It wasn’t hard getting the crew’s votes for the venture. All Eli had to do was hint at buried treasure, and half their hands were up before he even called for a vote. Banneker, of course, had placed both hands as high as they could go, and even got a foot up there for good measure.

Once the business on deck was settled, bottles of rum began to manifest all around the ship, along with Banneker’s fiddle and Grim’s flute. It was good luck, the crew claimed, to celebrate the beginning of the journey. It guaranteed another celebration at the end.

And so they sang, and drank, and fiddled, and drank, until Ambrose could hardly hear himself speak over the off-key shanties and bursts of laughter. Not that he needed to speak, anyway—he was in a pleasant, rum-laced fog, nestled near the lantern light and watching several pirates stumble their way through a jig.

His mind kept wandering, in a drunken yet stubborn path, back to his swimming lesson with Eli, to thoughts that his sober mind had firmly closed off. He had been very close to Eli then, hadn’t he? Close enough to feel his earrings against his neck, every fold of that flimsy shirt across his shoulder blades. What’s more, Eli was the one who had held him there. Had pulled him close and insisted on not letting go.

Then later, Eli had winked at him, bragged about him, made him tea…he even had a nickname now, Ambrose thought as he smiled and took another swig of rum. He’d never had a nickname before.

It sounded nice when Eli said it.

“Glad to see you’re still out here,” Eli’s voice cut into his drifting thoughts. “I was sure you would have gone to bed by now.”

Ambrose gave a hum and closed his eyes. He’d be mortified by his thoughts in the morning, he knew, but right now he was too warm and sleepy to care. “S’a good idea, actually. I should go.”

“What, now? Before dancing with me?” Eli held out a hand and grinned.

Ambrose opened his eyes, and for a moment, he considered saying yes. Considered stumbling onto the planks with him, over-thinking every touch of his hand, finding excuses to dance closer to him until the song was over.

But none of that would mean anything to Eli. The way Eli smiled at him was the way he smiled at everyone, his winks and compliments no different than what he had tossed to the barmaid the day before. Entrancing men and women at every port, wasn’t that how it went?

The pleasant fog in his thoughts slipped away at that reality. He had already played the fool once on this ship. He wasn’t going to do it again.

So instead of taking Eli’s hand, Ambrose pushed himself to his feet and drank in the cold, salty air.

“I really should go,” he murmured. “Keep dancing, I hear it’s good luck.”

“I’ll do my best.” Eli touched his arm.” G’night, Ames.”

As Ambrose retreated, Eli backed away into the fray, and in the lantern light, it almost looked as if he was disappointed.