And, okay. I’m sort of at a loss for words. Just when I think I have Harlow figured out, she does something to obliterate it. “Thanks,” I manage, and quickly busy myself with my coffee.

“And maybe we’ll see some trees you can cut down or something,” she adds, and bites her bottom lip to keep from smiling.

“Do they even have trees by Barbie’s dream yacht?”

With that, we’re back to normal. The heaviness is gone from my chest, and this ever-evolving tension between us has settled back into its place.

“Have you ever been fishing before?” I ask her.

She hums to herself while turning on the blinker, and merges into the next lane. “A few times up north with my dad. River fishing, though, not ocean. I never really caught anything.”

“That’s because it’s called fishing, not catching, Ginger Snap. Sometimes you’re lucky and sometimes you’re not.”

“Right.” She shifts in her seat and rests her elbow on the door, fingers twisting the ends of her ponytail. “Pretty sure this’ll be different than your usual day of fishing, too. I assume you’re not sacked out in lounge chairs while someone brings you sandwiches and beer.”

“Uh, no.”

“So tell me, Finn. What do you guys do? Do you just throw some lines in the water and wait?”

“Some do.”

“But not you guys.”

I shake my head. “Linda is a seiner, so we fish with nets.”

“Nets, right.” She pauses, looking over at me. “Wait, who’s the captain of your boat?”

“That’d be me, Einstein.”

She gives me a cheeky grin. “Can I call you Captain?”

“No.”

“Can I be your first mate? Will you swab my decks?”

I laugh as she wiggles in her seat. “You’ve lost your damn mind.”

“Just trying to speak your language, Huckleberry.” She merges onto the freeway and spares me a tiny glance once we’re settled in the fast lane. “Okay, we have a little drive before we get to Point Loma. It’s time for you to school me in the art of Vancouver Island fishing.”

I look out at the passing scenery: the blur of the freeway, the houses rushing by, the palm trees. The sky is just starting to lighten up at the edges and there’s something so peaceful about being out here like this. And I’m realizing that I sort of do want to tell Harlow about life on the boat. I like talking to her, and the time we spend together is pretty much the only time I’m not worrying myself toward an ulcer.