“Oh my God,” Kenny shrieked. “J.P., look at them!”
Two dolphins bobbed up and down like buoys on either side of the kayaks, clicking and squealing with excitement. Their curved rostrums were wide open which made the friendly pair look like they were displaying the widest, happiest, toothiest smiles Kenny had ever seen. She couldn’t help but smile back.
“Look at those two over there,” J.P. said with a grin as big as the dolphins. “They look like they’re waving to us.” He nodded to another duo a few feet away that were upright and spinning in circles, flipping their flappers faster than Kenny’s heart was beating a few seconds earlier.
“I think they’re dancing, putting on a show for us.” She looked in awe as the set that bobbed next to her disappeared below the water. “Where do you think those two are headed?”
“I’m not sure exactly, but not too far. About 400 of these bottlenose dolphins call Hilton Head home. Most groups migrate every year, like retired snowbirds, but these Lowcountry dolphins stick around.”
“Why is that?”
“Because they are smart. Next to humans, they have the second largest brain of all mammals.” J.P. laughed, thinking Kenny would have some snarky comment about him possessing a useless wealth of knowledge. “Would you ever want to leave if you didn’t have to?” he followed up when she didn’t immediately have a quick-witted response.
“No,” Kenny replied, thinking J.P.’s simple, yet loaded question was deeper than he intended.
Despite being on vacation and away from the stressors and problems of everyday life, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was a life outside the one that she was living. Maybe even a version entirely different than the desired life she was seeing in those nagging dreams. In her mind, there was no world outside her fast-paced, deadline-driven, adrenaline-fueled life in New York, squeezing in an occasional yoga class as a thinly veiled attempt to balance her equilibrium. But the peace and calm of the last two weeks made her question that notion. And maybe even her priorities.
J.P. handed Kenny the paddle she almost dropped, and they began kayaking back in the direction they came from.
“Me either. I guess in many ways I haven’t.” He shook his head almost in disbelief that he made the decision years ago to never leave. “When I was still playing golf, I had the opportunity to travel the world and visit some of the most magnificent places in America but when it came time to make a decision about laying roots—well professional roots, I haven’t gotten around to the personal roots.” J.P. paused, trying to reel in an accidental tangent. “Anyway, I never had a second thought about coming to Sea Pines.”
“Do you mean you golfed professionally? Or did you happen to find someone to fund your expensive hobby?” Kenny asked, half joking, half serious.
She didn’t know much about golf, but she did know there was a not so thin line between a golfer who could make a career out of the sport and a golfer who won leagues at their municipal courses or hit a once in a lifetime hole in one at their fancy country club.
“I guess you could say a little bit of both.” He smiled. “I played well my four years at Penn State and knew my game was at a level that would be competitive in the professional realm, but no matter how talented a player is, it’s a very expensive endeavor—the coaches, the tournament fees, the travel. I started applying for jobs at courses in Ohio and when someone from a club in Cleveland called Mr. C for a reference, he hung up on them and called me to say he wanted me to consider going pro. He offered to back me until I landed some bigger sponsorships. I stayed pro for eight years before hanging up my cleats and joining the crew at Liberty Oaks.”
“All this time you led me to believe you’re a glorified maintenance man who has a penchant forInside Editionwhen really you’re a retired professional athlete who runs one of the most prestigious golf courses in the country?” She shook her head, thoroughly impressed with her own exceptional taste. “I’d love to hear more about your adventures some time. Good chance we’ve crossed paths at airports in the past and didn’t even know it.”
She took a minute to realize how much she enjoyed the process of getting to know him. Every encounter she learned something new, something different, something that made him more attractive than the day before. In the spirit of Carl Gustav, she was letting things happen. Two weeks ago, Kenny would have employed the stealth stalking skills of Colby and the research department at WBS to cull every detail and fact about J.P. that was public record. There would be no mystery, learning, or peeling back layers. This was refreshing.
“You know, I think I’ve told you more about me during this time on the water than I’ve shared with anyone in a really long time,” J.P. said. “What about you? Why are youreallyhere? It doesn’t seem like one messed up interview would be enough to rattle someone like you so much that you leave home and basically take a sabbatical. Journalists usually have thick skin.”
“It’s not for the faint of heart,” Kenny admitted. “Clinton White wasn’t the only catalyst. The same day news of the interview broke, I found out that the manuscript for a book I wrote was turned down by a big publishing company.AndI got into an epic, let’s say, situation with my best friend. ‘Fight’ sounds so juvenile, doesn’t it? It was a perfect storm of events that led to me being here,” she said, surprising herself she wasn’t embarrassed to admit these failures to J.P.
“You’re a hotshot network news producerandan author? Looks like someone else hasn’t been totally forthcoming.”
“First, there’s nothing ‘hotshot’ about the producer gig.” She laughed. “Second, I’mnotan author. I poured my heart and soul into this piece of important, compelling work of investigative nonfiction and the only cover it’ll ever see is the white, plastic binder I stole from the WBS supply room where I keep edited versions.”
“Why don’t you shop it around to other publishers? I’m sure there’s more than one out there?” he asked with an expression that she interpreted aswhy didn’t you think of that.
“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. The woman who turned down the manuscript is the GOAT of the publishing world. No one will give it a second thought if they know that Muffin Evans passed on it. To add salt to the wound, she’s asked me to write a romantic comedy! I’ve been called a lot of things over the years, but a hopeful romantic is not one of them.” Kenny laughed.
J.P. scratched his head. “Who names their kid Muffin?”
“I know. Don’t let the name fool you, there’s nothing sweet or savory about her. She’s known in the industry as the Manuscript Eater.”
“Then it’s even more flattering that this Manuscript Eater has the confidence that you can go outside of your comfort zone and be successful. I think you should give it a shot,” J.P. said with a wink. “That is sacred advice from a fifteen-year-old J.P. who used to wear a soccer uniform. See what happens.”
“Well thank you for the vote of confidence,” Kenny managed to say before being surprised by a giant wave that sneaked up behind them, causing the two kayaks to collide together and crash to shore.
They braced tightly but barely stayed atop the boats on the unexpected, bumpy ride that whisked them back to land. They ended up with mouthfuls of ocean water and appeared as if they had gone white water rafting through angry rapids but looked at each other with amusement and bewildered relief once the kayaks halted to a hard stop, front ends grounded into the sand, and they regained their composure.
“I guess that’s a wrap.” J.P. climbed out of his kayak and swept his wet hair back and out of his face with one hand while reaching to assist Kenny up with the other.
“That’s a wrap.” She smiled and gladly gripped J.P.’s strong forearm, allowing him to pull her to her feet. “That was the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” she said with sincerity. “One thing, J.P. How did you know that first fin you saw wasn’t a shark?”
“Honest answer?” He hesitated. “I didn’t.”
