“I’m originally from outside Nashville,” Amy says. “And Norm is from Baltimore. We met out here on the loop several years ago, and the four of us—including our former spouses—became great friends. After my husband and I divorced and Norm’s wife lost a battle with pancreatic cancer, we kinda fell for each other.”

“That’s sad,” Taylor says. “And romantic.”

Amy nods. “It’s both. But I love the stuffin’ outta him.”

Norm just shakes his head as he changes the channel. “Same here.”

A timer dings and Amy pulls a pan from the oven, sending the scent of meat and tomato sauce wafting through the boat. Willa’s stomach rumbles.

“Taylor,” Amy says, “if you wouldn’t mind grabbing the salad . . . and Willa, hon, would you bring the garlic bread? It’s right there in the basket on the counter.”

Soon they’re all settled around the table with plates of steaming lasagna. Actual plates, not plastic. Silverware that matches. Drinking glasses with—sweet Jesus!—ice cubes.

“What we need is a trawler,” Willa says.

“Or maybe you could just adopt us,” Taylor suggests, making Amy hoot. Then, “Okay, I have to know. Are you the Captain Norm? The one who wrote Getting Loopy with Captain Norm?”

Amy claps her hand together and beams. “See, Norm, I told you people would buy your book. You have fans!”

“I knew it!” Taylor exclaims. “Your book is super helpful. We use it every day.”

“No exaggeration,” Willa agrees.

Norm’s face is flushed as he offers them a closemouthed smile. “Thanks.”

“Maybe after dinner we can get a picture of you with the girls,” Amy suggests.

He rolls his eyes, but after Willa and Taylor help with the dishes, Amy pulls out her digital camera. Norm is patient as his wife snaps what feels like a hundred photos, each time saying, “Oh, that is just precious. Let me get another one.”

“Would you mind if I run back to the boat to get the book for you to sign?” Taylor asks.

“I s’pose that would be all right,” he says.

Willa waits until Taylor is off the boat, then says, “Tomorrow is Taylor’s eighteenth birthday. Would you be willing to let me borrow your oven to bake her a cake? We only have a camp stove and—”

“Oh, honey, of course,” Amy interrupts. “Do you need a cake mix because I have cake and frosting and—we’ll throw her a party. What’s her favorite kind of food?”

“She loves tacos.”

“Okay, so tomorrow morning we’ll have Norm keep her busy while you and I run to the grocery store for taco fixings and balloons and such.” Amy wanders toward the galley, talking more to herself than to anyone else. “We’ll need candles, I think.”

“Now you’ve gone and revved her up,” Norm says.

“How can you tell?”

He sniffs a laugh. “Good point. Taylor can help me scrub the hull.”