“I’m going to crack open your mind for making me do this, Lucky Karras.” The only thing saving him is that even though I can’t see his spectacular hips at the moment, he’s smiling down at me with that beautiful smile of his, and his hair is a particularly floppy mess today, and it’s all driving me a little wild. All of it. All of him: the adorable parts, the sexy parts, and the parts that did all this research.

This is a much bigger boat than Big-Enough. I wouldn’t call it a party boat, but it’s big enough for several people to take out fishing. I just wish it was someone else instead of me. Especially when Lucky forces me to strap on an ugly orange life jacket—“them’s the rules”—and leads me up four steps to a covered cabin with the boat’s controls and two seats. From here, I can see the deserted boatyard and the backs of all the brick warehouses that line the South Harbor. I can even see the Quarterdeck Coffeehouse, which is where I’d rather be right now.

“Deep breath,” he tells me. “And watch the horizon.”

That’s exactly what I do as Lucky starts up the rumbling engine of the Narwhal. Abandoning the lollipop in a wrapper inside my shorts pocket, I go for the stronger ginger gum, chewing down on it like a camel as Lucky maneuvers the boat around the Karrases’ small dock. Then we motor through the harbor.

I try not to look at anything, but I can tell we’re going the opposite direction from where we went in the smaller boat that first evening. Every once in a while, I allow my eyes to dart away from the horizon—toward the disappearing Harborwalk, cobbled streets, and bright flags blowing in the bay breeze. We’re up so much higher in this boat. It’s strange to be out here, to see it all from this point of view.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Don’t talk to me. I’m trying to concentrate on the horizon.”

“We’re almost there. You’re doing great.”

A few bigger yachts cut through the water near us, a few sailboats, too, but Lucky veers around them gracefully. At least I thought. When I watch the last turn, I feel the queasiness begin to rise up in me—it starts in the back of my cheeks and with a cold sort of sweat that sweeps over my brow.

“Oh no,” I tell Lucky.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “We’re just about where I wanted to be. Yep. Okay. I’m shutting the engine off. Look at the horizon. Are you focused on that?”

“Ugh.”

I feel the boat sway, then it goes quiet. Then it stops. After some loud grinding noise, Lucky puts a hand on the back of my neck. “You all right?”

“Think so.”