Alice reclined on the boat’s railing and took a photo of herself with the beauty of the creek behind her. She captioned it, Not just a sea breeze; no broccolini in sight and snapchatted it to Tim. As she slid the phone back into her pocket, movement caught her eye. She saw Nick standing on the jetty holding a cardboard tray with four bright blue travel coffee cups and a white bakery bag. It was a Monday morning tradition for the boss to buy coffee, although Alice had passed on an order this morning. Tim’s texts were making her jittery enough without adding artificial stimulants. Nick was talking to someone who had their back to Alice, and while his face was in shadow, the tense square of his shoulders showed he wasn’t the relaxed man who’d greeted her earlier.

At first, Alice assumed the woman must be a disgruntled customer. But when she turned and her profile came into view, Alice realized it was Jess. Libby’s friend had her arms crossed tightly and was radiating taut displeasure. Alice was familiar with that look—back in the day it had been leveled at her often. Alice knew Libby was disappointed that Nick had hired Enza’s niece, but Alice was secretly relieved. Having Jess in the office would have taken the shine off working for the Pirellis. Had Jess come down to berate Nick about the job? Alice wouldn’t put it past her.

Miaow! Alice knew her catty thought was unjustified. As much as it pained her that she’d failed at being her twin’s best friend, she couldn’t fault Jess’s loyalty to Libby or the support she’d given her since Dom’s unexpected death. And Libby had told Alice that Jess was hesitant about working for Nick due to a conflict of interests between the two businesses. Right now, Jess’s professionalism aced Alice’s, given she’d just wasted ten minutes texting and staring down the jetty. Propelling herself back to work, she clambered down the stairs and tackled the filthy galley.

Three hours later, her back ached but the boat sparkled and she was full of the satisfaction of a job well done. She gathered her cleaning equipment and, buckets slung on her arms, walked along the jetty toward the office.

A young girl, who could have been late elementary or middle school age—Alice found it hard to tell—was sitting on the boards, legs dangling. A sketch pad lay in her lap and a tin of colored pencils sat next to her. She held a pink one and the tip of her tongue peeked out from between her lips as she concentrated on drawing a very realistic representation of a pelican that was perched regally on top of a pylon. As much as Alice hated it when strangers commented on her own work mid-flow, given the age of the kid and the skill of the art, she couldn’t help herself.

“Wow! That’s awesome.”

The girl glanced up from under her hat. “I haven’t got the beak right.”