Page 38 of All We Need

“Who the fuck isOl’Petey?” she seethes.

I bend forward, our metal containers clanking as they collide, andIwink at her. “Ourtour guide.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

alessandra

Isit better to hide a body in the woods or feed it to the fishes?

The thought has popped into my head multiple times sinceBoothshowed up at my apartment.

He’s intentionally pushing my buttons;I’mnot an idiot.OrmaybeIam, becauseI’veagreed to this stupid outing.

IfIdeclined his invitation,I’dbe forfeiting, andIrefuse to have my integrity questioned.

I stomp down the stairs, swaddled in a pair of fleece-lined leggings, sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and a puffer jacket.Thesun crests the horizon, a glow of orange warming the sky whenIjoinBoothoutside my apartment.Hebarely glances at me before striding down the hill.

My hiking boots slap against the snow asIjog to catch up. “Whyaren’t we driving?”

“Because our location is right there.”Hepoints toward the bay, but allIsee is vast open water and rows of boats.

“You’re going to drown me?”

“No.”Herolls his eyes and sips his coffee. “Iwouldn’t want you to melt.”

“Har-har.”Desperatefor caffeine myself,Itake a large gulp.I’msurprised to find it’s exactly howIlike it.Blackwith a little sweetness.

We walk in silence the rest of the way, and a few minutes later,Boothsteers us toward a long jetty, lined on either side with bobbing fishing boats.Thesharp, briny smell of the ocean is stronger here, mixing with the scent of fish.Someboats are old and weathered, their paint peeling and barnacles clinging to the sides.It’sclear which boats haven’t been used this winter from the buildup of snow.Theone we stop beside is well kept.Itmust be fifteen feet long, with a bright orange bow and white helm.Inbold, white lettering readsSunriseon the front of the bow, with a small orange and pink sunrise painted underneath.

Booth raps his knuckles on the side. “Petey, you here?”

A bang, curse, and grunt follow.

A head of white hair pops up from the cabin, and a smile with a few missing teeth greets us. “Mornin’, bub.”Ol’Petey,Ipresume, makes a hacking noise and spits into the water before nodding in my direction. “Sugar.”

“This isPetey, the owner of this fine vessel, and our chauffeur today.Petey, this isAlessandra.She’llbe joining us.”

“Pretty name.Belongson the side of a boat.Bitof a mouthful, though.Gota shorter name?”Hehas to be in his sixties.Ifsomeone were to ask what a typicalNewEnglandangler looked like, you would findPetey’sphotograph in textbooks.Hisskin is wrinkled and tanned from long hours outside, and he wears a bright yellow rubber bib and boots.

I give him a kind smile. “Alyis fine.Niceto meet you,Petey.”

“You too, sugar.”Heswivels around, the soles of his boots squeaking. “Don’tbe dubbin’ around.Climbin.”

Booth raises a leg, and just as he’s about to swing it over, he pauses and pats his pockets in a panic.Hecatches me watching and quickly fixes his expression.Weird.

He climbs in effortlessly, andIthink he’s going to leave me to struggle my way onboard when a large, glove-encased hand pops into my vision.

I stare at it for a beat, contemplating what’s worse: his help or the cold waters.Swallowingmy stubbornness,Iaccept it.OnceI’msafely onboard, he drops my hand like it’s on fire.

“Ready for your first real taste ofMaineliving,Boss?”Boothasks slyly.

“Can we not with the nicknames.Silveris bad enough.”

He goes to reply, butPeteyshoves a life vest into his chest and gently passes me one. “Quitflirtin’.Goget us ready.”

Booth doesn’t argue with him.

While the cold breeze wakes me up,Iwatch them work in tandem.Thelow rumble of an engine sounds and the floor beneath my feet vibrates.Werock slightly before trundling forward.

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