Page 66 of Plotting Summer

“That’s what he always told us. Though whenever other people are here, I’ve never heard one of them call it Winn Island. Make of that what you will.”

Tristan chuckles and stands up, glancing at the floor of the fishing boat. “What in here needs to come out?”

“All of it.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Tristan grabs the beach chairs and cooler, and I grab the towels and my tote. “I’ll come back for the paddleboards,” he says, helping me out of the boat.

“It’s high tide, so we can set up camp right by the edge of the water.”

“Camp?” Tristan asks, setting down his load and coming to take mine from me. “This isn’t another of your attempts to seduce me, is it?”

Despite the rush of nerves his question causes, I send him a playful scowl.

“You are an acclaimed romance writer. Who knows what’s going on in that head of yours.”

He’s one to talk. I’m still not sure what he’s thinking when it comes to us, and each time I’ve thought to broach the subject since he came by after work, my courage wanes before I can.

He walks back to the boat, grabbing the paddle board cases and hauling them over. “I assume you want these pumped up?”

“Yep.” I lean over and unzip one of the cases, pulling out the long, deflated board and rolling it out flat on the sand.

With Tristan as the muscle behind the pump, he has them both filled in less than twenty minutes, and we head out. The clear water around the islet is shallow enough to see the bottom, causing a greenish blue hue in the late afternoon light. An occasional fish darts beneath us and, more than a few times, the shadow of our boards makes me startle. Personally, I’ve never seen a shark at Winn Island, but once the thought is there, I can’t unthink it.

We haven’t been out very long when my paddleboard starts veering to whatever side my paddle is submerged on. “I think something’s wrong with my board.”

Tristan watches me attempt a few more strokes before paddling his own board over to where I am. “I hope your fin didn’t fall off.” He drops down onto his knees and puts his hand into the water beneath the end of my board. “Darn. It did. We must not have locked it in.” By we he means me, but it’s nice of him to make it a collective blame.

“Did I ruin Tala’s board?”

“No, you can get a replacement fin for like ten bucks.” He stands back up. “But we’ll probably want to beach it for the rest of the evening. If you want, we can switch boards and I can paddle it in, then we can head out on this one together.”

Why does that sound like the most wonderful yet nerve-wracking situation of my life? “Sure.”

He holds out his hand, and we do an awkward maneuver that leaves him on the dunce board and the lingering effect of his warm skin against mine. I get the sense he wouldn’t have minded the transition taking a bit longer, but with nerves bouncing through me, I suddenly feel like a young, inexperienced teenager all over again.

He dips his paddle a few times, and though he definitely has a little more control than I did, there’s no way he’ll be able to keep up with me. So I take advantage. “First one back to the island gets the extra brownie I brought for dessert,” I call over my shoulder.

Tristan says something, but I can’t make it out because I’m already several board lengths in front of him. When I pull my board onto the beach, I’m holding my paddle horizontally above my head, gloating over my victory.

“You’re a sneaky one,” he calls, making his way toward me one wobbly paddle at a time.

“Remember, I prefer smart,” I say with a laugh.

When the water’s about chest deep, Tristan jumps off the board and pulls it to the beach, dragging it out of the water before heading straight toward me. “Let’s see how those smarts will work for you now.”

I drop my paddle and start backing up. “Okay, you can have the extra brownie.”

He shakes his head, and I recognize that playful glint in his eyes. “It’s too late for concessions.”

With his next step, I take off running in the opposite direction, but as we’re on a narrow strip of sand in the middle of the ocean, there really isn’t anywhere to go. I can hear his thudding footsteps getting closer, so I veer into the water on the other side, my laughter thwarting my efforts to move faster. Salty water is splashing everywhere, but I don’t stop until Tristan’s strong arms slide around my stomach and he lifts me into the air.

He moves a little deeper as if he’s going to dunk me, and my squealish giggle would put a little pink piglet to shame. “Okay, okay,” I say. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Tristan pauses, but he doesn’t release me. “Do you mean it?”

“I mean it.”

“And do I get the brownie?”