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“The odds of them having recognized you were slim. If there’s one thing I can say about the people in that club, it is that they did not strike me as hockey fans. They’re more of the crunchy, tree-hugging demographic. Why are we pulling into a marina?”
We are turning left into the Bayside Marina. There are dozens of boats of varying sizes bobbing in the water at the docks. Merely looking at the movement of them bouncing on the waves makes me queasy.
“Why not?” he smiles roguishly.
“Are we eating at a seafood restaurant on the bay?” I ask hopefully. “I like seafood.” I scan the area, desperately seeking out a seafood restaurant. I don’t find any.
He shrugs. “Maybe later.”
Oh, hell. Oh, damn.
“We’re going out on the water, aren’t we?” My voice quavers a little.
“What was your first clue?”
I look away, ignoring him. I should beg off of this one.
I do not do well on boats. At least, I don’t think I do. The last time I was on a boat was when I was fifteen, and I projectile vomited all over my friend and my friend’s father, who was the captain.
We weren’t friends anymore after that. She also told everyone at school, and that’s how I got the nickname Ralphing Ruby, which took me forever to shake.
Maybe my system has somehow matured, though? Is that a thing? Does that happen?
The limo pulls into a parking space, and the driver turns it off.
Learning to ice skate feels like nothing compared to this.
The briny smell of the ocean rushes into my nostrils. Birds wheel overhead. My stomach already feels queasy as we stroll through the marina. A seagull swoops at me and I shriek, stumble, and almost fall.
It feels like an omen.
“Paxton Saul?” a man cries out. He’s wearing deck shoes and chinos. He hurries over to Paxton and gets an autograph and a selfie, and then thanks him profusely and shakes his hand.
I consider taking this time to turn and make a break for it, but Paxton would outrun me. His legs are like ten miles long.
“Let’s get a move on before anyone else spots me,” Paxton says. I look around hopefully, desperately praying for an entire mob of autograph seekers, but no such luck. Paxton links his arm through mine and marches me along.
My steps slow as we approach the dock. Paxton is trying to lead me towards a large white boat, which has the highly unoriginal name of Sea Witch.
There’s a man already on board, waving cheerfully at us.
“That boat does not look seaworthy,” I protest.
Paxton makes a scoffing noise. “It’s brand new.”
I point at the boat. “I just saw a rat running off it, down the gangplank. Have you heard the expression, rats deserting a sinking ship?”
Paxton scoffs. “Everyone’s heard that expression, Ruby, and there are no rats.”
“If it sinks, you should know, I’m not a good swimmer.”
“The captain has twenty-seven years of experience. Also, you will be wearing a life jacket, as will I, and if you go overboard, I’ll jump in after you. Quit stalling. Let’s go.”
“I’m going to have to give this one some thought.” I take several steps backward. “I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”
“No thinking. I sat through the Marsupial Massacre, and the subsequent witch trial, which in my memory included torture on the rack, and dunking in a lake, and I lived to tell the tale. You know the date rules. No cheating.”
He looks at me expectantly.
