Page 29 of Plotting Summer

“I’m keeping my eye on you.” He shakes his head, tucking his phone into his pocket, then helps me into the kayak before climbing into the seat behind me. He places his cooler bag between us as a barrier. I’m not sure if it’s intentional since it’s the most natural place to put it, but I can’t help but feel it is. Tristan points toward our destination across the bay—the shady mangrove forest he referenced—and we start off. I’m not super efficient with the paddle, but Tristan’s skills more than compensate.

Tristan clears his throat behind me. “The friend I mentioned coming here with is Noah Belacourt.”

“Oh.” I say it like my heart isn’t soaring at the news his friend isn’t some sporty, gorgeous outdoors woman from the mainland with sun-kissed skin and blue eyes that match the sky like Tristan’s match the sea. Okay, so I may have created a mental image of her in my mind. “I didn’t realize he’s in town.”

“Just for the summer. We like to go out kayaking together.”

I don’t know Noah personally. I’ve seen him on occasion, but because he went to private school in New York, I’ve never actually spoken to him (huge surprise here, I’m sure). But just because I don’t know him doesn’t mean I don’t know all about him. Besides that, the Belacourts are the wealthiest people on the island and own the fancy Belacourt Resort at the north end where celebrities and other mega rich people vacation. They also have a reality tv show, The Belacourts. See the recurring theme? They are a bit obsessed with themselves. Which is why I hate to admit that their show is one of my guilty pleasures.

“That’s fun,” I say. “I’ve never met him.”

“I’ll have to introduce you two sometime. He’s a great guy.”

Did Tristan casually mention introducing me to the island’s celebrity billionaire bachelor as though it’s no big deal? Not that I actually expect it to happen. I’m not even sure I’d want to meet him considering the freaky amount of information I have stored in my head about him and his family, but that’s so sweetly Tristan of him to offer.

We pass a few kayakers who are excitedly pointing in the direction opposite of us, and before I can wonder what it is they’re looking at, a dolphin jumps out of the water. “Did you see that?” I ask, glancing back at Tristan.

His gaze is set where mine was and he nods. “How about a little side competition?” His smile returns to me. “Whoever spots the most wildlife before lunch gets the can of ice-cold Diet Coke I brought.”

I shift to face him more fully. My life jacket lifts awkwardly into my neck with the attempt and digs into my cheek. I’m positive it’s a super attractive look on me, particularly with the bright orange color clashing with my pale skin tone. “You only brought one?”

“Technically, I brought it for you, but this sounds like more fun.”

“The dolphin counts as mine, then.”

He shrugs. “I mean, if you feel right about that.”

I huff which makes him chuckle. “Fine,” I say. “We’ll start the count now.”

We begin paddling again, and I keep my eyes trained to movements, but I don’t glimpse any. When we finally reach the shade of the mangroves, the temperature drops noticeably. The waterway is narrow, with trees that overlap above in a sort of canopy as if we’re in some kind of Amazonian tree tunnel. Then I see a turtle lounging on a log. “One.” I see another just behind it and point. “Two.”

“One,” Tristan says, pointing to a sea bird perched on a branch overhead.

After about an hour carrying on this way—paddling and pointing out wildlife—we come to a small grove where the water widens and steer our kayaks to the side on the off-chance someone needs to move past us. But considering we’ve only passed three other boats this whole time, I doubt it’s necessary. Apparently, there aren’t many people crazy enough to be out in this heat and humidity. Or possibly brave enough to venture this far into the mangrove forest waterways.

With our approach, a bird on a nearby tree takes flight. “One hundred thirteen,” I say, setting the paddle across the kayak to give my throbbing arms a minute to recoup. “And what are you at?” I ask, already knowing the answer. “Seventy-eight, wasn’t it?”

“One of us had to actually paddle,” he says, throwing me one of those smiles that lights my insides on fire. “And, I hate to mention it, but you have a serious advantage sitting up front.”

“Excuses. Excuses.” I hold out my hand. “I’ll take that Diet Coke now.”

“Wow. No mercy.” Tristan rummages through his bag and hands me the ice-cold soda. “I didn’t realize you were so competitive.”

“Neither did I.” When I pop open the tab, it gives a satisfying hiss, and I take a swig before looking at the can in my hand like a love-struck woman. “Apparently, I just need the right motivation.”

Tristan laughs, grabbing out a water for himself. “Speaking of, did you decide what you want your prize to be if you win?”

I shake my head. “I’m still thinking of something equal to your dedication request.”

“I’m eager to hear what you come up with.” He opens up the cooler again and tosses me a sandwich. “If I remember correctly, peanut butter and honey is your favorite?”

“It is.” I smile and accept his offering, taking a bite of my sandwich. Not only did he remember the peanut butter and honey, but he remembered I prefer crunchy peanut butter. “I’m impressed.”

“At my memory or my sandwich-making skills?”

“Both, actually. But I meant your memory.”

“Then you should probably know I’ve got salt & pepper chips, some cut-up mangoes, and a double pack of Reese’s with your name on it.”