Her hand slaps the water beside the kayak, splashing me. “Rude!”
The kayak glides smoothly over the water, each stroke sending gentle ripples outward. A breeze rustles through the tall pines along the shoreline, the sun breaking through cloud cover to shimmer off the lake like someone tossed a handful of glitter at it.
Dragonflies flit above the surface. The scents of damp cedar and clean lake air linger on the breeze. Ahhh ...
Ahead, the island grows larger, its outline sharpened by the morning sun.
Annabelle sighs dreamily. “Okay, I’ll admit it. This was a good idea.”
I smirk. “Try not to sound too shocked.”
She leans back against the curve of the seat, lifting her sunglasses to rest on top of her head. “It’s so calm. I could meditate.”
We fall into a rhythm—me doing theactualwork, her pretending to. Which oddly enough doesn’t bother me. Normally, I’d be irritated by someone coasting, but with Annabelle? I like hearing her commentary. The sarcasm. The offbeat observations.
“Do you think we’ll survive if we get stranded out there?” she asks, pointing toward the tree-covered island. “Because I’ve seen plenty of survival shows, and some of them ended in disaster.”
“We’re going, like, a hundred feet offshore. You’ll be fine.”
“What if there’s a bear?”
“There’s not.”
“There could be. Did you know that your buddy Harris is like super afraid of them?”
No, I did not.
She tips her head back toward me again. “Hey, another random question.”
“Go.”
“What would you be doing if you weren’t playing football?”
I have an answer for her this time. “Fixing up houses.”
She looks surprised by this response. “How long have you wanted to do that?”
“I don’t know. I do already own several rental properties—they’re new, though, and don’t need much work.” I shrug. “Maybe one of these days I’ll buy a total dump and redo it by hand. Get a dog. Grow a beard.”
She hums like she approves. “You’d make a hot carpenter.”
I grin at her backside. “Was that a compliment?”
She doesn’t answer right away—just dips her hand into the lake, skimming her fingers through the water as the kayak glides along the shore.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” she finally says, flicking a few droplets back in my direction. “But yes. That was a compliment.”
“Got any other ones?”
Annabelle goes quiet, as if she has to think long and hard about a second way to flatter me. “You have great shoulders.”
I do actually. Most professional athletes do. “Gee, thanks.”
We paddle in companionable silence for a bit, the water slapping softly against the hull of the kayak. The island is closer now, its rocky shore dotted with tall grass and a few crooked trees. There’s no one else out on the lake yet, if you don’t count a few fishermen.
Annabelle tilts her head again. “Okay, your turn.”
“For what?”
