Take a Chance on Me(8)

But on days like this, with the sun streaming down his back and both girls smiling up at him, he didn’t care about behaving.

Just winning.

Jensen jerked the canoe hard, and Darek’s arms windmilled. He nearly went over but found his balance and stamped his foot, making the canoe lurch the other direction.

Jensen caught himself and jerked it back, this time fast, hard, and—

Darek leaned into it, and suddenly Jensen found himself in the air. The chill of lake water swept away his breath, and he kicked hard to right himself.

He found Darek’s hand reaching for him when he came up. Jensen took it. And yanked.

Darek flipped over his head and into the lake. He came up sputtering, then launched himself at Jensen. They wrestled until they both hung on the side of the canoe, breathing hard.

“Let’s take your dad’s boat out, get some dinner down at the Landing,” Felicity said as Darek reached for her. She swatted him. Glanced at Jensen. “Please?”

“Sure.”

Claire reached out and helped Jensen into the canoe. Darek climbed in after him and they paddled back to shore.

Thankfully, his father wouldn’t be back until the weekend to grouse about the boat. Claire and Felicity met him in sundresses and they picked up Darek across the lake, then motored down to the outside grill and restaurant, Jensen’s knee propped on the diver’s chair as he guided the boat.

“Faster, Jens!” Felicity said, so he pushed up the throttle. Darek frowned, his eyes darkening, but Felicity was laughing and Jensen could feel it in his chest.

Her laughter always felt sweetly dangerous, like if he hung on too long, it might burn him. He could still hear her sometimes, in the darkness across the lake. Taste the memory of that curious summer when he had her all to himself, feel the texture of her kisses. What a fool he’d been, gobbling up the idea that if he did it right, she might belong to him. Believing that he even really wanted that.

Because she’d never belonged to him. Not then, not later.

He opened his eyes, staring into the night, at the lights across the lake, pressing into the darkness.

He should have remembered that Darek Christiansen always won.





IF THIS WAS HIS “Welcome to Deep Haven” face, Ivy would hate to see what his grumpy side looked like. The man had all the warmth, all the friendliness, of a pinecone.

Sadly, for a moment there, down at the beach, with the waves cheering her on, she thought they might become friends. Thought she saw a crack in his nasty demeanor.

Darek Christiansen, Deep Haven tour guide, at your service, milady.

Right.

She should have asked for her money back after all. Or donated straight to the EMS department instead of giving in to this farce of a . . . what? Date?

Maybe she should have taken him up on his offer of yard work.

Most of all, she couldn’t believe she’d barely met this guy and he was rejecting her already.

He had taken off the soft top of his Jeep and now sat with his arms folded, mouth grim, waiting to be released from his captivity.

She had the great urge to call it quits and ask him to take her home. But, well . . . the view. It glued her to this spot above Deep Haven. “I can’t believe we only drove five miles and yet we can see the entire town, practically tuck it into our hands.”

“We’re on Pincushion Mountain overlook. Teenagers like to make out here.”

Well, that wasn’t exactly the information she’d expected to hear.

“It looks as if Deep Haven fell into a bowl, spilling out toward the lake.” Indeed the lights cascaded down the mountain like a sparkling river toward the blackness of Lake Superior, the lighthouse the final pinprick against the night. Pine fragranced the air, country music twanged from the radio, and despite the chill creeping under her jean jacket, it seemed a night for romance.

Ha.

Ivy got out of the Jeep, walked to the edge of the cutoff.

“Careful. It’s a straight drop down.”

I can take care of myself, she nearly said. Had been doing just that for about three decades now. But she didn’t want to cause a fight.

“How long have you lived here?” she said, not looking at him. A boat, a single point of light, traveled out on the lake.

“I was born here. Grew up here.”

“Made out here?” She couldn’t help it and turned to see his reaction. “Oh, c’mon, you were the one who brought it up.”

He had his hands on the steering wheel, his eyes on her, narrowed, enigmatic. “Fine. Yes, of course. I was a Deep Haven boy.”

That was more like it. She walked back to the car, slid into the seat. “What is your favorite place in town?”

He lifted a shoulder, but she didn’t let him off the hook. She knew how to wait out a confession. Finally he glanced at her; then, “I live on a resort on Evergreen Lake. A boy’s playground with woods and wild animals and a pristine lake. It’s all rocky beach and marsh except for one piece of property at the end that bumps up next to ours. Right there sits an overhanging oak tree with an old rope tied to one of the branches. I spent every summer swinging from that tree or boating on the lake, most nights in front of a campfire, roasting marshmallows.”