“On a scale of one to ten, ten being most sure, how sure are you?”
“Six . . . and three-quarters?”
I love how easily he smiles. Back in high school, I thought he was on the uptight side. But he seems mildly amused by nearly everything now.
Except our family’s feud.
I wonder if the feud is the entire reason he seemed uptight in high school.
And how much of a shame would that be?
“Six and three-quarters,” he repeats, shaking his head with his smile growing. “Good enough. Chili, want to go for a canoe ride?”
The dog doesn’t answer. Dane still rises and dusts his hands on his board shorts, then heads over to the canoe while I gather up most of what’s left of our feast.
Dessert is going with us out onto the water.
He brought me fruitcake.
After consulting with Lorelei in a completely not-suspicious way—I hope—I grabbed two oatmeal cranberry cookies from Reindeer Bakes for him.
And also talked to Pia about the wedding cake.
That wasn’t awkward at all ...
Chili volunteers to guard the fruitcake and cookies for me while I run back up to the cabin to put the leftover food away and toss the trash.
Okay, the dog doesn’t really volunteer.
He’s sleeping on a beach towel. Quite soundly, in fact.
Pretty sure he won’t eat dessert.
While I’m at the cabin, I run out to the mailbox.
Just in case.
But it’s empty. No junk mail. No catalogs or bills.
No letters.
Dane’s right. If we want to know where it came from, we need to ask questions. We can’t just sit here and wait for more to magically show up.
So I need to get up the courage to ask my mom and grandma tomorrow what they know about how the feud started. No matter what they might tell me.
I dash back to the shore as he’s turning the canoe over, andholy hell.
Dane’s lean, but he’s solid. His back muscles flex. His biceps flex. His thighs are tight as he squats, and I suddenly need seventy-six more drinks.
I see fit guys around the city all the time. This isn’t something new.
But Dane’s so kind.
He’s funny.
He’s thoughtful.
He’s quick on his feet.
