keep a straight face, I readjust to my knees, lean out the window, and cross my arms at my waist to grip the edge of my top. Carrick grabs the back of Kaxin’s — my — hoodie between his fingers and yanks me down before I can finish the motion. “So…” I laugh. “You have no problem watching other girls flaunt their boobs, but it’s a no-go for me?” “You do that on the job?” he asks with a huff. “Don’t have to, the guys see a female pizza delivery driver and let me out right away,” I explain with a laugh. Carrick and I have been dealing with the summer and spring “Breakers” since we were old 24

enough to work. Never once have I actually participated in the debauchery. Just the thought of following through and lifting my shirt sends a wave of anxiety through me. Messing with Carrick is fun, though. All things considered, today becomes our lucky day when a car full of girls inches forward. Carrick pulls a couple strings of beads off his rearview mirror and holds them out, shaking them to get their attention. With his sun-streaked, brown-blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and bright smile it’s not at all difficult for him to get a show — and a spot in the line of traffic. So. Many. Boobs. “Why is it that guys don’t flash their junk for beads?” I ask. “Because we’ll get arrested for public indecency. Also, because nobody wants to see that.” Funny thing that is… public indecency is just as illegal for women. Guess the law in this case doesn’t apply to them, however. “Me. I want to see that,” I huff. 25

Carrick tucks his thumbs into his shorts and starts pushing them down. Panicked, I return my attention to the open window, duck my head, and cover my eyes with my hand. Heat spreads across my cheeks, burns the tips of my ears, and trails down my chest. “Oh my God, Carrick… stop.” He gives a hearty laugh, and the truck jerks forward. When I think it might be safe to look, I turn my head toward him, spread my fingers open, and peek an eye through. Fully clothed. Whew.

CHAPTER THREE CARRICK

hat. Damn. Hoodie. I thought she finally parted ways with it, but clearly she’s still hanging on. To it. To him.

Elle was serious about Kaxin; she finally started letting herself get vulnerable and relax around a guy and taking chances she never takes — no thanks to her lowlife, degrading mother. Then… he broke her heart. The night their relationship fell apart I couldn’t decide whether or not to find the jerk and beat him senseless, or take her in my arms, and tell her all the things — and treat her in all the ways — Kaxin should have done. Problem is, I’m not on her radar in that way. “Hey, Lainie.” The gate guard reaches through the window past me to grab her license before taking my own. Of course, he doesn’t even bother to study them; instead, just going through the motions of flicking a glance down at the images before handing

them back. “One of these days, this card will let you meet me for drinks—” Huh. Apparently he’s chatty today. Having heard enough already, I pull forward so he can take down my tag number and we can be on our way. “Hey!” Elle squeals. “I’m on the rebound, and he’s cute.” My eyes flick to that damn hoodie serving as a reminder of why she is “on the rebound” to begin with. “Drinks? You know commitment is the furthest thing from his mind.” She loops her finger around the hoodie’s tie, her head falls back against the seat, and she closes her eyes. After taking in a deep breath, she brings the tip to her mouth and begins alternating between twisting it around her tongue and chewing the plastic. What I would give to be that tie right now. Instead, she has a piece of Kaxin in her mouth. Lucky — undeserving — bastard.

Movement in the side-mirror draws my attention away from her and back to the guard. Instead of nodding me through, however, he flicks me the bird. “Maybe I need to take a leaf out of his book,” Elle sighs. “Start drinking?” I ask, feigning ignorance as we drive away from the gate and approach the marina, stomach starting to harden at the turn in conversation. She plops her head to the side for a brief second, and those gray-green eyes narrow on me before rolling back up to the roof. Again, she bites down on the tie’s plastic for several heartbeats too long before clarifying what I already know she meant: “I am an eighteen-year-old virgin, Car.” “Always here for you, Elle.” Throwing the truck into park, I toss a grin in her direction as she straightens to unclip her seatbelt. Elle smiles and shakes her head, amused. I drop the grin and clear my throat. “Nothing wrong with still being a virgin. There’s no hard rule that states that ‘coming into adulthood’ means cuming into adulthood.” Of course,

since the words sound the same, I have to add a bit of flair to the second one by bouncing my eyebrows. When she spots Thayne cleaning the boat, though, Elle drops the conversation, removes one of her scrunchies from my gearshift, grabs her backpack from the floorboard, and jumps out of the truck. “Hey, beautiful! Been a while,” Thayne greets, pulling her in for a hug as soon as she steps onto the deck. “Carrick putting you to work tonight?” he says over her shoulder, throwing me a wink. The wind kicks up, and his shoulder-length hair flies into her face as they separate. She seems to forget he asked her a question, gaze locking on his and her hand reaching up to push the still somewhat-damp hair out of his eyes. Unable to watch any more, I grab my stuff and lock up. By the time I step on deck, Lainie is entering the cabin to put her backpack and cell phone in the dry area. Thayne continues washing the saltwater off from the previous charter, his attention drifting toward her rather than the task. Not that it takes much concentration to scrub and rinse, but any amount of his 30

concentration goes completely overboard when Lainie is around. Gear bag and clothes in hand, I wait while she uses the scrunchy to put her hair up, making it messier than the wind would do if she just kept it down. She then proceeds to unzip her backpack and pull out her collection of doodling things. Holding them tightly to her chest, she turns toward me and blows a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes. “Catch you on the fly side,” Elle says with an amused snort. “You know… like flip side… but fly side… because it’s called the flybridge?” Thayne laughs, and her eyes shine at the recognition. On the way toward the ladder, she nudges me in the arm and whispers, “See, someone thinks I’m funny.” Since her balance is about as awkward as her sense of humor, I wait until she is safely on top and no longer in sight before prodding Thayne for the details regarding tonight’s dive. “What are the conditions?” I ask, stepping inside the cabin, taking off my shirt, and replacing it with a rash guard. 31

“Water temp is eighty-five at the surface, and there’s a thermal climate at thirty feet, dropping it down to seventy-eight. Visibility is excellent today. Forty-five feet or so,” he responds. “Hell yeah! Nice. Deb up on the flybridge?” I ask as I swap my khakis for boardshorts. “Didn’t see her when I drove up.” “She had to make a store run for more fruit,” he explains. I clap him on the shoulder before hopping back on the dock to start loading, but he stops me short. “Hey…” “What’s up?” “You diving deep tonight?” he asks with a smirk. “Same answer I always give you, bro.” I blow an exaggerated breath from between my lips. “Since you’ve got time to pry into my love life, how about using all that extra energy to help me load up?” “Yeah… I got your back.” The two of us step off the boat and make our way across the parking lot. Thayne glances over his shoulder, gaze reaching high

for the flybridge. “Better up your game, man. She’s filling out.” “She’s not interested in me,” I explain over the chime of the shop door. “Okay.” Thayne shrugs then takes a tank in each hand, holding the door open with his foot long enough for me to grab two and follow him back out. “Mind if I try?” The door nearly hits me smack in the nose when I stop short of exiting fast enough before Thayne removed his foot. He hurries to put one of the tanks down and catch it in time, though. “Hey, it’s cool man.” He chuckles, holding up his hand in surrender once I’m free and clear of the door. “Just been eyeing her for a while, waiting for you to make your move. If you’re still in the game, I’ll step back.” He picks up the second tank again and the two of us continue walking. Lainie and Thayne have always had… I don’t know… something. Chemistry, I guess. Plus, we’ve been co-workers — and friends — since I was old enough to work here. Until recently, though, she was underage. And… well… he is a bit

older than us. So, that’s what was likely holding him back all this time anyway. “Yeah,” I grunt, hoisting the tanks onto the deck. “It’s not up to me who she gets involved with. Do what you want.” If nothing more, maybe he can be the one to get her mind off Kaxin.

TWENTY-SIX TANKS LATER, the boat is loaded, and I finally have a second to look over the charter roster before the customers arrive. Deb is now on the flybridge with Lainie — sitting in the captain’s chair, of course, feet propped up above the controls. Lainie’s on the bench, back against the railing and knees up acting as a makeshift table for her journal. When I sit beside her, she closes the book, and slides it under her butt. “Full boat, I see,” she states, glancing down over the railing and taking note of the amount of tanks. “Yep. Gonna be beautiful tonight, too; Thayne said visibility is at forty-five. Sure you don’t want to

dive? Take off that hoodie and we can work something out… on the house,” I offer with a broad smile. “Nice try, Carrick,” Deb speaks up. “We all know she doesn’t have a cert.” Lainie slings her legs down and scoots closer. “Positive.” She chuckles in response to my attempt and leans in to get a peek at the details. “Red Sea…” Her eyes widen. “Sounds… horrific.” “It’s really not. Quite the opposite,” I explain, scanning down the list of names. On reading the specific inshore location request, I guessed it must be a local group. That, or set up by a local for friends who are visiting. When my assessment is verified by a very recognizable name, though, that broad smile disappears in an instant and my heart does a shallow thud, sinking like an anchor. Before Lainie can get too far on the list, I fold the paper, shove it into the pocket of my boardshorts, clap my hands together, and exclaim: “Let’s get this show on the water!”

Lainie flips the blue hood over her head with a smile, takes her spot against the railing on the bench again, and returns the notebook to her lap. As I descend the ladder down onto the deck, I peek over her shoulder, not at all surprised to find her drawing swirls around the same name I just read on the list of tonight’s passengers. Evan Dillon. Sighing, I step off the deck and onto the wharf, turning to greet the first few customers.

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