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When Tris does pull away, he’s breathing as heavily as I.
“Come on, before I maul you right here in the parking lot in broad daylight.”
I take a few steadying breaths, and then realize my hand is shaking as it attempts to pull open the door. Rattled, but in a good way, I meet Tris around the front of the car, my fingers wrapping through his as we walk toward the pier.
“Looks yummy,” I say, watching a hostess make a note on her clipboard as we approach the stand.
“We can eat later,” Tris says, reaching for my hand. “This way.”
We bypass the hostess and walk past diners sitting outside along the pier. Beyond the restaurant now, I can see the back side of the pier, with its boats all lined up in row after row. A big sign that reads86th Street Marinatells me what Tris is up to.
“We’re going boating,” I exclaim. I think back, trying to remember if I’d told him of my dream of one day having my own boat. Not the kind we grew up with on Lake Shohola, though the pontoon was especially fun when I was in high school.
But one like this, that could tackle the ocean waves. There’s a lot to like about living in Bridgewater, but being landlocked isn’t my favorite.
“Sort of,” he says.
A man who looks very much like he spends his days around boats comes up to us.
“Mr. DeLuca?”
Tris sticks out his hand. Shaking, they exchange greetings, and then the man turns to me.
“And you must be Evie?”
I assume this is who Tris spoke with earlier on the phone.
“Yes.” I shake his hand too.
“This way,” he says, heading out on one of the long docks. Toward the end, a larger boat than the rest, a beautiful yacht actually, looms large.
“We’ve secured a captain and crew who should be here shortly. We didn’t expect you for nearly another hour.”
“We made good time getting here,” Tris says.
Captain and crew?
“It will be a two-night voyage, yes?”
“We’re staying on there?” Then, before either of them can respond, “Oh my goodness, this is the coolest thing ever. I can’t believe—”
I stop talking.
Chills run through me as I stare.
And then I promptly begin to cry big, fat, wet tears.
38
Tristano
Thankfully, the marina’s owner steps away, giving us time to “look around” while we wait for the crew. Enzo outdid himself this time. My little brother is sure getting the hang of living like the rich and famous.
Good for him.
And for us too, in this case.
Evie is in my arms, crying her eyes out, which of course makes mine tear up too. I don’t know how he managed it so quickly, but damned if Enzo didn’t knock this one out of the park.
