Page 39 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

“Want the grand tour?” His hand brushes mine briefly, and I wonder if it was accidental because his eyes linger on my face a beat too long. “I’ve been learning all the nautical terms to impress you.”

My cheeks warm. “Lead the way then, Captain.”

“Oh, I like that. Call me captain more often.” He winks, then raises his voice. “Alright, everyone! Welcome aboard the Serendipity. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you around.”

The main deck is made of gleaming wood and features white leather. There’s a full bar area with a granite countertop, built-in coolers, and enough seating for twice our group. Jameson points out the various features with unbridled enthusiasm.

“This is the cockpit—that’s where Uncle D drives. Digital navigation, autopilot, the works.” He runs his hand along the pristine dashboard. “She can do forty knots, but we’ll probably keep it reasonable today.”

“Forty knots?” I ask. “Is that fast?”

“About forty-six miles per hour,” Dad supplies. “Pretty quick for a boat this size.”

“Someone’s been doing research,” Damien says approvingly.

We move through the main cabin, which resembles a luxury apartment condensed into a boat form. There’s a full galley with stainless steel appliances and marble countertops. A dining area with U-shaped seating. Even a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.

“Three staterooms below,” Jameson continues, leading us down a narrow staircase. “Master suite, guest room, and bunk room.”

Rita peeks into the master suite and lets out a low whistle. “This is nicer than my bedroom. And my room isn’t small.”

“The bathroom in the master suite has a bidet,” Ethan adds. “I already called dibs if anyone needs to go.”

“Ethan,” Damien says mildly. “What did we discuss about oversharing?”

“That it makes people uncomfortable, but I should do it anyway?”

“Close enough.”

Back on deck, Jameson shows us the upper level, and the hot tub. “Six-person capacity,” he notes.

“Life jackets are in the compartments along the sides,” Damien says, shifting into responsible adult mode. “I know you all can swim, but safety first. There’s also sunscreen in the baskets by each seating area. The sun can be brutal on the water.”

“Where’s the sound system?” Robbie asks, already scoping out spots for his speaker.

“Built-in,” Damien says, pulling out his phone. “Bluetooth enabled, surround sound, weatherproof speakers throughout.”

Robbie’s eyes light up. “Can I?—”

“No,” everyone says simultaneously.

“You guys are the worst.”

A horn honks from the parking lot, and we turn to see Adam jogging down the dock, Matthew and Tyler flanking him. They’re all carrying coolers and bags, their flip-flops slapping against the dock.

“Sorry, we’re late!” Adam calls. “Someone”—he glares at Tyler—“forgot to set an alarm.”

“I thought Matthew was setting one!”

“Idiots,” Adam mutters, accepting Damien’s help aboard. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

With everyone finally present, Damien starts the engine. The boat purrs to life, vibrating gently beneath our feet. “Alright, folks,” he says from the captain’s chair. “Let me show you what this beauty can do.”

As we pull away from the dock, I find myself standing at the rail next to Jameson. The marina shrinks behind us, and the open ocean stretches ahead, endless and full of possibility.

I turn to face him, taking in his wind-tousled hair and nervous smile.

Behind us, Rita is peppering Damien with questions about the boat while Robbie hovers nearby, growing increasingly grumpy.

Dad and Adam are discussing something that involves a lot of hand gestures.

The whole scene is a chaotic family affair and summer perfection.

Jameson grins at me, and my heart forgets how to beat properly. He grabs my hand, pulling me toward the bow. “You have to see the view from up here. It’s incredible.”

I let him lead me forward, our fingers intertwining. The boat picks up speed, and the wind whips through my hair as we make our way toward the front.

I have to say, the bow of the boat is perfect—because it’s Jameson and me against the endless blue.

The wind hits differently up here, stronger and cleaner, carrying away everything except this moment.

I grip the railing and lean forward slightly, feeling as though I could touch the horizon if I stretched far enough.

“This is incredible,” I breathe, watching the water split around the hull in perfect white foam.

“I know, right?” Jameson steps closer, and suddenly he’s right behind me, his chest almost touching my back. “You know what we need to do now?”

“What?”

His arms come up on either side of me, stretched out like plane wings. “I’m flying, Jack!” he declares in the worst fake British accent I’ve ever heard.

I burst out laughing. “Did you?—”

“Come on, play along!” He’s laughing too, his breath warm against my ear. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”

“I am not doing the Titanic thing.”

“Kevin Pryor, you’re telling me you know the entire choreography to ‘It’s the Hard Knock Life,’ but won’t do the most iconic boat scene in cinema history?”

I turn my head to look at him, and our faces are so close I can see flecks of gold in his brown eyes. “No. Because this is real life, not a movie.”

“Sometimes real life is better than the movies,” he says softly, and my heart stops.

For a moment, we stand there staring at each other, the boat cutting through waves, the sun warming our skin, his arms creating a shelter around me. Then Ethan’s voice carries from somewhere behind us.

“Are they doing Titanic ? They’re totally doing Titanic !”

“Shut up, Ethan!” Jameson calls back, but he’s grinning as he steps away.

A short while later, we’re all gathered in the dining area as the boat gently rocks at anchor. Damien has outdone himself with lunch—cold cuts, fresh fruit, three kinds of salad, and sandwiches that put every deli I know to shame.

“This potato salad is life-changing,” Rita says, helping herself to thirds. She’s claimed the spot next to Damien at the head of the table, much to Robbie’s obvious irritation.

“Old family recipe,” Damien says, pleased. “My mother would be thrilled to know it’s still a hit.”

Dad and Damien have discovered a mutual love for fishing and swiftly engage in a deep discussion about local spots.

Adam keeps checking his phone under the table, probably still working up the courage to talk to Robbie about Stanford.

Matthew and Tyler are having a sandwich-building competition that involves increasingly ridiculous combinations.

“Pass the pickles,” Tyler demands.

“You already have pickles,” Matthew points out.

“I need more pickles. It’s a pickle sandwich with meat garnish.”

“That’s disgusting,” Ethan informs him cheerfully.

Through it all, I’m hyperaware of Jameson beside me. Our knees bump constantly under the table. He passes me the fruit salad, and our fingers brush. Every tiny bit of contact sends electricity through my body.

“So, Kevin,” Damien says, pulling me into the conversation. “Jameson tells me you’re quite the theater star.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “I wouldn’t say star exactly.”

“He’s being modest,” Rita jumps in. “Kevin’s insanely talented. You should hear him sing ‘Suddenly Seymour.’”

“Or ‘What You Own,’” Robbie adds, surprising me.

Jameson nudges me with his shoulder. “See? Star.”

After lunch, people scatter across the boat.

Dad and Damien take over the fishing rods at the stern.

Adam corners Robbie near the coolers, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Finally, he’s going to tell him about Stanford.

Rita stretches out on a lounger with a book, though I notice her sunglasses keep drifting toward where Damien stands.

“Want to go back up top?” Jameson asks quietly. “I believe we have a conversation to finish.”

My stomach flips. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

We climb to the upper deck, which is blissfully empty. The sun is high and hot, but the breeze off the water makes it bearable. Jameson leads me to the portside seating area, where we settle on the cushions facing each other.

He stretches his long legs, crossing them at the ankles. His bare feet are unbelievably tan, whereas mine are already reddening.

“So,” I say, proud that my voice is steady.

“So.” He runs a hand through his hair, clearly nervous, which reminds me of that day in English class. “Last week, at the beach, Tyler earned himself a one-way ticket to an early death.”

“He did,” I say with a laugh. “What were you going to say?”

He takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’m just going to say it all at once because if I stop, I might lose my nerve.” He meets my eyes. “I like you, Kevin. As more than a friend. I have for a while now—way longer than you probably think.”

The world tilts.

“I know it probably seems as though this came out of nowhere, with the birthday party and the bookstore and everything, but…” He shifts closer, his left foot pressing against my right. “I’ve noticed you for a long time.”

“How long?” My voice comes out embarrassingly squeaky.

“Do you remember freshman year when the drama club performed part of Beauty and the Beast for the whole grade?”

I blink at the sudden topic change. “Yeah?”

“You were a dancing plate. No, wait—” He grins. “A spatula. In ‘Be Our Guest.’ You had this ridiculous costume made of cardboard and aluminum foil, and you were committed to being the best dancing spatula in the history of dancing spatulas.”

“Oh God.” I cover my face with my hands. “That costume was terrible. The foil kept falling off.”

“But you never broke character. Not once.” His voice goes soft. “That’s when I first noticed you, Kevin. This amazing, talented, completely unselfconscious person who could make being a spatula the most important role in the show.”

I lower my hands, staring at him. “I can’t believe you remember me in that.”

“I remember everything.” He’s staring at me with such fiery intensity that I nearly wilt under his gaze. “I remember sophomore year when you guys did Footloose , I snuck in to watch a rehearsal. And in junior year, you did…”

He snaps his fingers, trying to remember the name of the play.

“ Once on This Island ,” I tell him.

“Yes! Such a cool show. You were dressed all in white?—”

“I was a grand homme.”

“—and everyone else was, too, but somehow, you stood out.”

“Jameson…”

“I should have said something sooner. I know that. But you’re Kevin Pryor, and all I am is the dumb jock who’s good at catching things.”

“You’re not dumb,” I say automatically.

“See? That. Right there.” He gestures at me.

“You always do that. See the best in people. Even when I used my brother as an excuse to talk to you at the bookstore, because I was too chicken to ask for book recommendations. I’ve read them all twice, you know.

Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda made me cry.

Cemetery Boys made me realize I needed to stop being such a chicken shit.

” He takes another deep breath. “So this is me not being afraid anymore. I want to take you on dates where I don’t have to pretend we’re two friends getting tacos.

Hold your hand without needing the excuse of pulling you somewhere.

Maybe kiss you, if that’s something you’d want to do. ”

My brain has completely stopped working. “You want to kiss me?”

“Since freshman year, if I’m being honest.”

“That’s…” I do the math. “That’s three years.”

“Two years and five months. But who’s counting?”

A laugh bubbles out of me, airy and disbelieving. “You’ve been interested in me since I was a dancing spatula?”

“Cutest spatula I’ve ever seen. I can’t even use one without thinking of you now, so thanks for that.

” He’s wearing a crooked grin that makes my insides melt.

“So, what do you say? Want to give this a shot? Fair warning—I’m probably going to be terrible at the boyfriend thing.

I’ve never dated a guy before. So, don’t get mad if I say or do something I shouldn’t. I’m a work in progress.”

“I like a work in progress,” I say, smiling from ear to ear.

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a?—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Robbie shouts from the other end of the boat, shattering the most wonderful moment of my life.