DRIPPING WET AND CHILLED TO THE BONE, T.J. and Meg trudged inside. There were cracks in the roof allowing beams of dull, muted light to filter in, illuminating a million particles of dust kicked up as they shuffled across the wooden floor. Rain dripped steadily from two dozen spots in the roof, but at least the wooden walls blocked the wind. Meg sneezed as T.J. latched the solid, cross-beamed door behind him.
T.J. whipped the cap off his head. “You okay?” he asked, wringing the water out of it.
Meg fought the urge to shiver. Her flannel pajama bottoms were soaked and clung to her thighs in a way that could not possibly be flattering. Beneath the waterproof layer of her teal-green raincoat, her skin was goose-pimpled with the cold, and she silently cursed her airheadedness in forgetting to put on a bra.
“Yeah.” Meg pulled the hood off her head and shook out her hair. “Totally fine.”
“Good.” He shoved his beanie into his coat pocket and handed Meg a flashlight. She switched it on and scanned the interior of the boathouse.
They stood on a wooden platform that stretched the length of the floating building. A large blue tarp covered a pile on the far wall. Meg traced its outline with the beam of her flashlight and saw where a corner of the tarp had been folded, exposing a stack of gasoline cans beneath.
“At least there’s plenty of gas,” she said.
T.J.’s beam joined hers on the pile. “So we can start a bonfire?”
“No.” Meg snorted. “If we have to drive a boat out of here, at least we’ll have fuel.”
T.J. stepped in front of her and smiled. “Oh, yeah? And are you going to pilot the boat?”
His dimples—the left one slightly deeper than the right—taunted her. So many times she’d dreamed about running her fingers over them, feeling the soft indentations with her fingertips, then tracing the strong, square line of his chin. She’d even journaled about it, much to her own personal embarrassment. Nothing like reading over your own diary entry and realizing how pathetic it sounded.
T.J. took a step toward her and Meg caught her breath. Was he going to kiss her again? Oh my God. She hadn’t French kissed a guy since she’d cut her tongue on Tim Eberstein’s new braces when he kissed her after band practice in junior high. She’d bled like crazy, drooling a mixture of blood and saliva down the front of her white T-shirt. Tim had shrieked like a girl and run away, and Meg had to go to the nurse’s office and spin a ridiculous story about a wicked paper cut caused by licking envelopes for the spring concert invitations.
It was a less than romantic experience.
Meg shook herself out of the memory. T.J. doesn’t have braces, what are you freaking about …?
It was then Meg realized that although T.J. was standing mere inches from her, his eyes were fixed on something over her right shoulder. She turned and saw that he was staring at a boat.
Well, not a boat. It was huge, forty feet long at least, with a long, pointed bow and a raised pilothouse towering above them. The boat was painted white—like the house—with its name painted in bright red letters up near the bow: Nemesis.
“It’s beautiful.” T.J. sighed.
Really? A boat? An inanimate object was more enticing than she was? This was so exactly her life.
“Man,” T.J. said, sidestepping Meg. “My uncle had one of these when I was a kid. I haven’t seen one in years.”
“Creepy name for a boat.”
“Not just a boat,” he said. “A Grand Alaskan Trawler. They’re perfect for small island travel, personal fishing. Real workhorse.” He unlatched the side boarding gate and climbed on board.
“Oh.” She had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.
“This is probably like early seventies.” He knocked on the side of the boat with his knuckles. “Wooden hull. Portuguese bridge. A total collector’s item. I can’t believe it’s just sitting out here in the middle of nowhere.”
Meg sighed. “Awesome?” She knew next to nothing about boats. Her Upper East Side, New York–transplanted parents hadn’t exactly taken to life on the Seattle coast, and the only boats Meg had ever been on were ferries.
“Totally.” T.J. turned to her and smiled again, his dimples wreaking havoc with her nerves. Then he held his hand out to her. “Come on. I’ll show you the pilothouse.”
Meg stepped aboard and followed T.J. up a short, narrow flight of stairs to the raised pilothouse. The boat showed signs that it had been well taken care of once upon a time, but in the last few years had been totally neglected. The mahogany-lined wheelhouse appeared to be decked out with more modern technologies than would have been available when it was constructed. Modern navigation screens felt anachronistic with the old-fashioned spoked pilot’s wheel and wooden railings that lined the stairs leading belowdecks. And while there were no obvious signs of decay or damage, a thick layer of dust had settled on every surface.
“Damn,” T.J. said, tracing a line in the dust-caked captain’s chair and wiping the remnants on his jeans. “Shame this baby’s just sitting up here. Somebody put a lot of work into her, but beneath the upgrades, this girl is a classic. They don’t make them like this anymore.”
Wow. So T.J. was a boat geek. Who knew? Somehow this knowledge made him slightly less intimidating. “I didn’t realize you knew so much about boats,” Meg said with a half smile.
“Heh,” T.J. said, shuffling his feet. “I don’t share it much.”
“I can see why. It’s pretty nerdy.”
T.J. pried his eyes away from the ship’s gadgets and gizmos and stared at her. The smile dropped from his face and his brows crinkled up like he was trying to figure out if she was making fun of him or not.
“I was just kidding,” Meg said, feeling her face flush red. Why was she such a spaz? “I mean, I’m totally way nerdier than you. I’m a writer, for chrissakes. We’re like the ultimate nerds. And you don’t even want to see my baseball card collection....”
Meg’s voice trailed off. Ah, yes. Cue her verbal diarrhea. So not sexy, Meg.
“I don’t think you’re a nerd,” T.J. said. His voice was soft yet firm, as if he were making a very serious clarification. “Not even a little.”
“Oh.” So he didn’t think she was a nerd. Was that good? Was that bad? Holy crap, why was she so unsure of herself?
T.J. took a step toward her. This time his eyes were fixed fully on her face. “Meg …,” he started, then paused.
“What?” Her voice was breathless, probably caused by the fact that her heart was racing so fast she thought she might pass out.
“Are you okay?”
Why did he keep asking her that? “Yeah.”
T.J. placed a hand against her arm. “You’re trembling.”
Meg hadn’t even noticed but as soon as T.J. mentioned it, her teeth began to chatter again. She was either going hypothermic or the adrenaline rush of being alone with T.J. was spiraling out of control. Probably both.
“Just cold,” she said through chattering teeth.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He let his hand linger on her arm and she could feel his grip tighten slightly through the fabric of her coat. “I didn’t mean to drag you out here in the cold. I just … I wanted to talk to you.”
Meg’s stomach had by this time permanently relocated to her throat. She’d dreamed a hundred times about T.J. proclaiming his undying love for her, but even now, as they were alone together in the boathouse, she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe it was true. He had his pick of girls to choose from. Everyone wanted to go out with T.J. Fletcher. Why on earth would he choose her?
“I know we didn’t talk much after … well, after Homecoming,” he started. She felt his fingers graze the back of her hand. “I mean, I was pretty pissed off and I guess I avoided you after that.”
Homecoming night. She’d been so excited when he asked her to the dance, though it all came crumbling down when Minnie confronted her.
“But I’ve missed you,” T.J. started again. He brought his face close to hers. “Since Gunner and Minnie broke up, I never see you.”
At the mention of Minnie’s name, Meg’s entire body stiffened. Minnie. Oh crap, what would she say if she saw the two of them on the boat together? Minnie would never forgive her if she knew about this conversation. It would crush her. It would ruin their friendship.
T.J. leaned into Meg’s body. “And I guess what I’m trying to say, is that I—”
“We need to look for the radio,” she blurted out. She couldn’t hear anymore. What had she been thinking? She couldn’t date someone her best friend was in love with. That was the ultimate betrayal.
T.J. jerked his head back like Meg had just slapped him. “Huh?”
“The radio.” She pulled away from him and started rifling through the gadgets on the control panel of the wheelhouse. “And then get back to the house.”
“Oh.” T.J. stood still for a moment, then walked over to the captain’s chair. “Right.”
Meg turned her back to him. She wanted to cry. Why couldn’t she at least wait to hear what he had to say? Why did she have to go and make a mess out of everything?
“That’s weird,” T.J. said.
Meg wiped a stray tear off her cheek. “What?”
“The radio’s gone.”
“What?” The tension between them was gone in an instant. Meg peered up to where T.J. pointed above the window.
“Gone. It’s been removed.”