“Roger. Bungalow for Kat.”
“If it’s not too much to ask.” He winked. They’d reached the shore where his canoe was stored in a rack. He slid it out. “Now I need you to grab one end, and we’re going to launch it over there.”
…
Amy sighed, feeling the tension from the past day start to ebb. It was amazing how therapeutic the water was. They had paddled in silence for ten minutes or so, slipping through a channel to the east of the island and making for the outer harbor, which was surrounded by the industrial port on one side and the end of the Leslie Street Spit on the other. She remembered going to the spit, which was a wildlife sanctuary, once on a class trip in middle school. Funny how when you’re a kid, everyone arranges things so you can get doses of nature—field trips, summer camp, and all that. But then when you grow up, you sort of forget about taking time to immerse yourself in the natural world. It was sad.
“That’s Cherry Beach,” Dax said from behind her, where he was steering the canoe, interrupting her little Walden Pond moment. She twisted around to see him pointing at the shoreline.
“Your company’s namesake? I always wondered where the name had come from.”
“When I was in my early twenties, I was working at Microsoft, and I was miserable. I used to paddle out here after work and just float. I’d stare at the beach and think about how much better everything would be if I were in charge. You know, as only the hubris of youth can make you think.”
She laughed. “Well, obviously, you were right.”
“I don’t want to minimize it. It really was an existential crisis of sorts. I was trying to decide if I had what it took to start my own company.” There was a moment of silence before he added, “My parents re-mortgaged their house to help me get started.”
It was almost impossible to imagine Dax as a young person unsure of his path. He always seemed so invincible to her. So self-assured. Like he was born a CEO. She wasn’t sure what to say. It felt like he had revealed something profound about himself. Regardless, she understood now, even more, why it bugged him that his parents wouldn’t let him help them financially.
He cleared his throat. “How’s it going on Tinder? Anyone else I should know about?”
She sighed. Apparently his moment of vulnerability was over. “There was this one guy. We were messaging. Things were going okay.”
“What’s his deal? Another lawyer?”
“No. He’s a sculptor, if you can believe it. I didn’t realize that was an actual job. You know, other than in the movie Ghost.”
“Things were going okay? But not anymore?”
“Yeah, he seemed great. Cute, flirty, really complimentary. He even said he’d sculpted me something. He was saving it for our date.”
“So what happened?”
God. Why did these conversations with Dax always have to end up making her feel like she was thirteen years old at sex ed class? “He, ah, said he wanted to make love to me.”
She could feel Dax pull his oar out of the water because the forward momentum of the boat slowed. “I thought that’s exactly what you wanted.”
“Well, yeah. See, I was…ah, thinking about what you said the other night at Edward’s.”
The oar made a whishing sound when he dipped it back in the water, and the boat picked up speed. “Remind me what I said.”
The bastard. He knew very well what she was talking about. Well, fine. She could play his potty-mouth shock game. She pulled her own oar out of the water and twisted as far as she could in her seat, far enough to make eye contact with him. “You said you don’t make love, you fuck. I believe your exact words were that you could fuck the living daylights out of me.”
He didn’t blink. But he did stop paddling. “And you liked that. You preferred my terminology.”
Without breaking eye contact, and praying he couldn’t see her pulse thundering in her throat, she nodded. Then she turned so she was facing forward again, but she could feel his eyes burning the back of her head. She wasn’t sure where this was headed, but if it was going where she hoped it was, she wanted to make totally clear that she understood his terms and accepted them. “I may not be able to say I never want a real relationship, but I don’t want one right now.”
She strained her ears, trying to hear anything. A response. A guffaw. A change in his breathing. But there was nothing.
Until suddenly, the boat was moving backward, and then they were pivoting in place. He was turning them around. By the time the canoe had made a 180-degree turn, her cheeks were on fire.
“Paddle,” he said.