The first bite is like coming back from the dead. I haven’t had anything this good since the eggs yesterday, and before that, nothing compared.
“Every good cook knows how to bake at least one thing.”
It’s half-gone already and I could eat an entire tray. “And this is your thing?”
A pot meets the stove, and the catch of the gas ticks and flames. “My daughter liked them. I thought you might, too.”
Past tense. My throat goes tight, the ache contrasting with the sweetness and cinnamon on my tongue. “What else did she like?”
The silence goes on so long I think he’s not going to answer. I wouldn’t, if I were him. I would ignore me until I stopped pestering him. He stirs a pot, and a utensil clatters in the sink. “She loved to swim.” He pokes his head out so I can see the arch of his eyebrow, the warmth of memory in his eyes. “Not like you.”
I lay the fork primly on the plate. “I’m a beginner.”
“So Poseidon says.”
My cheeks heat, but Cook is back out of sight. I wonder which details about last night Poseidon left out. If he left any out.
But it’s fine. If Poseidon can spend his spare time talking about me to the Cook, then turnabout’s fair play. Before I can get down from the stool, Cook slides a napkin over the pass-through. Inside is a crispy strip of bacon, broken in two, and a buttered English muffin.
“Thank you,” I say over the kitchen noise.
He doesn’t answer.
I go up to the deck, which is a midmorning kind of busy that matches the peaceful sea. The usual cleaning is going on. Usual—like I know about how things work on pirate ships. A youngish man sits on top of a big shipping crate, looking over the sea. Poseidon is nowhere in sight.
The guy on the crate looks approachable enough, so I take a bite of bacon and wade in. He looks down at my food and raises his eyebrows. “What did you have to do to get that? Seduce the cook?”
I put a hand to the side of my face. “I would never.”
He laughs, then sticks his hand down over the side of the crate. “I’m Jason. Put in a good word for me, would you? I’d kill for bacon.”
“Ashley.” I shake his hand, then lean against the railing. “We could do a trade. I could tell the cook about your affinity for bacon, and you could tell me what Poseidon’s deal is.”
One leg swings against the side of the crate. “I don’t know that much about him.”
“It’s more than I know.”
Jason purses his lips. He reminds me of Robbie in some ways. Cute. Easygoing, at least on the surface. Maybe that’s why I decided to talk to him first. “I know he’s got a family back home.”
“Really?” My heart burns like the cook’s holding it too near a flame. “Like kids?”
He snorts. “No. I mean brothers. I’ve heard him on the phone with them. He’s always threatening to throw his phone overboard.”
Brothers. More than one. Longing feels hollow, so I eat half an English muffin to fill the space. I always wanted siblings. Maybe Poseidon doesn’t. “Where’s home, then?”
A shrug. “A city, I guess. He’s never said. Maybe he’s looking for it out here.”
“Looking for what?” The voice behind me turns out to be Nicholas, who is definitely the first mate. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Jason unfolds himself from the crate and hops down to the deck, giving me a salute as he goes. “Nice to meet you, Ashley.”
Nicholas watches him leave, then moves past me to stand by the railing on the other side. There’s a tension all through his shoulders, like he’s on alert. I don’t see anything in the water, though, or on the horizon. Nicholas taps his phone with his fingertips, but he doesn’t take it out of his pocket.
“Are you waiting for bad news?”
He flicks his eyes up to me. “Not bad news. Just news.”
More curiosity stirs itself up like the breeze. “Don’t tease me like that, Nick.”
A gruff laugh. “Nobody calls me Nick.”
I take a chance. “Not even your sweetheart back home?”
He shoots me a look. “Sweetheart?”
“You’re dying to check your messages. I can tell.” I’m dying to check mine too, but there’s no help for it. I don’t have a phone, and I’m not going to have one until this ordeal is over. I still miss it. I keep looking for that damn thing every time my mind wanders.
The corner of Nicholas’s mouth turns up. “I’m waiting for news about our next destination.”
“More shipping stuff?”
A sidelong look at me. I do my best to keep my face pleasant and neutral. Interested, but not too interested.
Nicholas gives in. “We’re in this part of the ocean for a personal detour. Not sure where the stop is. Depends on the information I get.”
“For Poseidon, you mean.”
“Yeah.” He folds his arms over his chest. “That’s what I mean.”
“A personal detour,” I muse out loud, letting the sea breeze toy with my hair. “Is he a collector, then?”
Another pause. I’m taking a lot of risks today with all these questions. I’m past due for my luck to run out. But then Nicholas shifts. “He’s been looking for the damn things for years. I don’t know what’ll happen when he finds all of them.”
My heart races. I live for this. I can’t help living for this. It’s the closest thing I have to the life I left. It’s that and more. I lived in the text conversations and group chats because it was my life. Poseidon is more than my life. My skin tingles, being this close to knowing about him, knowing a fact that makes Nicholas look out over the sea with concern in his eyes. The air seems supersaturated, too bright for my lungs.
Play it cool, Ashley.
“Finds all of what?”
“Finds the….” Nicholas turns toward me, his back against the crates. His eyes focus on a point over my shoulder. One of his feet moves like he wishes he could back up another step, put more space between us, but there’s no room.
“Nicholas,” I say, pitching my voice low, keeping my body relaxed. “What are you looking at?”
“I can’t say.”
The wind moves, a subtle shift in direction, and the cries of the gulls that were resting on the far railing fade away. Waves roll up to the side of the ship, the splash intensifying, as if the sea is excited.
“He’s sneaking up on me, isn’t he?”
Nicholas holds his breath, then lets it out. “Yeah.”
“How far?”
“Twenty feet, give or take. Fifteen.”
Every nerve sparks, firing fast, and I reach forward and shove my empty napkin into Nicholas’s hand.
Then I turn around and rush Poseidon.
He was sneaking before but now he’s running flat out, the space between us pulling tight in a second. Cut right! flashes through my mind, but I don’t. I run straight at him, the sea’s own anticipation singing in my veins.
I’m expecting a crash, a hard stop against harder muscles, but instead we meet in movement. I’m off my feet, off the deck, my jump propelled by Poseidon’s own leap up the side of the railing and over the top. “How dare—” I manage, but we’re suspended for a glimmering instant above the sea, the cloudless sky wheeling overhead. Poseidon’s laughing. We’re falling. We’re flying.