Searching for Beautiful(21)
“About time! Why didn’t we drive? I hate walking in the woods. I’m tired. Can I have water? Where’s the boat?”
“Should be back here.” He dropped the stuff and began searching through overgrown brush and pussy willows long enough to be someone’s weapon. “Ah, here it is.” He disappeared in the vegetation for a few moments, then rose up with a boat by his side.
Gen stared.
She’d expected some elaborate power motor thing with music and air. Something to jet around the lake on while she sunbathed.
This thing would barely keep them alive.
The rowboat was wooden, with old-fashioned oars, and creaked dangerously. Narrow and definitely unbalanced, it bounced back and forth as if just waiting to dump them. The water was greenish, and big globs of seaweed floated in it. She shivered with fear at the idea of being in there. What the hell? He dumped the stuff into the boat and held out a hand to her.
“No. Way.”
The man had the nerve to look like he was holding on to his patience. “Now what’s the problem, princess?”
She practically spit in fury. “Are you nuts? Where’s the life jackets? The boat that doesn’t sink? The man that makes you sign contracts about liability and gives you lessons on boating before allowing you out in the water?”
“That’s the beauty of this whole thing. It’s natural, not forced. We’re heading to a great hidden place where the fish live. No rules, no contracts, no people. Just me, you, and the fish.”
“This is worse than not getting married!”
“Will you just trust me? It’s gonna be great. You’ll love it.”
She glared. Stamped her feet. Dammit, did she have a choice? She didn’t want to be stuck in the cabin all day, thinking about David and her mistakes and the mess her life was. Maybe it would be helpful. She’d read Hemingway and that boring book about the man and the sea, trying to catch a fish. She had seen that old movie On Golden Pond with the Fondas. When had she gotten so structured that she didn’t do anything impulsive any longer?
Since she got engaged.
David disliked veering off course where things could get sticky. He’d book a fishing trip at a nice marina, with a full-service concierge, a professional fisherman, and a compass. A rowboat in the middle of a mossy lake with no constructed plan for hours would never happen in his world.
In the beginning, she thought it was charming. She actually preferred a man who took things seriously and was ruthlessly organized. Until she realized he’d left no room to breathe. When she tried to embrace a more open viewpoint, his disdain and subtle punishments slowly eked away any enthusiasm she had until it became easier to give in.
Was it really his fault? Or hers for not fighting for what she wanted?
Gen pushed the thought away and set her jaw. “Fine. Let’s do it.” With careful movements, she climbed into the boat and gingerly sat on the rear seat, clutching the sides. Wolfe undid the ropes and pushed off, taking the main position by the oars. After a few minutes of sheer terror, she relaxed when the boat held and Wolfe actually seemed to know how to steer. Okay, this could be cool. It was a beautiful, warm day, the birds sang, the woods hugged the lake with gorgeous views, and she didn’t have to worry about anyone finding them.
“Feel better?”
She nodded. “Yeah. You seem to know what you’re doing.”
“It’s not rocket science, just rowing.”
Gen stuck out her tongue.
They floated in silence. Her mind quieted a bit, just taking in the moment. Little plops and ripples on the surface promised a wide variety of animals. She fought a shiver and hoped to God it was only little fish and not some type of disgusting sea creature ready to take down the boat.
“Why are you looking down like you think Jason is gonna pop out of the water with a hockey mask?”
“Don’t say that! Ugh, this lake is gross. I can’t believe I swam in it last night.”
“You only think that because we’re used to chlorinated pools. People need more germs. They’d be healthier.”
She shook her head. “Thank you, Dr. Wolfe.”
“Has a nice ring to it.”
“Remember when my father learned you went by only one name?”
He rolled his eyes. “Your father hated me from the first moment.”
She giggled at the memory. “He said, ‘Wolfe, like Prince?’ And you said, ‘Not really.’ ”
“Then he just stared at me like I was a bug on his shoe he wanted to scrape off.”
“He doesn’t hate you, I keep telling you that. He’s just wary. Izzy was always staring at you like she was hungry, and he’s old-fashioned. Used to tell us if we got any piercings or tats we’d be in big trouble.”