Maileah leaned into the wind as they got underway, letting the sea mist cool her face. She watched Sailor, confident at the wheel. He was at ease on the ocean, though he wasn’t neglectful. He scanned the sea with a practiced eye.
They soon passed the lively Ferry Cafe and continued skirting the island.
“Have you seen Crown Island from this side?” he asked.
“It’s been years.” Under the rising full moon, she made out hidden coves and beaches. Sailor pointed out landmarks, spinning tales of shipwrecks and pirates that made Maileah laugh.
“But seriously,” he said. “Some swear there are kraken in these parts that can take down any boat.”
“Sea monsters?” She hugged her sweatshirt closer and shivered.
“Aye,” Sailor replied with a deadly serious expression. “Pacific cousins of the giant Norwegian ones. Only fools venture out on moonless nights around here.”
“Now you’re making that up.”
Sailor clutched his chest in mock offense. “But would you take the chance?”
“You’re incorrigible,” she said, laughing.
As they rounded the island, music drifted across the water. Sailor guided the boat into a small inlet, where a cluster of lights twinkled onshore.
“What is this place?” Maileah asked as they docked.
“Only the best fish tacos this side of the equator,” Sailor replied, helping her onto the pier. “My mother used to bring us here. Some of her cousins run it now.”
They followed the music to a take-out structure. Beside it, grills blazed on one side, and mouthwatering aromas of grilled fish filled the air. On the other, families feasted at wooden picnic tables.
A small group carrying instruments—guitars, a violin, and a horn—strolled around singing Mexican mariachi songs. Several children called to Sailor and sprinted toward them.
“Hola. ¿Qué tal?Sailor bumped fists with the kids.¿Cómo te va?”
The children giggled while the parents welcomed him like family. He shook hands with the older men. A couple of the women hugged him. Maileah felt curious eyes on her.
“I teach surfing and water safety to many of these kids,” he explained.
Maileah was impressed by how everyone gravitated toward him. He conversed easily in Spanish with a few white-hairedabuelas, switching to a formal, respectful version with them.
She drew on what few language skills she remembered from school. She might not have spoken perfectly, but she got her point across, and people welcomed her, too.
Sailor gestured to the chalkboard menu, casually touching her shoulder as he did. “That’s the fresh catch for today. Whatever was biting today is what’s for dinner.”
All the offerings looked and smelled so delicious that Maileah could hardly decide. “What are your favorites?”
“Everything is fabulous,” he said with a chef’s kiss on his fingers. “The tacos with grilled tilapia are outstanding. I’m going for a couple of those and the grilled bimac.”
“The—what’s that?”
He wiggled his fingers. “Local octopus. It’s pretty good.”
Maileah arched an eyebrow. “That’s all yours. I’ll stay with the fish tacos.”
“Think of it as calamari.” He gave her a quizzical look. “I thought you were more adventurous than that.”
“Even I have my limits,” she said, grinning. She enjoyed the easy banter they had.
Sailor ordered their grilled fish, along with lime-infused ceviche, guacamole, and icy margaritas that came out first.
They piled garnishes from large bowls on a side table into small cups. Shredded cabbage, cilantro, tomatoes, and onion. They moved on to various flavors of salsa: traditional roja andverde salsas, pico de gallo, salsa fresca with mango and pineapple, and grilled tomatillo salsa verde.
