Page 7 of Father Figure

“Oh, cool.” Matteo looked impressed with that bit of information.

I watched Sam pick up a candy bar from the rack and throw it on the conveyor belt. Before Matteo could add it to our bag, Sam explained, “Keep it. That's for your break later. Stay out of trouble, kid,” he warned, handing over the cash to pay for our order.

“Don't call me kid,” Matteo snapped, handing him a receipt.

“I'm your uncle, and you're a kid.”

“You're not my damn uncle,” Matteo stressed, glaring at Sam.

“Your father's marriage certificate to my sister says otherwise.”

And then, just to be a dick, because I swear he was a brat just like his nephew, he reached over and ruffled the kid's hair. Matteo shot daggers at his back as Sam sauntered out the door, leaving me trailing in his wake, laughing at the exchange. I stowed the grocery bags in the back of the truck and climbed into the cab.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” he asked, sounding clueless.

“Fuck with him like that. You just can't help yourself, can you? Total fucking brat.”

“I guess some things you never outgrow,” he smirked.

I watched as Nicky walked down the pier toward my boat slip, with his duffle bag and backpack in tow. He was looking everywhere but where he was going. The seagulls overhead, over the side of the pier looking for fish, at the names painted on each boat he passed. He could have easily tripped on a loose board and taken a dive headfirst into the water. Shaking my head, I kept my eyes trained on him, making sure he didn't need rescuing before he covered the twenty feet that separated us.

“Watch where you're going,” I called out. He just waved and smiled.

He was such a dreamer, the eternal optimist. Nicky saw the good in everyone and everything, leaving himself exposed and vulnerable to heartache. How many times had I wrapped him in my arms as he cried about some bully at school? Or when his rabbit died? He was sensitive and felt everything so deeply. Just another reason I'd always felt overprotective of him. Someone had to keep him safe. Now I had to keep my eye on him all summer to keep him out of trouble. Sighing heavily with my hands on my hips, I watched him climb aboard the Harlowe Two, our largest boat.

Sam and I had pooled our trust funds and bought the used, sixty-five-foot yacht five years after starting our business. She had two cabins—one for guests, and one for crew—a dining area, kitchen, the flybridge, and four seating areas; two inside and two above deck.

The Harlowe One, a smaller, forty-foot boat we used for deep-sea fishing and day trips, was docked next to us.

“You all packed and ready?”

“Aye-aye, captain.” He actually saluted me. Fucking adorable.

“Go stow your bags below deck. I left a couple of shirts on your bed with our logo on them. You'll need to wear them whenever clients are on board.”

He nodded and headed toward the stairs. Thirty minutes later, he resurfaced wearing the navy blue polo shirt with the Harlowe Charter Adventures company logo on the breast.

“How do I look?”

Sam’s warning rang through my head like a bell, and I couldn't un-hear his words. Pillowy soft lips, lashes for miles, hair that a man wants to tug between his fingers. Fuck, why did he have to put that shit in my head?

“You look…ready to sail.”

“Great, point me in a direction so I can get started.”

“I'm going to show you how to do a system check before we take off. We're just waiting for the clients to arrive.”

“Is that them?” he asked, pointing to the end of the dock.

A man and woman made their way down the dock carrying way too many bags for a ten-day trip.

“Yep, that would be them. Remember, watch the things you say and do. The clients are our bosses, and we are on call 24/7. Everything we do is scrutinized and we have to provide excellent customer service always. Even when we're tired and hot and hungry.”

“Okay, Cass. I won't let you down.”

I believed him. Nicky had never let me down.

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