“I’m glad you approve. Hand me your bag.” I wasn’t prepared for the weight of it. “What do you have in here, woman? Rocks?”
“My purse, a life vest, a sun hat, a beach towel, sunscreen, my water bottle, my sketch pad and pencils.” She hopped down but kept ahold of my hand.
I slid my hand up her arm and curled my fingers around the ball of her shoulder. Her skin was soft and she smelled like apples. “Thanks for coming today, Trinity.”
“Thanks for asking me. I had no idea what you meant by ‘water fun,’ so I’ve been a little anxious.”
I couldn’t see her eyes beneath her sunglasses to gauge her level of anxiety. “What was your worst-case scenario?”
Her lips curled. “A waterslide park.”
“Not a fan?”
“Of screaming kids, yelling parents and getting sunburned while eating overpriced food? Not to mention the fear someone will steal your stuff while water jets are shooting into places on your body that only your waxer, gynecologist or significant other should ever see.”
I laughed and lowered my head to kiss her quickly. “You’re funny.”
She placed her hand on my cheek and smoothed the tips of her fingers over my beard. “No one ever says that to me. Thank you.”
For that sweet show of affection, I kissed her again. “I thought we could do a leisurely jaunt around the lake, then pick a place to drop anchor and have lunch.”
“That sounds fantastic.” She stepped back. “Where do you want me to sit?”
“Across from me. Once we decide where to stop, you move around.” While she got settled, I unhooked the boat from the dock and backed out of the space. As soon as the boat exited the no-wake zone, I increased the speed.
The breeze eddied around me and I inhaled deeply. Being on the lake in the summer was my slice of paradise.
There weren’t a ton of boaters out, but prime time was around three in the afternoon when the sun was high and the air temp stifling. I cruised closer to the shoreline and waved at people out on the docks. Two towheaded boys around ten jumped up and down when they saw the boat. I slowed and the lanky kid clutched the fishing poles while his shorter, stockier buddy held up a stringer with a few smallish fish. I gave them a thumbs-up and watched as they high-fived.
“Friends of yours?” Trinity asked after we pulled away.
“I don’t know their names, but they’ve been out on that dock every time I’ve been here this year. They remind me how crazy my cousin and I were for fishing at that age.”
“The same cousin who owns part of this pontoon?”
“Yep.”
“So this is a fishing boat?”
“Sort of.” I looked straight ahead instead of at her since swimmers on tubes were hard to see until I came right up on them. “We just like to cruise around on the lake, kick back in the sun, drink beer and—”
“Pick up hot women in bikinis?” she supplied.
I shook my head. “It’s a guy thing. We load the cooler with beer and the bucket with bait. Then we cast off and kick back and wait for something to bite. No one else in our family is into fishing—they never were when we were kids either. I’m not sure anyone knows we have the boat. And they’d have a hard time believing my fashion-focused cousin would go out in public without showering, shaving, styling his hair, wearing ratty-ass clothes and flip-flops.”
“I get it. The lumbersexual and metrosexual have secret identities where they revert to preteen boys and indulge in spitting contests, dunking each other in the lake, eating sunflower seeds, telling fart jokes, talking about how stupid girls are and being happily oblivious that they stink to high heaven.”
I looked at her sternly. “Were you once a preteen boy? Because that’s all listed in the boy handbook.”
She snickered. “No, but it seemed to be my half brother’s goal to see how long he could go without showering or changing his clothes. His mother threatened to take him to the car wash.”
I started to ask about her family but stopped.
After a bit, Trinity tapped me on the arm. “Tell me about these houses ringing the lake, since you’re a restoration expert.”
“Such as?”
“Such as . . . which ones have been revamped? Which ones are new construction? Which ones are still old-fashioned family lake houses? Which ones are year-round residences?” She poked my leg. “I’ll bet you pay attention to all that stuff. Not because it’s your job but because it interests you—but that, in turn, makes you better at your job.”
My chest puffed up at her assessment. In the past, women I dated preferred the fun-loving side of me, not the work-obsessed side. I couldn’t remember the last time a date asked about my company or the work I do. “I’ll show you a few of my favorites. I doubt you want a three-hour tour.”