Page 22 of Thin Ice

Then he got his head inside.

The Sea Ray had a deep-V hull and a cabin you could stand up in if you weren't too proud of your posture. Teak trim, curved windshield, a helm console that probably cost more than my mom's car. In the summer, somebody's lake-weekend trophy. In December, wrapped and forgotten, mine by default.

I came up behind him and watched him take it in. The lantern-lit cabin, the blankets, the heater ticking away, the whole glowing pocket of stillness inside a wrapped boat in a frozen lot. Snow on the ground under all of it. And in here, gold light and wool and the smell of cocoa.

"Liam." He turned around, and his face had come all the way undone. "What is this?"

"Our winter hideaway."

"It's — " He sat down slowly on the bench.

"It's shrink-wrap and a camp lantern, man."

"I know." He pulled a blanket over his knees. His voice dropped. "It's perfect."

I felt a rush in my chest. I couldn't buy him anything he couldn't afford, and he was happy with something I could put together with what I had… or what Jerry and his customers had. Either way, my golden boy was happy.

I climbed in and zipped the flap most of the way and the cold sealed out and it was just us and the light and the heater's tick, and I handed him the cocoa because I'd made it for this, for the way his hands would wrap the cup, and I sat down close enough that our shoulders touched.

He told me about his day, avoiding anything about his father. I understood why. He did tell me about his mom for the first time, and a cute story about Frederick the heron.

I told him about the marina. Some of it. The parts that were funny. Jerry's exact tone of voice. I made him laugh twice. I did not tell him it was my entire week. I let him think it was an afternoon, an errand.

"How'd you even swing this?" he said, looking around the cabin. "Jerry just hands you keys now?"

"Jerry trusts me. But Jerry doesn't know. So maybe he shouldn't."

Alex titled his head. "Well, he always liked you." He leaned back against the cabin wall with the cocoa in both hands, his knee pressing warm against mine under the blanket. "That summer ended up being the best summer of my life."

"Because of the manual labor?"

"No, because of you." He looked down at the thermos. "I didn't have a single friend who knew me without my last name attached. And then I showed up here, and you hated me."

"You liked that I hated you?"

"Yeah, because it was real. And everyone else in my life was fake." He took a sip. "Plus, you shared your sandwich with me anyway."

I smiled, leaning my shoulder into his. "PB&J. Crunchy."

"Crunchy."

We were both quiet for a second. The lantern threw soft shadows on the teak, and I could feel his warmth all down my left side, hip to ankle.

"You also took your shirt off at lunch."

He looked at me sideways. "I took my polo off. It was ninety degrees."

"I know why you did it. Your undershirt rode up, and I saw your stomach and I got so turned on."

He turned his head. Full eye contact now, six inches away. "That's why you got weird?"

"Did I?"

"You got weird. You grabbed your water bottle and stared at the lake for two minutes."

I could feel my face getting warm, even now, years later, sitting in a dark boat with the guy. "I didn't know what was happening. I'd never looked at a guy like that before. And then you made that joke about working in your underwear and I started getting turned on."

He stared at me. His thumb had stopped moving on the cup. "I thought I'd offended you."