Page 70 of Thin Ice

"I genuinely don't."

"This relationship is being tested right now."

He laughed. I loved that laugh. I reached over and wiped a smear of peanut butter off his knuckle with my thumb and put it in my mouth, and he watched me do it with his lips parted.

"Focus," I said. "Sandwiches."

"I'm focused."

"You're staring at my mouth."

"I'm focused on your mouth."

I grabbed his hip and pulled him closer for a second, kissed the corner of his jaw, then turned him back toward his plate. "Sandwich first. Mouth later."

He made his sandwich the wrong way. One slice peanut butter, one slice jelly, pressed together, jelly soaking directly into the bread. I made mine the right way. Double peanut butter, jelly sealed in the center. I wrapped both sets in plastic wrap and put them in a paper bag with two water bottles from the fridge.

"This is good," he said, eating the corner he'd cut off before I wrapped them.

"This is a sandwich. You can make this every day for the rest of your life for about two dollars"

"Two dollars."

"Welcome to my tax bracket."

He smiled.

"Let's go," I said.

***

The marina in December looked the same as it had every other morning. Boats in white rows, the lot empty, the shop with its one lit window. But walking through the gate with Alex beside me was different. I'd spent the entire month keeping this place separate from him, and now he was here, in borrowed boots, looking at the rows of wrapped hulls.

"This is bigger than I remember," he said.

"Hundred and twelve boats in storage. Plus the wet slips on the south dock, but those are empty now."

The shop was warm and small and smelled like it always smelled — diesel, old wood, a coffee maker that had never been cleaned. Jerry's chart of the lake on the wall. His desk was covered in invoices. Radio going low. The space heater making its ticking sound.

Jerry was at the bench working on a carburetor when we came in. He looked up. Looked at Alex. Looked at me. Back at Alex.

"Who're you?" He asked.

"Alex Harrington," Alex said.

Jerry laughed. "Of course." He set the carburetor down and wiped his hands on a rag. "What brings you back?"

"Jerry," I said. "Alex is looking for some work. Just a few days a week. Whatever you've got."

Jerry leaned back in his chair. Pushed the glasses up on his nose. "I don't know, Liam. December's winding down. I've got you through the month, but I'm not sure I've got enough for two."

"Come on, Jerry. There's always something. The Grady-White's impeller is still seized. The whole back row needs a second pass on the wraps after that wind last week. We could do a deep clean on the shop, the fuel system, all the dock hardware. There's plenty."

"Plenty if I'm paying for it."

"Two, maybe three days a week. Rest of the winter. You said yourself I'm the only kid worth a damn. Now you've got two."

Jerry looked at Alex. Gave him the over-the-glasses look, the one where he was reading you and deciding whether to say what he was thinking.