“We’re not a huge industrial port like some. Though we get a fair amount of trade boats and fishermen in our waters, and there’s a nice-sized lobster farm about a mile up the shore.” At some point on their walk, Neil had released her hand, but he stood close enough now that his shoulder brushed hers as he pointed. “That’s the dock we want.”

She followed him down the pier and onto a wobbling wooden dock surrounded by smaller boats. He pointed again, this time toward a boat with The Marilyn painted in hunter green on its hull.

“It’s Wilder’s.”

Ah. Wilder Monroe. “As in Marilyn Monroe. Does he live on that thing?”

Neil nodded. “Most of the time. Now you see why he hangs around the house so often. Sometimes when your room’s empty, he even stays at the house.”

Her room.

“He claims he loves living on the water—it’s how he grew up, just him and his dad—but I think every once in a while he appreciates a bed that doesn’t sway at night.”

“We’re going out on it?”

His mischievous grin did something to her insides, sent warmth feathering through her that only intensified when he grabbed her hand again, leading her onto the wobbling deck and over the edge of the boat.

Once on the boat, he handed her the pie and ducked under a small door, returning in seconds holding up two plastic forks. From there, he steered her up the ladder to a deck at the top of the boat.

She paused at the top of the ladder. “I’m still not sure what we’re doing here.”

That grin again. “The pie, lass.” He retrieved it from her hands, then lowered to the deck floor, crossed his legs, looked up at her. “Don’t make me eat the whole thing myself.”

“We’re going to eat straight from the dish?” She dropped down across from him.

He tucked a fork straight into the center of the pie, came up with a bite. Held it toward her. “Too many questions. Not enough eating.”

Well, then. She took the fork. As her mouth closed around the bite, her eyes shuttered too. Heavenly. The berry flavor burst on her tongue, the crust buttery and flaky. “Oh my word, I’m an amazing baker.”

At Neil’s laughter, its perfect timbre familiar by now, she opened her eyes. A faint red tinged his cheeks and his nose. He’d shaved yesterday, she’d been startled to notice. Even more startled by the dimples on both sides of his mouth. How was it those twin dimples somehow did him even more favors through his thin five-o’clock shadow tonight?

Stop staring. “Fine, Maggie’s the amazing baker. I’m just really good at following her recipe and obeying her instructions.”