I wrap four cinnamon rolls in waxed paper and tuck them in a sack before walking out to the canoe. I paddle across the little channel between Collin’s dock and mine. He’s working on the boat, and his back is turned to me, but he looks up when he hears the canoe slide against the dock.
“Oh, hi,” he says, grinning. He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow.
“Hello,” I reply, holding up the sack of cinnamon rolls. “Just making good on my promise.”
He walks toward me and takes the bag in his hands, then unwraps one. “Cinnamon rolls?”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling as I reach for an oar. “Well, I’d better be getting back. I hope you enjoy them.”
“Wait,” he says. “You won’t stay? Just for a bit?”
I look over my shoulder self-consciously. I don’t know why. Dex isn’t there. And what do I care what Naomi thinks, or anyone else on the dock, for that matter? “Yes,” I finally say. “I guess I could stay for a moment.”
I tie the canoe to a cleat, and Collin takes my hand to help me out. He points to the sailboat. “Come sit on the boat with me.”
My eyes widen. “Really?”
He nods. “I’d love to show it to you.”
I climb into the boat after Collin and sit beside him on a wooden bench seat. “She has a long way to go,” he says. “But I think she’s coming along quite well.”
“You’ve done a beautiful job,” I say, running my hand along the smoothly sanded railing.
He takes a bite of the cinnamon roll in his hand, and I wonder how long it takes to complete a boat. Another month? Another year?
“She should be all ready by the end of summer,” he says as if reading my mind.
I realize how lonely the dock will feel without Collin there, without the sailboat bobbing on the water. “I suppose you’ll be leaving then,” I say, without looking at him.
“Yes,” he says. “I’ll sail her to San Francisco. My client will take her from there.”
“Does it make you sad?” I ask, admiring the woodworking on the bow, where planks are forged together so they look almost seamless. “It must be like giving a baby up for adoption.”
He looks at me for a long moment, and I see a familiar glint in his eyes. Sadness? Regret? I’m not sure. “It is,” he finally says. “But I try not to get too attached. It’s always hard, but it’s better that way, knowing that there’s an end.”
I nod and look away.
“Hey,” he says. “I was thinking of taking her out today. “Would you like to join me?”
I shake my head. “No, I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Well,” I say, “I—”
“See? You have no excuses.” He stands up and begins to untie the sails. “We’re going sailing.”
He adjusts the rigging and then motors the boat toward the lake. At their full height, the sails look majestic, and I watch in awe as he maneuvers the boat with such precision.
When we’re at the center of the lake, he turns to me and says, “Want to take the reins?”
I shake my head quickly. “No. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I’ll teach you,” he says, grinning. “It’s really easy.”
“OK,” I say, stepping toward him timidly.
He takes my hand and places it on a long wooden shaft. “This is the tiller,” he says, keeping his hand firmly over mine. “It steers the boat.”
He steps back and smiles at me. “It’s the best feeling in the world, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say. The wind is having its way with my hair, but I don’t care. I don’t have a care in the world right now. I feel exhilarated and unhinged.
“Where should we go?” Collin asks me. There’s a sparkle in his eyes, and I think there’s a sparkle in my eyes too. I feel it. I feel alive.
“Let’s sail to the Caribbean,” I say suddenly.
Collin nods playfully. “The lady wants to sail to the Caribbean, so to the Caribbean we shall sail.”
“What if we get shipwrecked?” I ask.
“And wash up on a deserted island?” Collin adds.
I nod. “I can’t swim.”
“I can,” he says, taking the tiller in his hand again. “We’ll be fine. Besides, we have these cinnamon rolls to sustain us.”
I sit down on the bench beside him.
“What does your husband do for a living?” he asks suddenly.
“He’s an artist,” I say, feeling tense at the mention of Dex. “A painter.”
“Oh,” he replies.
“Does that surprise you?”