Page 36 of Something Old

“And now it does?”

“Yep. Totally.” She nodded. “And also, it’s just, well, good to get a break, and—”

Grant raised an eyebrow, and she wished she’d stop babbling. Why did going to the lake with Grant feel so different than working with him or catching a bite to eat someplace after work? She flushed, admitting to herself that those pop by dinner invites had been feeling different lately, too.

“Plus, I didn’t know about this lake until Gwen told me about it. Apparently, it’s one of her and her grandkids’ favorite places in the world.”

“Hmmm,” Grant said, sounding weirdly pleased or content about something.

They were crossing over a wide, slow-running creek via a metal bridge—very picturesque—but Madeline shot Grant a quick glance. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing much. I’m just really looking forward to getting to know all the things about you that I don’t know, that’s all. It sounds very . . . promising.”

Madeline shook her head, feeling her cheeks—and somewhere deep inside—burn even hotter. “Don’t get your hopes up too high.”

“Too late,” Grant said, and Madeline didn’t know what was brighter, the sun or the terrifyingly happy feeling their silly flirting stirred within her.

They parked and walked a shaded path to a graveled picnic area that opened up into a wide expanse of grass and sandy beach, interspersed with giant evergreen trees that looked like something out of a fairy tale.

At her first close-up glimpse of the lake, glowing golden now, not blue, Madeline was giddy with delight. It sparkled like it was studded with diamonds as far as the eye could see.

Grant disappeared to change in a nearby outhouse. She spread her queen-sized patchwork quilt beneath the shelter of a massive trio of cedar trees and stashed the picnic basket in a blueberry bush at the base of the shadiest tree. Then she turned a pirouette, taking everything in and inhaling the mingled scents of fresh, clean lake water, sun-warmed pine, and coconutty sunblock. It was such a quintessential smell of summer, of happiness, that she wished she could bottle it. It would be so popular she wouldn’t need to sell anything else.

Kicking off her peep-toe sandals, she scuffed her feet through the hot sand and laughed with joy at the sensation. How had she not found this place before now? She felt like an eight-year-old kid! For such a terrifically gorgeous day, the beach, though not deserted, was not what anyone would call busy. She loved the wilderness feeling of the spot and knew then and there she’d come back often—all year long. It would be spectacular in every season; she was sure of it. Then Grant returned from the outhouse, shirtless and in his wacky new shorts, and she realized “eight” was wrong, dead wrong. She felt more like a lusty fifteen or something—young enough to be absolutely thrilled by the magical quality of the spot, but old enough that other elements of beach life had allure. . . . Grant had a very nice chest, for example, and she particularly liked the trail of fur—

Sheesh, who was she right now? The summer heat was getting to her, all right.

It was her turn to hit the outhouse, but a quick explore revealed she could have a much less stinky changing experience if she walked a bit further along the beach.

As she made her way back from the shower house and change room a few minutes later and neared the blanket, Grant looked up lazily from where he was already sprawled in full relaxation mode. Then, as if just seeing her, he bolted upright and did a double-take. Suddenly self-conscious but deliciously flattered, her core temperature spiked another couple of degrees.

“That, you—wow. I thought I liked your dress, but I really, really like your bathing suit,” Grant said a little hoarsely. “You look like Betty Boop.”

Madeline smoothed her hands down her suit and grinned. “Betty Boop, eh?”

He moved his hands in a wavy hourglass shape. “Absolutely.”

She sat down beside him, thinking it was funny how often their minds seemed to connect in the weirdest ways. With its heart-shaped, halter-styled neckline and little skirt, the black and red suit had reminded her of the vivacious cartoon character, too.

The rest of the afternoon was as lovely as a dream and occasionally as surreal.

Grant loved to play in the water as much as she did, something that caused a small pang. It was such a small thing, not something to base a relationship on or that would indicate future happiness—though, of course, she wasn’t thinking of having a relationship with Grant! Still, Lyle had only tolerated the beach—and lake water—for her and Lauren’s sake. And “tolerate” really was the most that could be said for his interest there. As Lauren got older and was away more and more, Madeline found herself at the beach alone a lot, which was lovely too, but this . . . it was exquisite fun.

Banish those thoughts, she chided herself. Grant is not Lyle. Lyle is not Grant. Stop comparing them. Just enjoy the qualities Grant has and stop feeling guilty for liking things about him that are different from Lyle.

The lecture worked—or the sheer, consuming gorgeousness of the warm golden water did. Either way, she was caught up in the moment from there on out.

She and Grant frolicked like otters, the sandy lake bottom soft as silk beneath their feet. There were other people in the water, but so far away, it was like Madeline and Grant were alone. They had an “alligator” race, did dolphin dives, and Madeline wowed Grant with her ability to do continuous back rolls. At one point, Madeline was reminded of the disgusting-but-hilarious feeling of having a handful of lake bottom dumped on her head.

“Are you kidding me?” she shrieked, dunking repeatedly and “shampooing” her hair to get the grains of silt out of it. “I’m going to get revenge!”

“Oh, I’m really scared,” Grant taunted back, and she was happy to see she wasn’t the only one who had an alive-and-well inner eight-year-old.

A few minutes later, when Grant was looking off into the distance, a dreamy expression on his face, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand, Madeline dragged a lake weed over his shoulder and down his back. He shrieked and batted at his shoulder like the mother of all spiders or a humongous leach was attacking.

Madeline laughed so hard her stomach hurt—and was thus unable to escape another dunking, this time at Grant’s hands—but he went down with her, his body wet and slippery against hers. And just like that, their inner children were banished, and more mature appetites perked up. His fingers grazed hers, and for a moment, they hovered like that, so close to holding hands, but not . . . Just as they found their footing and stood once more, Madeline shoved Grant hard. He fell backward into the water with a big splash, laughing.

There were still hours of light left, though the sun was slowly lowering itself toward the distant mountains, when Grant finally huffed—happy and tired-sounding—“Okay, Mermaid. I think that’s it for me for the day.”