Page 38 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

we sail the ocean blue

I ’m standing in front of my closet in nothing but my underwear and having a midlife crisis at the ripe age of eighteen.

“Too casual,” I mutter, tossing aside my favorite pair of jeans. “Too formal.” The button-down joins the growing pile of clothes on my bed. “Too theater kid.” My Phantom of the Opera shirt lands on Robbie’s flip-flops.

“What’s happening in here?” Adam appears in the doorway with a coffee mug in his hand. “Did your closet explode?”

“I can’t find anything to wear.” I hold up two shirts—one navy, one green. “Which one says ‘I’m approachable but also date-worthy’ without screaming ‘I’ve been planning this outfit for three days?’”

“You have been planning this outfit for three days,” Robbie says, squeezing past Adam to flop onto my bed, carefully avoiding my clothing avalanche. “I’ve watched you.”

Adam sets down his coffee and sorts through my discarded options. “Okay, first of all, it’s a boat. You need to wear something that you’re fine with getting wet.”

“But not something that says I’m expecting to get wet,” I counter. “That would be presumptuous.”

“Presumptuous?” Robbie laughs. “Kev, it’s a boat. Getting wet is part of the experience.”

I grab a pair of khaki shorts from my drawer. “These?”

“Absolutely not,” both brothers say in unison.

“They make your butt look weird,” Robbie adds helpfully.

“They do?” I ask, appalled.

“Yes. We should have told you sooner, but how did we know you were going to wear them all summer?” Adam pulls out my light blue swim trunks with the small pineapple print. “Here, wear these.”

“Pineapples might be trying too hard,” I mumble.

“The pineapples are subtle,” Adam insists. “You have to get up close to notice them.”

“Oh, I bet Hart will volunteer to get up close,” Robbie singsongs, dodging the flip-flop I throw at him.

“What about up top?” I gesture at my bare chest. “Tank top? T-shirt? Do I bring layers?”

Adam and Robbie exchange a look I’ve seen a thousand times—the silent communication of brothers who’ve shared everything from chicken pox to driving lessons.

“This is serious for you,” Adam says, his teasing tone softening.

“Duh, it’s serious. Jameson said he wants to finish our beach conversation.” I sit on the edge of my bed, suddenly exhausted, even though it’s only four in the morning. “What if today changes everything?”

Robbie scoots closer to me and throws an arm around my shoulders. I lean on him, seeking his comfort. “Then it changes everything. That’s not necessarily bad.”

“But what if?—”

“Nope.” Adam holds up a hand. “No what-ifs. We’re going to get you dressed, and you’re going to have an amazing day on the water. Whatever happens, happens. You need to quit being dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic!”

“You’re having a costume crisis,” Robbie points out. “That is the most theater-kid thing ever.”

“It’s not a costume, it’s an outfit.” I stand up as renewed determination flows through me. “But you know what? You’re right. I’m overthinking this.”

“Finally, he sees reason,” Adam says to the heavens.

“Help me.” I turn to face them both, hands on my hips. “I need your honest opinions. What would you wear if you were trying to impress someone without coming off as if you’re trying to impress them?”

Robbie grins. “Oh, we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this.”

“Then we need music.” Robbie connects his phone to the speaker on our shared desk. “If we’re playing dress-up, we’re doing it right.”

The opening notes of “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo” fill the room, and I groan. “Seriously?”

“You’re getting ready for your prince,” Robbie says, grabbing a plain white T-shirt from my drawer and tossing it to Adam. “That makes you Cinderella.”

“Which makes us your mice,” Adam adds, holding up the shirt to my chest. “Too boring. Next.”

“I hate you both.”

“No, you don’t.” Robbie pulls out a light gray tank top with a solid white stripe across the chest. “Try this.”

I slip it on, and they circle me like fashion critics at a runway show.

“Shows off your arms,” Adam notes. “You have good arms.”

“I do?”

“All that arm choreography has finally paid off.” Robbie nods approvingly. “But is it too much skin?” He tosses me a navy T-shirt with a small anchor on the pocket. “This. Nautical but not costumey.”

I put on the shirt while Adam selects accessories—my watch, sunglasses, and the leather bracelet Rita gave me for my birthday.

“Shoes?” I ask.

“Your white sneakers,” they say together.

“They’ll get ruined.”

“They’re already beat up,” Adam points out. “Plus, they’re comfortable. You don’t want to be worried about your feet all day.”

Robbie sings along to the fairy godmother’s song, shakes his butt, and does jazz hands.

“I’m begging you to stop,” I say, but then Adam joins in, using my hairbrush as a wand.

Ignoring them, I take in my appearance in the mirror on the back of the closet door. The outfit works. It’s very appropriate for a boat, and nice enough that I won’t be underdressed next to Jameson’s perpetual golden boy glow.

“You look good, Kev,” Adam says seriously. “Really good.”

“Very kissable,” Robbie adds with a wink and a kiss to my cheek.

“We’re not going to kiss. We’re going to talk.”

“On a romantic boat ride,” Robbie says.

“With the boy you’ve been crushing on all summer,” Adam adds.

“Who specifically requested your presence,” Robbie continues.

“And who’s been texting you constantly,” Adam piles on.

“And who held your hand during your beach date,” they finish in unison.

“Okay, okay!” I hold up my hands in surrender. “I get it. Maybe it is somewhat romantic.”

“ Somewhat? ” Robbie falls back dramatically onto my bed. “Kevin, the boy is taking you on a boat. Do you know how many romantic movie scenes happen on boats?”

“Name one.”

“ The Notebook! ”

“They were in a rowboat surrounded by swans. This is a motorboat surrounded by…fish, probably.”

“Same energy,” Robbie insists.

Adam checks his phone. “We should head out soon. Don’t want to be late.”

My stomach flips. “Right. Soon. Because this is happening.”

“Hey.” Adam puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “You’re going to be fine. Better than fine. You’re going to be yourself, and that’s exactly who Hart wants to spend the day with.”

I take one last look in the mirror. The boy staring back is no longer an afterthought. He’s someone ready for whatever the day may bring.

“Okay,” I say, grabbing my backpack with sunscreen, water, and an extra shirt—because I’m still me, and I need backup options. “Let’s do this.”

“That’s our Cinderella,” Robbie says, hopping up. “Ready for the ball. Or the boat. Whatever.”

“Just promise me no more Disney songs,” I beg as we head for the stairs.

“No promises,” they say together. And then Adam starts humming “Kiss the Girl.”

“I’m finding new brothers.”

Dad pulls into the marina parking lot, and my nerves are at an all-time high. The morning sun glints off the rows of boats, their masts reaching toward a sky so blue it almost looks fake.

“Alright, troops,” Dad says, sliding the side door open. “Everyone out.”

Salt air fills my lungs as I step out of the minivan and spot Jameson’s Honda parked nearby. Rita tumbles out after me, her beach bag overflowing with what must be enough supplies for a week-long voyage. She’s wearing oversized sunglasses and a white sundress over her swimsuit.

“This is so exciting!” She scans the dock. “Which one is it?”

“The big one,” Robbie says, pointing toward the end of the pier where a gleaming white yacht sits.

“Holy crap, that’s not a boat. That’s a floating mansion.” Rita’s jaw is on the pier, as is mine. “Kevin, we’re living an episode of Below Deck !”

The yacht has multiple levels, a hot tub on the upper deck, and enough chrome to blind someone. My simple anchor shirt is suddenly inadequate.

“Hey!” Jameson’s voice carries across the water. He’s standing on the boat’s deck, waving enthusiastically. The morning light turns his hair into spun gold, and his smile is bright enough to power a small city. “Over here!”

Beside him, Ethan jumps up and down, and next to them stands a man who can only be their uncle.

“Oh my,” Rita breathes beside me.

I understand her reaction immediately. Jameson’s uncle must be a model.

He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with the kind of silver-streaked dark hair that suggests distinguished rather than old.

He’s wearing khaki shorts and a crisp white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, revealing tanned forearms. When he smiles, it’s easy to see the family resemblance—same dimples, same devastating effect.

“That’s the uncle?” Rita whispers. “Why did no one mention he looks like that?”

Robbie’s expression darkens slightly. “He’s old.”

“He’s distinguished,” Rita corrects, still staring.

Dad falls into step beside me, and I notice he’s carrying his coaching whistle. Because apparently, we’re treating this as a team outing.

“Marcus!” a deep voice calls out as we approach. Jameson’s uncle extends a hand to help us board. “I’m Damien Hart. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Dad says, shaking his hand with that firm grip he uses to establish dominance. “Thanks for having the kids out. Beautiful boat.”

“She’s my baby,” Damien says with obvious pride. “Got her last month. Been dying to take her for a proper spin.”

Rita accepts his offered hand to step aboard, and I swear she holds on a second longer than necessary. “I’m Rita. Thank you so much for inviting us, Mr. Hart.”

“Please, call me Damien.” His smile is megawatt. “Any friend of Jameson’s is welcome aboard.”

Robbie practically shoves past Rita to introduce himself, positioning his body slightly between her and Damien. “I’m Robbie. That’s Kevin, my brother. We’re triplets. With Adam. He’s not here yet. But he will be. Soon.”

“Breathe, dude,” Ethan says, grinning. “You’re gonna pass out.”

Jameson moves to my side as the introductions continue. “Hey,” he says softly. “You made it.”

“Like I’d miss this.” I gesture at the boat. “This is incredible.”