Two hours later, I’ve read through every relevant trade magazine article about Sawyer that I could google, savoring the quotes, the words from his own mouth about what he’s doing. His passion and intensity come through clearly. He’s not the slightly shy and sometimes awkward boy he was as a counselor. But I knew that before we even finished our fettucine.
I have to end my research sooner than I want to, but only to get ready for our firstdatehang: canoeing.
He knocks a half hour later, and I’m ready, a swimsuit beneath my cotton tank dress, water-friendly sandals on my feet, sunscreened and ponytailed for the adventure.
“Hey,” he says when I open the door. He’s dressed in gray trunks, a soft-looking blue T-shirt, and Tevas exactly like the ones he used to wear. He’d dressed like that every day of summer camp, but something about it hits me differently now.
His chest is broader and deeper, and his cheeks have lost their last bit of baby softness. I want to reach up and run my fingers along his jawline to see if it’s as chiseled as it looks, but I refrain.
“You look great,” he says, “except for…” He reaches out and brushes at my nose with his thumb. “Missed some sunscreen there.” But he smooths it across my cheek, and heat follows his touch before he wipes the rest against his shorts. “Got it.”
Whoa.No. Stop it.It’s the kind of thing I would do for Natalie or Juniper.
“Ready to get on the water?”
I nod. “Let’s go.”
A canoe waits for us by the new dock, and when we reach it, I spot the gear in the bottom. “Fishing, huh?”
“Yeah. I’m thinking a friendly competition. Whoever catches the smallest fish has to cook the winner dinner.”
“Sounds perfect. Hope you have good catfish recipes, because I’m going to catch a giant one for you to cook.”
“Big talk, Winters. Get in the boat.” He offers his hand to help, and his palm is lightly calloused when I take it. He also rests his hand on my back, waist-high, like I need the extra support to navigate the bow, which is currently only in about two inches of water.
I narrow my eyes, but he’s not meeting them. I let go as soon as both feet are in the canoe and settle on my seat so he can push us out. He does, giving us a smooth launch before hopping in, and we slip into an easy rhythm as we paddle.
“There’s a good spot not too far from the center of the lake,” he says.
“You come here often enough to have a fishing hole?” I have to call my questions over my shoulder, but that’s okay. I’m not ready to sit eyeball to eyeball with him yet.
“I sort of lucked into this one, to be honest. I only make it out here about once a month and some holidays. I’ll probably come less in the summer when it’s crawling with kids.”
“Are you in Chicago the rest of the time?”
He laughs. “I don’t know if I’m in any one place most of the time. I have projects all over. St. Louis. Detroit. Farther east. I’ve got six major projects under development right now, and about that many smaller ones, so I have to pick and choose where I am.”
We talk baseball—he’s a Boston Red Sox fan—until we reach his spot and put our paddles down. I turn, resettling myself on the small bench seat.
He slides the poles from beneath the seats, only this requires him to close a hand around my bare ankle to get to them.
He’sflirtingwith me! What the—
“When we played Five Questions the other night, I didn’t get to ask any of mine. You up for it?” he asks as he hands me a pole.
“Trapped in the middle of a lake and obligated to answer any five questions you ask.” I rummage in the tackle box for a lure, which I can do without mauling him. “Gee, Sawyer, you sure know how to show a girl a good time.”
“Hangs at a summer camp do revolve around a theme.”
“Outdoor activities and camp games?”
“Nailed it. But a reminder before you jump in and try to swim back, this is a double-dog dare.”
I lay the fishing pole across my lap and study him. He’s up to something, and I’m going to crack him. “I don’t want to get away from you.”
“That’s a relief.” There’s a sincerity in his words.
“Have you thought I hated you this whole time?”
