Arsen looks to me and I shrug a shoulder.

“The girls say it’s too crowded, vacationers and whatnot.”

He nods, slips his hand in mine and with quicker steps, leads us straight for it.

Just before the pier, there are several small stores and privately owned restaurants. Arsen gets in line at a small deli for something to drink, so I snag my wallet and pop into a board shop next door, buying an outfit my mother would die if she saw. A matching sweatsuit with ‘California’ printed along the chest and down the left leg. I even grab some flip-flops to throw on with it.

It’s a total tourist purchase, but I couldn’t wear my “Anthony approved” nylon skirt and blouse any longer. This is comfortable, and apparently, that’s what I need right now.

Comfort.

The store owner is nice enough to let me wear it out, and when I reach Arsen, he laughs at my outfit.

“Hey, it was either this or a tie-dyed onesie with a giant marijuana leaf on the front, okay?”

He lifts his hands, fighting a grin, and I steal one of the lemonades from his hand, shoving him with my other. We stuff my wallet and clothes with my other items in the backpack, and then his arm comes around me and he steers us toward the pier.

Walking all the way out, we look over the edge at the deep dark waters, but then he curves us around the other end.

The moment we do, I spot two familiar figures.

Ransom and Beretta, among several others, are tugging on a large red rope. They each seem to have their own and as the ropes pile higher on the wooden dock beneath us, a loud clanking fills the air. An aluminum cage of some sort comes into view and they lift it up and over the railing.

My mouth drops open when I spot the half dozen crabs inside.

“Holy shit,” I say out loud, and at the sound of my voice, both their heads jerk our way.

Ransom frowns, looking from me to Arsen, but then his eyes come back to mine and lower. It’s Beretta who laughs first.

“Don’t even.” I chuckle, stuffing my hands in the pocket in the front of the hoodie.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, Beretta empties the contents of his cage into a large ice chest with holes in the top and then tugs his gloves off, tossing them to the ground, while Ransom moves over to the next station, helping them with theirs.

Beretta’s grin is wide as he walks over. “Hey, I’m into it. You almost look like you belong.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” I look beyond him at all the crabs Ransom shakes from the little trap box.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Beretta asks.

“Yeah, I never would have thought. Is this, I mean, is it—”