Nowhere but Here by Renee Carlino Page A

down my cheeks, and I shivered. I felt cherished, and even though I wasn’t sure where it would go with Jamie, I was enjoying every minute of the ride.
    He moved from behind me. “Here, sit, I’ll wrap you up. It’s getting cold.”
    I sat on the bench to his left on the low side of the boat. He handed me my wineglass from the cupholder and then quickly wrapped the blanket around me before getting back to the wheel. “We’re going to jibe. Normally the captain would say ‘prepare to jibe.’ ”
    “That sounds fun,” I shouted giddily over the sound of the waves.
    “It just means we’re turning with the wind, but the mast is going to swing around quickly. Keep your head down.”
    “Aye, aye, Captain.”
    We headed back to the docks in Sausalito. The entire way back, neither one of us spoke; we just took it all in. Every once in a while I would steal glances at Jamie, only to find him watching me and smiling. Once we parked in the slip, it took him about twenty minutes to put the covers on everything and tie up the sails. He slung an arm around my shoulders as we headed back to the truck, and then he opened my door for me. “Hop up, cutie.” He ran his hand across my hair as I got in. I immediately looked in the visor mirror and discovered a red-cheeked, windblown, wreck of a woman. He was teasing me by making me self-aware about my hair. Quickly wrapping my frizzy locks in a bun, I turned toward him as he got in the driver’s side.
    “You were making fun of me, jerk.”
    “I was just playing with you.” His eyes dropped to my mouth. I shook from a chill.
    “You’re still cold.” He took off his jacket and draped it over my legs. I watched him, completely mesmerized, as he opened the black case from the compartment between us, pulled out the pen, and stabbed the skin on his stomach with a needle full of insulin. No blood that time. We were back on the road in seconds.
    “Chef Mark is making us dinner but the restaurant will be closed. It closes early on Wednesdays for karaoke night.”
    “You’re kidding?”
    “Not at all. We take our karaoke very seriously at R. J. Lawson.”
    “I am the karaoke queen.”
    He laughed. “Well, I am known far and wide in these parts as the white Otis Redding.”
    “Oh, we are so doing a duet. Which song should we do?”
    We were silent for a few moments, and then in unison both of us shouted, “Tramp!”
    We practically skipped through the parking lot and into the restaurant, which was already full of people directing their attention to a small stage set up in the corner. Judging by the turnout, karaoke was a very popular activity with the locals. I started feeling nervous about my performance until a very drunk group of women, who looked to be in their fifties, sang a horrible rendition of “Vacation” by the Go-Go’s.
    We sat at the kitchen bar where a waitress immediately brought out the plates Chef Mark had prepared for us. I had seafood stew in a light tomato sauce with French bread on the side. It smelled divine. Jamie had some kind of white fish. When he saw it, he smiled. “Oh good, we can share,” he said, boyishly. He grabbed a bottle of chardonnay from the kitchen. It was from a different winery, and I quirked an eyebrow at him. “We like to know what our competition is up to.”
    “Really?” I had to shout over the painful sounds coming from the speakers.
    “No, we serve a few other wines here.” He laughed. “Some of our neighborhood friends.”
    “I see,” I said, smiling. The winery really was becoming a magical and friendly place in my mind.
    He walked over and said something to the guy manning the karaoke equipment.
    When he came back, he leaned down toward my ear. “It’s so on.” I laughed and dove into my dinner. I drank three full glasses of wine while Jamie sipped his tiny portion.
    “Are you trying to get me drunk so you can show me up?”
    “Yes, that’s my strategy.”
    “But we’re doing a duet. I could make you look