River Depot is still open—the double doors to the gift shop and general store are still flung wide, the concession stand is still bustling with activity, kids and adults clutching ice cream cones. But everything on the waterfront is shut down. Ellis said canoers can’t be trusted to get back by dusk, so thanks to their ineptitude, we don’t ever work the boats past seven o’clock. Yet here we are at eight o’clock, back at work, while a different crew handles the night crowd.

When I pull in, Aiden is walking away from the parking lot, toward the back of the building, and I follow. I don’t want him to feel like I’m chasing him, so I don’t rush. By the time I turn the corner, he’s talking to the tall blonde whom Ellis introduced as Avery. There’s a tattoo trailing up the inside of her forearm. I nod at Aiden as I approach, and get a warm smile. But instead of talking to him, I turn to Avery.

“We didn’t really get to meet this morning.” I stick my hand out. “I’m Olivia, but you can call me Liv. What was your name?”

Next to her, Aiden smirks.

She smiles. “I’m Beth.”

“Oh.” I feign confusion, and her eyes widen in realization. “I sort of remember it being Allison or Avery, or Addison, or something.” I raise my brows and smile.

“Busted,” she mutters.

“And on my first day,” I chide.

“Sorry, Ellis put us up to it.” She smiles sweetly. “We never would have remembered all of those names, anyway.”

“Well now that I know your name, I have to know what your tattoo says.” I point at her forearm, where a delicate trail of black script runs from wrist to elbow.

“It’s a line from a Frost poem.” She glances down at it like she needs to check that it’s still there. “But you can barely read it.” Then, just as she turns to walk toward the others, standing by the river, she adds, “freshman year,” with a dramatic shake of her head, as if that’s enough of an explanation. Don’t judge, Olivia, you let dice tell you what you were doing tonight.

Aiden steps forward when she leaves. He nods at the girl Beth is approaching. Allison. She’s short and athletic-looking, and her braids aren’t gathered in a ponytail now, like they were this morning. In this light I can see the little glints of gold that are woven in.

“And Allison is Jaz,” Aiden says. “Jasmine, but Ellis says everybody calls her Jaz. The two of them go to Western but are home for the summer.”

“And Adam?” He’s standing near Ellis, by the river, both of them with paddles in their hands.

“That’s Troy,” Aiden says.