by Quinn Nolan
He’s engaged. My only serious boyfriend is getting married. This fact settles in my stomach like a brick.
Scott beams at her before holding his hand in my direction. “Savannah, this is Ashlyn Mackenzie. It’s so crazy—I haven’t seen her since college.”
Savannah smiles, but it’s merely a perfunctory movement of her lips. She holds her hand out to me limply, palm down, and I wonder for a moment if she expects me to kiss it. I do my best to grip her hand, but the shake is awkward at best. When I release it, I take a drink of my beer. It’s warm now and tastes slightly more bitter than I’d like. It’s not until I swallow that I remember Graham is beside me. Savannah eyes him with veiled interest. Objectively speaking, he’s good looking—maybe even better looking than Scott. Where Scott’s looks err on the side of generic pretty-boy, Graham has an edge of bad-boy. Whether it’s the close-cropped beard or simply the aura of musician, I’ll take it, gratified that Savannah’s interest is piqued. I slip my hand around Graham’s arm, imitating Savannah’s possessive hold. “This is my boyfriend, Graham.”
Shit. I didn’t mean for the “boyfriend” thing to come out. I intended for it to just be implied because, frankly, Graham is not my boyfriend. We’ve been out a few times. He’s kissed me at the end of each date. But that’s it. I tense, waiting for his reaction—waiting for him to stammer awkwardly or take a step back.
But he doesn’t.
“Nice to meet you,” he says easily, raising his chin in her direction. He slides his arm around my back, bringing his hand to rest on my hip. He’s casual, not overdoing it. Like he’s done it a thousand times.
Savannah studies us for a beat before turning to Scott. “Are you ready to go? I’m supposed to meet my mom later to help her pick out a dress for the wedding, and I want to shower first.”
“Yeah—sure.” Scott offers his hand to Graham, who shakes it, before leaning in and giving me a one-armed hug. “It was so good seeing you, Ashes.”
“You, too.” I say it because I’m supposed to, not because I genuinely mean it.
Savannah offers a thin smile and the two of them turn, taking off toward the parking lot. I watch them for a long moment, waiting until they’re out of earshot before turning to Graham, afraid of what I might see there.
“I’m sorry,” I say without preamble. “I panicked. I didn’t mean to say you were my boyfriend. I was just nervous and a little surprised and—”
“Ashlyn.” Graham runs a finger down the side of my face, green eyes locked on mine. “It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize.”
God, his eyes are beautiful. How have I never noticed before? And now, the way he’s staring at me, with such intensity... I rest a hand on his chest for support, afraid I might tip forward and fall into those eyes.
“Look, I know we haven’t had the talk yet or anything, but... I like you. And I think you like me.”
There’s so much I want to say, but I can’t figure out how to put the ideas into words. I like the idea of Graham—the picture I built up when I still was just staring at him while he strummed his acoustic at the brewpub, before we ever said more than a hello to each other. And I’m flattered by the interest he’s showing in me, and impressed that he took the time to put together a picnic for us today. But he’s different than I expected him to be, and being with him is not exactly what I envisioned—but that’s not his fault. I don’t know if we have the potential to be long-term, or even if I want that.
The corners of his mouth quirk upward and he strokes my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I guess what I mean is... I kinda liked when you called me your boyfriend just now.”
Before I can respond, he’s kissing me, his lips soft but insistent, his thumb still rubbing gentle circles on my skin. His beard brushes my chin, and for the first time, it doesn’t chafe. Instead, my stomach swoops in the way I always expected it would and sparks erupt where he brushes against my skin. It’s not the firework-magnitude explosion I experienced with Everett, but it’s enough to send tingles down my spine. His free hand presses the small of my back and I lean into him, enjoying the feeling of his warm body pressed against the length of mine, the cool sand under my feet, the easy breeze rustling my hair, the sound of the water lapping at the shore.
It’s the kind of kiss I’ve been waiting to experience with Graham—the kind that makes my heart flutter, my knees tremble. Maybe I’ve been too distracted by Everett to allow myself to experience Graham like this. He likes me. He wants to spend time with me. Our relationship so far hasn’t been perfect, but maybe I’m naïve to think it should be. Love isn’t a fairy tale, and I should stop expecting an automatic happily-ever-after. If I want to be with Graham, I have to put work in, too—I can’t expect everything to fall on his shoulders. It’s time for me to take control and make this relationship what I want it to be.
Chapter Sixteen
Everett
I’ve written five songs since I talked with Somer on Tuesday. I’ve got the lyrics down, got chords behind them, and I’ve recorded rough versions to send to him. I’m one hundred percent positive he and the execs will really like all of them.
And yet I can’t bring myself to send them.
Friday morning, my finger hovers over the enter button on my laptop. It’s just one quick motion. It would take a fraction of a second. But I can’t bring myself to do it.
Even though Ashlyn hasn’t heard these songs, her critique of the last ones echoes in my head. Derivative. Is she right? Are all these songs just an echo of the ones off the first record? If so—since these are the only ones I’ve written that the people in charge seem to like—what does that say about me as a musician? Did I only have the one record in me? Will everything I ever do for the rest of my career be overshadowed by that first album?
I slam the laptop closed. I can send the songs later. What I need now is to clear my head. I haven’t left the house all week. I need to go somewhere, do something. I look out the wall of windows overlooking the lake, my eyes straying to the boat. I still haven’t been out on it.
And then I’m up, like it’s what I meant to do all along. I head to the front door, squinting at the garage as I exit the house. Is she home? It’s ten in the morning on a Friday. Is the brewpub even open this early? Does she work today?
I’ve seen her a couple times since the Graham encounter, the most recent time being last night when he picked her up. I’m glad things are working out between them. I am.
I am.
When I get to the garage, I bring my finger to the bell but stop before I make contact. My fingers curl around the doorknob. She lives in the apartment above the garage, so entering the garage isn’t the same as barging into her place. Besides, my rental is parked in here, so if I were going to take it out somewhere, I’d have to go in. I push through my hesitation and open the door, not allowing myself to pause before heading up the staircase to her apartment.
She opens the door seconds after I stop knocking, a glass of water in her hand. I wonder if I caught her on the way from the kitchen.
“Everett?”
She’s still in her pajamas—a thin, light blue t-shirt with a cupcake on the front and matching shorts. Her legs look longer than I remember, probably owing to the cut of the shorts. And the t-shirt is thin, wearing so thin in spots that I can almost detect the color of her tan beneath—
She shifts, crossing her arms over her chest, color blooming in her cheeks. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone—”
“No, it’s my fault,” I say quickly. “I just, uh... I was wondering about—well, if you’re not busy, of course—I wanted to see if...” I blow out a breath. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve seen plenty of girls wearing considerably less than what Ashlyn has on and I’ve never had this kind of reaction. I need to get it together. “The boat,” I say finally. “Could you show me how to work the boat? I’d like to take it out.”
Her eyes widen. “Right now?”
“Soon. If you can. Do you have to work or...”
I trail off, not quite able to bring myself to ask if she’s got plans with Graham.
“It’s actually my day off. From the brewpub. Not from grounds keeping. If I’m here, I’m on duty.” She smiles, but I think it’s from nerves. Am I making her nervous? I don’t think I’ve ever had that effect on her—it’s one of the things that makes hanging around her so easy. Unless... Does she still feel bad about her critique of the songs? I was kind of a dick to her that day, but I don’t want her to think I’m mad—because I’m not, at least not at her.
My head’s so mixed up about the music right now I don’t even know what to say about that night. Bringing it up might put me on edge, but I want her to know I hold no hard feelings. “Do you wanna come out with me?” The question tumbles out before I know I plan to ask it. When she doesn’t respond right away, I continue. “I mean, do you have any duties to attend to around the grounds? Even if you do, tell your boss I made you skip them to show me how to work the boat.” I flash a grin. “It’ll be fun. I can pack some beers and make some sandwiches and you can show me the sights or whatever it is you do when you’re on a boat.”
When she still doesn’t respond, I’m afraid I’ve said something wrong, overstepped something somehow. But then a smile breaks across her face. She reaches forward and squeezes my arm. “I know where the inner tubes are. I’ll meet you on the dock in half an hour.”
I head back to the house, lighter than I’ve felt in days. It takes almost no time for me to throw on a pair of swim trunks and a t-shirt and grab some beer from the fridge. I take my time on the sandwiches, but even still, there’s a good fifteen minutes left before Ashlyn said she’d be down.
I set two canvas bags filled with food and drinks by the back door before heading out onto the deck. I sit down in my usual chair for approximately thirty seconds before popping up again. I’m too full of energy to just sit.
I stand at the edge of the deck, surveying the water and the grounds, when the glint of sunlight off metal catches my eye. But it can’t be metal—it’s stationed between two low flowering bushes.
My curiosity piqued, I head over to see what could be there. As I near the bushes, I see a hollow ball, which appears to have been made by gluing washers together, sitting atop a thin coil of metal. Now that I’m closer, I see two more sculptures, each slightly different from the first, set between nearby bushes. These clearly aren’t store-bought—each has been meticulously crafted by hand.
As I move toward the one on the end, something else catches my eye—a face sticking out of a tree. I smile as I approach, picking out the different materials making up all the features—pieces of bike chain for eyebrows, jar lids and industrial-sized nuts for eyes, gardening spades for ears.
“You found Odo.”
I jump at the words, but when I turn, Ashlyn is smiling as she approaches, a cooler in one hand and two inner tubes resting on her other arm. I relieve her of the inner tubes. “I found what?”
She lifts her chin toward the tree. “Odo. Not everything gets a name, but, well, he’s my favorite.”
“Wait.” I run her words over in my head. “Did you...make this?”
She nods before casting her eyes downward. “It’s silly. Just something I do sometimes when I’m not at the brewpub and I’m done with all my work here. I’m used to being busy.”
I shake my head, turning back to Odo. “No, it’s not silly. It’s actually really neat. Did you make those balls over there too?”
A smile curls the edges of her lips as she looks up. “Yeah. And a handful of other things scattered around the property. Leo saw them all stacking up in the garage and told me I might as well put them out here where they could be seen.”
It makes sense. If all her pieces are as interesting and intricate as these, I can see why the landlord would want them scattered around the grounds. “Have you sold many?”
Her eyes widen and she shakes her head vigorously. “Oh, no. I mean, no way. They’re just silly, like I said.”
“I don’t know. I bet people’d pay a lot for stuff like this. You’d be surprised the kind of artwork rich people blow their money on.”
She opens her mouth before pressing her lips together again, hesitating. “You said something about beer and sandwiches. We should put them in the cooler.”
We spend a few minutes in the house transferring things out of the canvas bags. Ashlyn slips her phone from her back pocket and sets it on the coffee table before leading the way to the dock. Once we’re on the boat, she starts explaining things to me—how to cast off, how the navigation system works. Like I figured, the actual driving of the boat isn’t much different than driving a car; still, I’m glad Ashlyn’s out with me.
We go out so far that I can’t see land on either side of us, just water stretching out to the horizon. As Ashlyn busies herself adding beers to the cooler, a shiver overtakes me. Surrounded by so much water, I can’t help feeling small, isolated, alone. And, according to Ashlyn, this isn’t even one of the Great Lakes: Lake St. Clair is nothing more than a puddle between two much larger lakes. For the first time since arriving here—to Michigan, to the lake house—peace finds me. I’ve been so stressed out about the song-writing situation, allowing it to completely overwhelm me, but out here my concerns seem laughable. Yes, my music is important—to me, to the band, the label, the fans—but right now, I’m just a tiny speck on a small lake.
“Think fast!”
I’m only just able to turn and grab the inner tube Ashlyn throws at me. She laughs, the sound like bells, before pulling off her tank top. My breath catches at the sight of her bikini-clad top half—which is completely absurd. I’ve seen more than my fair share of half-naked co-eds, bodies evenly tanned from head to toe, stomachs taught and flat, breasts that about knock a guy in the face. But that’s not Ashlyn. Her arms and shoulders are much tanner than her middle, which is softer, rounder. As for her breasts...
She shifts, holding folded hands in front of her abdomen. Shit. Way to stare like a complete pervert. I train my gaze at the deck as I pull off my own t-shirt. “So, what now? Are you gonna, like, pull me behind the boat in this thing or something?”
She shakes her head, smiling, her earlier discomfort forgotten. “No. You really should have three for tubing—one driving, one watching, and one riding. I wouldn’t want you to fall off and, you know, die.”
“Yeah. My manager would be pissed.”
She tosses her tube into the water. There’s a rope tied to the side that connects to the boat. When I check, mine has the same tether. “We’re just gonna float.”
“That’s it? Just...float?” I’m dubious. This doesn’t sound much more interesting than sitting on the couch at home.
She holds up what looks like a cooler affixed to its own inner tube. “And drink.”
It’s my turn to laugh. Okay, maybe moderately more interesting than sitting on a couch. Ashlyn kneels down and splashes the cooler down into the water by her tube. Then, she bends over the side to tie the cooler to it and I catch my gaze resting on the swell of her ass. The fabric of her bikini bottom clings to her rear end, accentuating the near-perfect shape.
The cooler was a great idea.
Ashlyn straightens and I shake myself out of my trance. Without looking in my direction, she steps over the side of the boat onto the ladder. Holding onto the side, she maneuvers the tube so it’s behind her before launching herself backward onto it, landing perfectly in the center, legs and back supported. She grins. “You coming?” Not waiting for my response, she tugs the cooler toward her and selects a bottle.
I throw my tube into the water. She drifted away once she sat in hers, so there’s plenty of room. Getting into the tube didn’t look that difficult. I can do that. I climb onto the second rung of the ladder and use a hand to steady the tube behind me. I throw a grin in Ashlyn’s direction before straightening and falling backwards—
I hit the side of the tube, not the center. The tube flips, sending me into the cool lake water. I subm
erge completely, sounds around me muffling as water rushes to cover my ears. I kick frantically, swiping out a couple strong strokes with my arms before my head breaks the water’s surface. I blink a couple times, wiping my eyes, before anything comes into focus. My gaze falls on Ashlyn, whose twitching lips are pressed together, clearly suppressing laughter. She uses her hands to paddle toward my tube, which is several feet from me now.
“Are you okay?” Her voice is high and tight and I’m positive I hear a muffled snort at the end.
“Fine.” The word comes out gruffer than I intended and I try again. “I’ll live.” I swim toward the tube and reach it just as she does. “I didn’t think it would move.”
“Well, water. You want to move it back to the boat? I can hold it for you this time if—”
I shake my head, peppering her arms with droplets of water. “No, I think I’ll just...” I grab the side of the tube, figuring I might be able to pull myself up onto it, but realize quickly it’ll just cause the thing to tip again. I need another approach. Ashlyn’s mouth puckers and her brow furrows, like she’s concentrating really hard on the problem at hand. She opens her mouth to offer a suggestion, but I’ve come up with my own plan and propel myself downward before she can get a word out. I don’t open my eyes under the water, navigating instead by touch. I bump the thick canvas with the top of my head twice before finding the center opening.
Ashlyn’s dubious gaze greets me when I open my eyes. “Are you sure this is the best idea?”
“Sure,” I say with more confidence than I’m feeling. “If I just...” I pull my arms up, one at a time, through the hole. I’ve definitely got the upper arm strength to pull myself up onto the inner edge of the tube, and then, it’ll just be a matter of maneuvering my legs through and draping them over the other side. In my head, the action is flawless. The reality, not so much.