“We’re not married,” I say to underline the point.
“Not yet,” Derek says with a wink.
George stares at him, horrified, and I snort.
“George is not the marrying kind,” I tell Derek.
He looks between us, unsure, and then says, “All right, kids, time’s a’ticking. Let me help you on board.”
He fits us with life vests and then we’re off, cruising around the islands that dot the sound. He slows to point out harbor seals and a heron taking flight. It’s staggering how untouched most of the shoreline is, how few structures we see as we head south. According to Derek, this territory is the home of the Tla-o-qui-aht First Nations and nestled within the heart of a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve.
The farther we go, the warmer it gets. After thirty minutes, we pull into the calm waters of an inlet and see a large floating dock with a modern-looking wooden structure, its chimney breathing puffs of woodsmoke into the marine air. There’s a rope swing, twin diving boards, a net hammock recessed into the planks, and a pair of kayaks. But there’s no cabin on the shore. It’s completely isolated.
“It should be stocked with everything you need,” Derek says as he helps me out of the boat. “I’d say call me if you need me, but there’s no reception or Wi-Fi. You can use this for an emergency.” He hands us a walkie-talkie. “Otherwise, I’ll see you in a few hours. You’ll hear me coming, but I’ll pull up slow just in case. No one but the bears to see you out here.”
With one final wink and a tip of his cap, Derek starts the motor. We watch him leave, then I look around at the colossal expanse of nature we’re surrounded by, and then at the small building. Its glass front reflects the turquoise sea, green mountains, and George and me, standing side by side.
“Sex cult initiation?” I ask.
“So much for the surprise.”
“I knew what I was in for when I stepped foot on theNautical but Nice, but Derek’s seventh wink was the real tip-off.”
George rubs the back of his neck. “About Derek. That was a rough summer. It felt like living through an apocalypse.”
“I know.” That year was the closest I’d felt to George since he’d moved away. I was so worried for him, and for the first time ever, I think he was rattled, too. We spoke almost every day.
George peers at me. “I probably talked about you too much, and Derek got the wrong idea. Sorry if it was awkward.”
“Don’t worry about it. Although I think he’s going to be pretty disappointed that I’m not sporting an engagement ring when he picks us up.”
“I swear I didn’t tell him that this was in any way romantic,” he says.
“He was whistling ‘Chapel of Love’ when he docked the boat.”
“You caught that?”
“I also heard him wishing you good luck.”
George groans.
“As much as I’d like to make this as embarrassing for you as possible,” I say, “why don’t you tell me what we’re doing out here instead?”
“You haven’t figured it out?”
I shake my head and George grins. He points to the building. “That’s a sauna.” And then to water. “And that’s our cold plunge. And this,” he says, extending his arms broadly, “is better than any day at the spa.”
Chapter Twenty
The hut is equipped with everything we need. A changing area. Bathrooms. A small kitchen with a spread of sandwiches, watermelon slices, and soda. There’s an outdoor fire pit surrounded by chairs. Stacks of towels and blankets. And of course, the sauna itself.
We strip to our bathing suits and head inside. It’s a small, cedar-lined room with benches, a wood fireplace with coals glowing on top, and a spectacular view of the scenery. The water sparkles with possibility. The hills are a dazzling green under the sun. I’ve worn a bright red two-piece I’d splurged on for the honeymoon, and George is in a pair of swim trunks I bet he bought in Europe. They’re shorter than what he used to wear, with thick blue and cream stripes. Very 1960s Bond.
As George stokes the fire and pours water over the coals on top, I marvel at the lean muscles rippling in his arms and torso. My eyes wander to the trail of dark hair that disappears beneathhis bathing suit, and I look away, my pulse soaring. It’s not a big deal: George is a fox. I’m just a little out of practice dealing with that reality.
I’ve always taken pride in the fact that we’re proof that a straight man and woman can have a lasting friendship without having muddied things up with sex or romance. I try to see George’s hotness as a perk of our friendship. He’s nice to look at, but that’s all. I don’t dwell on it, and I try not to let my gaze linger.
We take our seats on opposite benches, and I fix my eyes on the view out the window.
