Within twenty minutes, I’m sweating. I pull off my sweatshirt and toss it aside before picking the boat brush back up and continuing to scrub the hull of the boat.
The temperature outside is still pretty chilly, but with all the big motions it takes to brush off all the dirt and scum, I welcome the cool air against my skin.
When I’ve scrubbed everything off one side of the boat, I pull the power washer toward the boat. I turn it on, but Connor points it up just as the water starts to shoot out, spraying both of us.
“What was that for?” I ask as I hold my arms out to my sides.
“You have to lower the pressure and use a specific nozzle. I don’t want you to damage the hull.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that from the start?”
“I should have,” he says, but his words are slow and spaced out.
Th
