Lunar Love (64)

“Last I checked, fish don’t eat paper or flour,” he says. “You want to steer? It’s like driving a car, but instead of asphalt the roads are made of water.”

“You can’t drown in the roads,” I murmur. I shakily waddle over to the middle of the boat and position myself between him and the helm. I tightly grip the sun-warmed silver wheel. “Look, I’m steering!”

Bennett shifts behind me. “You’re doing great!”

Ahead of us, a large boat angles in our direction.

“What do I do?” I scream, rotating the wheel frantically.

“Just stay the course, captain,” he says, wrapping his hands over mine on the wheel. “They’ll move.”

The other boat navigates away from us.

“See? Trust me,” he whispers into my ear. I shiver when his breath meets the side of my neck.

A long, deep breath helps calm me after my slight overreaction. His hands are still covering mine as we steer the boat to our own patch of open sea to free float. When Bennett removes his hands from mine, my fingers immediately feel cold.

“Hungry?” Bennett reaches into the tote bag.

“Very,” I admit, slowly walking to the front of the boat.

Bennett follows closely behind, keeping one hand under my arm to help stabilize me. “I wanted to make you my famous cacio e pepe but thought Italian sub sandwiches were a more practical choice.”

“I love cacio e pepe. Few but quality ingredients. Creamy, spicy, cheesy. It’s—”

“—true love, I remember,” Bennett says.

Bennett reveals a container with two large sandwiches. He holds it out to let me choose from the two options.

“Oh, right. Of course. My original profile.” I pick up one of the sandwiches and study its contents. Between the vinegar-and-oil-drizzled sliced loaves are tomatoes, lettuce, thinly sliced onions, herbs, salami, ham, and a variety of cheeses. My mouth begins to salivate at how fresh the ingredients smell. “These look promising. Should I expect any odd flavor pairings in here?”

Bennett laughs and hands me a plaid paper napkin. “Not this time. I went more traditional for this lunch.”

“Interesting,” I say, curious what his version of traditional tastes like. I sink my teeth into the sandwich. “Yum. My compliments to the chef.”

Bennett lifts his sandwich in the air. “Great, I’ll let Elvis know!” His laugh is lost in the waves, but seeing his lit-up face is all it takes to make my heart flutter. He prepares the rest of our meal of chips, precut watermelon slices, and bubbly water.

A gust of wind sends my hair flying into my face. Bennett lifts his hand up next to my cheek and pauses. “Do you mind?”

I shake my head. He gently pushes a strand of hair back behind my ear before pulling off his baseball cap and offering it to me.

I reluctantly accept, wiggling his hat over my head, the inside of the cap still warm. “Thanks,” I say softly.

Bennett takes a sip of bubbly water, smiling at me with his eyes. “What is it about the ocean that scares you?”

I pop a chip into my mouth and adjust my grip on the railing. “When you’re in the ocean, you have no idea what’s swimming beneath you.” A certain parasite comes to mind. “Right now there could be a twelve-foot eel beneath us, and we would never know. And I used to think sharks somehow had access to pools—you know, through the drains—so you can imagine how wild my imagination goes when it comes to the ocean. Also, drowning and riptides.”

“All completely valid reasons.” Bennett’s face remains unchanged, unjudgmental. “I used to be scared of the water, too,” he continues when I don’t respond. “I was at a birthday pool party where we had to take a swim test to participate. Guess who didn’t pass?” He points a finger at himself. “I was terrified of not being able to breathe underwater, so I had a tough time learning how to swim. I pretty much flailed around for five minutes in front of all my friends. It was so embarrassing that it took a couple of years before my mom could persuade me to swim again.”

“How did she convince you?” I ask.

“She surprised me with water wing arm floaties that had shark fins attached to the sides,” he says, motioning toward his arms. “She said that when I wore them, it meant she’d be right there beside me. And that when I did the breaststroke, it would look like I was swimming with sharks. She made it sound really badass. Mind you, I was five. It took some time but I eventually learned how to swim on my own.”

“Your mom sounded like a smart woman.”

Bennett’s smile vanishes as he looks out at the ocean. “The smartest,” he says quietly.

I reach for his hand and give it a light squeeze. “Maybe we overcome our fear of our businesses failing by learning how to swim. Metaphorically, of course.”

His smile reappears, dimples and all. “We’ll just have to find adult-sized shark fin floaties. You know, swimming with the sharks isn’t terribly far off from how it feels to run a business. Because of their olfactory organs, sharks have acute senses of smell and can detect low concentrations of odors that help them identify prey or potential mates. They’re incredibly aware of their environment and are impressively in tune with what’s around them and what they need to do to survive.”