He ran his palm over the varnished wheel.
“This feels familiar.”
“The boat?”
“Being here.”
He pressed his right foot against the dead throttle pedal.
“I know how far it moves before the cable catches.”
“That linkage always had play.”
“I know.”
He looked toward the bow.
“There’s a compartment beneath the forward cushion. The latch sticks.”
“Yes.”
“I keep spare fuses in a jar under the port seat.”
“You do.”
His hand tightened around the wheel.
“I don’t remember rebuilding her.”
“No.”
“But I know where the weight shifts when someone steps off the stern.”
“That may be procedural.”
“I don’t care what it’s called.”
A smile reached him.
“It feels like mine.”
I climbed the ladder and stepped onto the deck.
The boat shifted slightly on her supports despite the chocks.
Noah adjusted before he could think.
He shifted his balance and corrected his grip on the wheel.
He laughed.
His laughter rang through the open bay.
“You felt that,” I said.
“Yes.”
He looked down at the faded blue seats.
