Warm wind whipped through your hair, the usually unyielding humidity of New England summers was abated somewhat by the faint spray of seawater that leapt up the sides of the boat. Leaning against the railing, you peered out across the waves, trying to spot where you were staying from the small white specks that littered the distant shore.

In truth, you didn’t know what to expect when your parents invited you to come stay with them for a stint of their vacation. The house they were renting was in a nice area, a mix between older, more traditional bungalows, and fancier, more lavish vacation homes. You’d only just arrived, setting your bags down by the door. It wasn't even five seconds after you’d made a passing remark about wanting to take a boat ride that your mom was ushering you back out the door toward the neighbor’s house– saying something about how they would ‘love to take me’.

If Caswell had been the one to answer the door when you knocked, it would've been slammed right back in your face. Luckily for you (but unluckily for him) it was his mother who answered. Mrs. Rand was thrilled, not just to meet you, but to inspect you. To what end you had no clue, but it would appear you passed. She let out a thoughtful hum before informing you that she had a son around your age, and that he would be waiting in the harbor for you with their boat in an hour’s time.

Just as promised, there he was, though visibly reluctantly so. Caswell Rand stood at the end of one of the harbor’s many docks, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, his hair a crisp platinum blond– one you’re sure he had the money to keep from going green every summer from over chlorinated pools. A golden retriever sat beside him, one Caswell was petting idly between turning the page on his paperback. The dog’s tail thumped happily against the navy blue hull of a docked speedboat. It looked pristine, not sun bleached like many of the others around it, with luxurious cream cushions, the boat itself adorned with white and wood accents alike. The whole scene was rather picture-perfect; like something out of a catalog that would have sat on your coffee table collecting dust as a kid.

As you approached him, it dawned on you that Caswell looked like the kind of asshole who should have an apple to take a bite out of. His resting face seemed to be an effortless scowl, yet he helped you onto the boat all the same with a careful hand, before steering it out of the harbor with ease. Despite the staunch furrow of his brow, in the captain’s chair Caswell relaxed somewhat. He slumped back against the backrest, wrists lazily draped over the wheel while he eyed you.

You were perched at the bow, putting a little too much trust in the tide, as you extended an arm over the metal rail. Caswell’s dog, Ponzi, stood watch a few feet away, his tail low with focus. The dog let out a warning bark when you suddenly recoiled at the frigid feeling of water droplets spattering against your skin.

“If you fall in I’m not going back for you.” Caswell’s raspy voice tore you from your thoughts, and you pulled back from your precarious position to look at him properly. Whatever your expression had been in that moment, it was clear Caswell wasn’t a fan because he scoffed, rolling his eyes as he took a hand off of the steering wheel to gesture vaguely.

“What? You should be grateful I agreed to take you out at all. This is my vacation too you know, and there are myriad things I’d rather be doing than playing tour guide for the likes of… you.”