A white guy comes out of the kitchen wearing a red Number One Jimmies T-shirt with a dirty apron double-tied around his waist. He’s a few years older than Willa, and Wyatt introduces him as Mike. After the nice-to-meet-you pleasantries, Mike asks, “What’d you bring me?”

“Half a dozen jimmies and a couple of sooks that’ll be good for cakes,” Wyatt says, handing him the bucket. “Steam up the four fattest for us, and you can keep the rest.”

“You want some shrimp?”

“That’d be great. Thanks.”

“Was that English you were speaking?” Willa asks as she follows Wyatt to a table outside. “Because I couldn’t understand a word of it.”

“Jimmies are male crabs,” he explains, sitting down across from her. “Sooks are females. And the number is the size equivalent. So, number one jimmies are the biggest, meatiest males. Number twos are smaller males that are less meaty, but still desirable. Threes are the smallest, usually female.”

“That sounds sexist.”

Wyatt waves his white paper napkin like a surrender flag. “No social implications here. Just crab physiology.”

In the hours since they met this morning, Willa has discovered there’s more to this boy than a handsome face. She likes the way his brain works and his sense of humor, and the way he seems completely at ease with his place in the world. Still, she really likes his face a whole lot. “What happens now?”

“Mike’s going to steam our jimmies with shrimp, red potatoes, corn on the cob, sweet onions, and some andouille sausage,” he says. “And then we’re going to eat ourselves into a coma.”

“After a month of living mostly on rice, Top Ramen, and instant mac and cheese, I am down for this,” she says. “I almost feel bad for leaving Taylor behind.”

“I don’t feel bad at all.”

Willa falters as she realizes she had a similar conversation with Campbell when they went to the movies in Minetto, but she reminds herself that this is not the same. Taylor practically pushed her out the door—and Wyatt is nothing like Campbell.

She smiles. “I said almost.”

“Willa,” he says. “Would you mind if I move to that side of the table so I can kiss you?”

“How fast can you get over here?”

Wyatt drops backward onto the bench beside her and leans over, touching his fingertips to the baby curls at the nape of her neck as their lips meet. The first kiss is fleeting, barely a kiss at all, but his mouth immediately returns for a second. Then a third.

“I’m glad you showed up on the gas dock this morning and confused me into hanging out with you,” he says, touching his forehead against hers.

“It really was some of my best work.”