And on this side of the counter, having a good old chat with a God damned Olympian, was his wife. She waved him over. “Brent, this is DeShawn.”
He shoved his hand across the counter. “Mr. Williams, it’s a huge honour to meet you. I’ve been cheering you on since the World Juniors.”
“Brent loves kayaking,” Jess added.
The Olympian grinned at him. “Me too.”
An understatement. The grandson of Jamaican immigrants, his father had been a world-class sprinter for the Canadian Olympic team in the eighties and nineties. DeShawn had followed in his father’s footsteps until he discovered canoeing—and then kayaking—while at summer camp in Algonquin Park. The story was legendary, and since retiring from amateur sport, Williams had been the face of a national outdoor gear brand.
What the hell was he doing in this small town hours from Toronto?
“DeShawn and a couple of his friends came here to open a camp for teen athletes,” Jess answered his unspoken question. “Chase Miller hooked them with the lower real estate costs compared to Muskoka or Prince Edward County.”
“Land is dirt cheap around here, so long as it isn’t prime grape-growing soil,” Williams added. “And when I saw this store was for sale, too, it was meant to be. Growing up, I wanted to own an outfitters shop. Some kids dream of running bookstores, I wanted to upsell people into the lightest kayak possible.”
“A man after my own heart.” Brent stuck out his hand. “Good to meet you.”
“You, too. Are you one of Jess’s clients?”
He glanced at her, and she winced. “No,” he said smoothly. “Not a client. But I know she’s whip smart, so if you’re interested in using her services, you won’t find anyone better.”
“I have no doubt.”
Jess shifted on her hips, sliding her weight against him. “Brent’s got a terrible conflict of interest, though.” She gave him a meaningful look. “We’re married.”
“Ah, the firefighter!” DeShawn held out his hand again. “Nice to meet you, man.”
“Err… Thanks.” Brent didn’t know how to take that. Had his awful reputation preceded him, and this guy was just being nice?
“Come back in any time, and we can talk more about paddling gear.”
“Sounds good.” He turned to Jess. “Do you have more business stuff to discuss? I can look around.”
She shook her head. “I’m all yours now.”
He lifted the bakery bag. “I got pastries for dessert.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Nice.”
“I’ll let you two get going then,” DeShawn chuckled. “And then I might just put up aback in fifteen minutessign and go get my wife something from the bakery, too.”
Brent pushed away the pulse of guilt he felt at misrepresenting what he’d done. He wasn’t a good husband getting dessert for his wife, for them to enjoy in a wholesome way. He was a dirty dog hoping to impress a third person he hoped they would take to bed.
Tonight.
He hoped they would sleep with Evantonight. Holy shit. That was the first time he’d admitted it to himself, consciously, and it was a heady, confusing realization.
“Did I overstep?” Jess asked when they were outside. “I mean, we are married. It’s a factual statement.”
He tossed his coffee cup into a garbage bin, freeing up his hand to take hers. “It is. And one I like, to be clear.”
“You look a little shook.”
“Not because of that.” He squeezed her hand. “Never because of that. Call me whatever you want. Now, not to change the subject, but where are we headed now? Did you drive?”
“I walked. Love this town for that.”
He pointed the bakery bag ahead toward his truck. “Then your chariot awaits.”
