“Remember, I said no sex,” I say.
She giggles. “You’re not really going to make me have a sex-off with you, are you?”
“Sex-off?”
“See which one of us can go the longest without sex.”
I turn to face her. “You assume you’d win?”
She laughs. “I know I’d win.”
“You make it tempting to beat you, but I’m gonna throw in the white towel. I haven’t had you in half of the positions I want you in. Maybe we can play that game after a few kids.” I chuckle and tip her head back, placing my lips on hers.
“Thank goodness. I thought I talked myself into a corner there.”
I run my hands over the wheel, still in awe at the course my life is headed. That I had the guts to stand up to my dad.
“Thank you.” My voice is soft, and she looks at me, tilting her head. I kiss her again and draw back. “Thank you for believing in me.”
She smiles, and damn, I wish we weren’t on the boat right now. “You were already making the boats. You sold two before I ever even knew about it.”
“Yeah, but to stand up to my father… to leave the family business and the security I had there… I never would’ve done that without you. I always thought it’s what made me worthwhile, you know?”
She shakes her head. “I wish you saw yourself like I did.”
“Tell me again about how you crushed on me?” I wink and she shakes her head with a laugh. “I want to know a time you were into me and trying to hide it.”
She looks up, thinking for a minute, then looks back at me. “Hawaii. When we went out to the club. I would’ve slept with you that night.”
Damn. “Are you serious? I tried to be a gentleman.”
She laughs. “Didn’t you wonder why I was grinding into you on the dance floor? Or how I chose your room to escape from the grandmas? I could’ve slept with Mandi in her bed.”
None of that ever crossed my mind. “You mean I could’ve had you over a year ago?”
I lean in closer and kiss her again, but this time she wraps her arms around my neck and draws me deeper. I lose all track of our surroundings and the fact I didn’t anchor the boat until a horn sounds and I see a fishing boat coming right toward us. I start the engine and get us out of harm’s way.
“You’re a distraction,” I say.
She doesn’t respond but lets the wind hit her face. She’s so beautiful, and I can’t believe she’s mine.
“Want to drive?” I ask her a few minutes later.
“Are you sure?”
“We’ll have one of our own one day. Might as well get used to it.” I turn into an alcove, and we make the switch. She looks even better behind the wheel.
“Thanks.” She hammers on the gas, and I shake my head as she really sees what this boat can do.
After we leave the boat at the Winterberry Falls Marina in the slip I rented a few days ago, I drive us up the mountain until we’re at a lookout point. I leave her blindfolded in the jeep while I set out those fake lights that resemble candlelight. I don’t want to burn down the woods because we get too far into ourselves.
“I like the blindfold in bed much better,” she says.
I remove it from her eyes and her mouth opens into an O.
“I’ll remember that.” I chuckle.
I bring her over to the picnic I made for us with the fake candles. I have blankets to keep us warm. The small cliff overlooks the lake, and because it’s dusk, you can see the fishing boats coming in and out.
“Could you ever imagine being a fisherwoman on one of the big boats that stay out at sea for weeks at a time?” I ask, pouring her a glass of white wine.
“I considered it, but I’m not sure I could live on a boat with all men. I wish there were more women in the field. Also, my family…” She sips her wine.
“Being away from them?”
She nods. “After…” Her eyes find mine over the rim of her glass. “I just never wanted to be far away from them.”
I don’t say anything, hoping she continues. I’m desperate for her to open up to me about losing her mom and the pain it’s caused because I want to help her heal. I know that’s a superhuman expectation, but she’s been through enough in this lifetime.
“I never want to miss a moment. Just in case.”
I don’t give her a look of pity because that’s a sure way of getting her to stop talking.
“I think a lot of people wish they’d do that. There are a lot of memories I think I’ve forgotten over the years.” Which is the truth.
“There are some I don’t think I’ll ever forget. But being the youngest, I remember Mom the least. I used to be jealous of Cade, because he could recall everything about our mom because he’s the oldest. All I have is the way she hugged me when she reached me on the ice. The pat of her hand on my back, ushering me toward my dad. I feel like after she died, that’s the only memory that stuck in my head. As if it erased all others.” She sets down the wine and stares at the darkening sky. “Then I hear my dad’s screams, see his face transforming in horror. Him lunging forward and my brothers grabbing me.”
No tears fall from her eyes. I’m sure she’s recounted this moment so many times that she can do it on autopilot.
She looks at me. “I’m ruining our night. I’m sorry.”
I take her hands and scoot closer to her. “Never be sorry. I want you to trust me. I want you to open up to me so I can help you heal.”
She tilts her head and stares at me for a moment with a sad smile. “I’m not sure I’ll ever heal. I think this is just the way it is. I came to the realization a long time ago, after years of therapy, that I’ll just live my life feeling guilty about what happened.”
“You were five.” I brush my thumb down her cheek.
“At five, you should know not to go on the ice. Especially when you live in Alaska. It was so stupid of me.” She hangs her head low.
“Have you thought about going back to therapy?” I refuse to let her live the rest of her life taking the blame for her mom’s death when she was so young.
“I went for years, and I’m sure it got me to where I am now. Functional, able to laugh, able to have fun.” She looks more intently at me. “I’m not sitting at home crying every night, you know that.”
Maybe I am trying to be superhuman and fix it all for her. When something so tragic happens, maybe it just hangs there above people like a rain cloud and sometimes it pours. I loved Mrs. Greene like a mother, and I used to hear Fisher cry sometimes when I’d spend the night. Something out of the blue would set him off and he’d retreat, no longer wanting to play or do whatever we were doing. Time seemed to heal those wounds for him.
“After it happened, I remember you were a shell sometimes,” I say. “Just sat at the end of the table and ate your dinner. Then you’d go to your room. I always had this pull toward you, wanting to help you, even as kids—ever since I saw you on the swings at your mom’s wake.”
She smiles at me. “I remember that. You got me to eat, then I climbed the trellis and told you not to look up my dress.”