Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Instead, I say, “So what were you actually planning on doing today? Besides giving me shit?”
“Nothing? Nothing was my goal before I booked the cabin, so—no need to rearrange my plans.”
I glance down the yard toward the kayaks, no doubt full of rainwater from last night’s storm. “Well, I hate to pull you from your rigorous schedule of horizontal excellence, but if we’re going to go floating in those, we’ll need to dump the water before we do anything.”
Annabelle sighs, all exaggerated and dramatic, as if I asked her to run a marathon in heels. “Ugh. Fine. But if I’m doing physical labor before ten, I require pants. And a sports bra. Possibly shoes.”
When she stands to go inside and change, I stand with her, heading to the pier.
Several minutes later, water is cascading out the side of the first kayak like a busted dam, splashing my legs and drenching the dock. I curse, more wet than I intended to be this early.
The kayak thunks down upright with a slap. I wipe my hands on my shorts just as Annabelle steps back outside. Her hair’s pulled into a ponytail, her sunglasses are perched on her head, and she’s wearing bike shorts and a cropped tee.
“Well, don’t you look sporty,” I say, wiping the back of my hand across my forehead. “Should I be worried you’re gonna show me up?”
“Oh please.” She rolls her eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Wanna share?”
One of the two kayaks is a double, and Annabelle eyes it skeptically. “I guess we can share. If we go down, I want someone to blame in real time.”
I gesture at the kayaks. “Your chariot awaits.”
She eyes it, one brow lifted. “You sure you don’t want to do a safety demo first? You know, in case of emergency. Where the snacks are hidden. How to scream for help if we tip over.”
“I scream in a very manly way, thank you.”
Annabelle snorts and steps toward the kayak. “I’ll sit in the front. Less responsibility.”
She slides into the front seat, already adjusting her sunglasses and making herself comfortable. “Just so we’re clear, I expect hydration, and an apology in advance for whatever stupid thing you’re going to say out there.”
Shit. Hydration? “I have to run up to the house. Sit tight for a few.”
She lifts a hand like a queen granting permission. “Take your time, peasant. I’ll just be here soaking up the sun.”
Jogging back toward the house, I mutter under my breath. “Hydration. Snacks. Towel.”
Inside, I grab two bottles of water from the fridge, snag a bag of trail mix off the counter, and debate whether or not she’s the type who likes fruit snacks. I throw them in anyway.
“No one is mad about fruit snacks.”
The towel situation takes longer. One is damp from yesterday, one smells like lake, and the third is from my shower but looks clean enough. Whatever—she’s not actually royalty.
Back on the dock, I find her reclining on her seat in the kayak, one leg dangling over the side, toes skimming the water.
“Took you long enough,” she drawls, not even opening her eyes. “Did you also knit us a picnic blanket?”
Her and her sarcasm . . . “Funny. I brought water. Trail mix. And fruit snacks. So you can save the attitude unless you want to swim back.”
She humphs. “Fruit snacks, you say?”
The kayak rocks as I climb in behind her and settle into place. The lake is calm, glassy, and still. Peaceful. The exact reason I chose this place.
Annabelle twists halfway around to look back at me. “So, Captain, which way are we heading?”
I point with my paddle toward a tiny patch of green in the distance. “Island. Straight ahead. Should only take about a half hour if you don’t slack off.”
She scoffs. “Excuse me, I’ll have you know I once won a sixth-grade paddleboat race.”
A paddleboat race in sixth grade? You don’t say! “Was it against actual boats or rubber duckies?”
Her hand slaps the water beside the kayak, splashing me. “Rude!”
The kayak glides smoothly over the water, each stroke sending gentle ripples outward. A breeze rustles through the tall pines along the shoreline, the sun breaking through cloud cover to shimmer off the lake like someone tossed a handful of glitter at it.
Dragonflies flit above the surface. The scents of damp cedar and clean lake air linger on the breeze. Ahhh . . .
Ahead, the island grows larger, its outline sharpened by the morning sun.
Annabelle sighs dreamily. “Okay, I’ll admit it. This was a good idea.”
I smirk. “Try not to sound too shocked.”
She leans back against the curve of the seat, lifting her sunglasses to rest on top of her head. “It’s so calm. I could meditate.”
We fall into a rhythm—me doing the actual work, her pretending to. Which oddly enough doesn’t bother me. Normally, I’d be irritated by someone coasting, but with Annabelle? I like hearing her commentary. The sarcasm. The offbeat observations.