Ten. Secret Garden

TEN

Secret Garden

Joe

I need to ask Maren about Bryce Callahan, but I don't know how. Another week passes before I find the right moment. During that time I see her almost every day. Either in the mornings when she comes and hangs out with Anders, using Rogers as a transparent excuse to help my son feel cared for while leaving me space to focus on Lucy, or in between guided tours where she charms old cusses with her bright smile and big brain.

So between my kids and the off-season guests always loitering around the lodge, I can't ever seem to find the right time to pull her aside. Part of the problem is that I have a gut feeling bringing up Callahan is gonna suck and Maren seems so happy these days. Genuinely relaxed in a way she wasn't when she first showed up—planning to bury herself in bait shop renovations—and I want her to stay that way. I feel like I owe her that much for all she's managed to do for my kids in such a short time.

The opportunity to get her alone arrives on an unseasonably warm Saturday—the last Saturday in September. It being a weekend, Angela offered to come in and man the bar, and my parents purchased tickets months ago to see " Encanto Live" with my kids. I packed the pair up for an entire day, including spare clothes and noise-canceling headphones for Lucy, and dropped them off early this morning. They plan to be back by dinner, but in case it's too much stimulation for Lucy, they have a backup plan to stay at a hotel in Green Bay if they need a quiet place to crash. Anders packed his swimsuit, so I know which version he is secretly hoping for. I make a mental note to take him swimming if it doesn't work out this time.

The kid deserves a break as much as any of us.

At any rate, this is why I'm knocking on cabin twenty at ten A.M ., my own bag packed for a day out on the water, hoping I can talk Maren into taking a day off from her renovations.

She answers with a surprised grin and steps out onto the porch, allowing Rogers to dance around our legs and demand his own greeting.

I scrub his head, saying hi for probably longer than is necessary, trying to find the words. I've gone back and forth about this and still haven't come up with a sure answer on whether "Come out on my boat for the day" qualifies as a big-brother-adjacent activity or not. If Liam were here, there would be no question. Or, like, if my kids were around. But only the two of us?

All I know is I want to spend the day on the boat with her. I want to see her relaxed. Like the time on her deck and the mornings on mine. I crave her version of calm. I don't know what that means.

"What can I do for you, Joe?" Straight to the point.

I decide to answer the same way.

"I'm headed out on the MasterCraft. Wanted to know if you'd want to come?"

I know in an instant I have her attention. "The MasterCraft?"

"It's supposed to be nice out, maybe the last really nice day of the year. Angela is tending bar and I have the day ahead of me. No kids, so no pontoon. I feel like cruising. Rogers can come."

"Oh, I wouldn't want him to scratch…"

"She's already scratched to hell and over a decade old, but she still purrs like new. Rogers deserves to feel the wind in his hair, too."

She pulls a face, as though considering. Faker. "I was gonna work on the bathroom floor today, but if you really think it's the last nice day…"

"Get your suit on. I'll wait."

"Should I pack us some sandwiches? A cooler?"

"Already done. Just a suit and sunscreen if you want to use your own. I think there's some organic, nontoxic baby SPF 360 or something on the boat already, but I'll warn you it's like painting yourself in tar and waiting for the feathers to arrive."

Maren laughs out loud and I feel it all the way down my body. I don't want to even think of how long it's been since I've made someone laugh, let alone a woman. And I really don't want to think about how much I like it.

She leaves me on the porch with Rogers and runs inside to change. Minutes later, she shuffles out in a pair of cut-offs and a loose-fitting long-sleeved white linen top. Her feet are bare except for a pair of flip-flops, but her toes have bright-pink polish that matches the bright-pink swimsuit strings tied around the back of her neck. Her reddish-brown hair is back in a simple ponytail that swings behind her and she's wearing a pair of sunglasses on top of her head. She's somehow also packed a tote bag with a towel and some kind of dog toy for Rogers, thrown over one shoulder, and filled a giant water bottle that rattles with ice cubes.

I've obviously gotten too used to my kids' timeline because this feels miraculously quick.

"I'm ready!"

"Okay. I already filled up the tank this morning. She's parked at the lodge."

We walk down the path toward the lodge, taking in the nice weather. I studiously avoid glancing toward the big bay windows when we get near. Being an owner, I always get some attention at the resort. My parents and I are the ones everyone knows, and while we like it that way, on days like today, when I'm off, I prefer to just be me. Not to mention, I don't even want to think about what Angela will say if she sees me taking my best friend's little sister out for a solo cruise.

The sun is already beating down, though it's not as intense as, say, July. Rogers trots between us, tongue lolling and tail wagging as we make our way down the dock toward the boat. I wasn't kidding about how old my boat is. It was once top of the line, but my parents don't water-ski anymore and it's easier to take Lucy out on the pontoon when we play on the water. I swallow back the usual surge of guilt, thinking about Anders and how he should be comfortable on water skis by now. I just haven't had a chance to take him out and teach him. We'd need someone to drive the boat while someone spots and…

"Hello, gorgeous," Maren interrupts my self-flagellation, walking up to the MasterCraft and rubbing a palm against the faded blue fiberglass, affectionately. I hop in, setting the boat to rocking. Maren passes me her tote and water bottle and then dips into an easy squat, picking up a wriggling Rogers. I hold out my arms and take him from her, placing him on his feet between the seats. Before I can hold out a hand to Maren, she hops in behind me like the pro she is.

"Where to?"

"I thought we'd cruise and then park on Evans Lake for a while."

Mare nods. "I like it. There's sure to be traffic today with everyone trying to make the most out of the weather. Evans is tucked away."

I settle in the captain's chair and turn over the engine, backing us out while Maren takes care of the ropes that tether us to the dock. I watch her expertly wind and then stow them so they don't get tangled, before settling on the chair next to me and reaching for her water and taking a sip.

I ease us past the no-wake zone and Maren slips her sunglasses down over her eyes just as I gun the engine. We cruise for a while. Evans Lake is on the other side of the flowage, through and around bogs, islands, bridges, and no-wake zones that delineate the various resorts along our way. Maren eases back in her chair, arm outstretched and dancing in the wind, her ponytail whipping around. Rogers settles easily between us on the floor, along for the ride.

And it's nice. Really, really nice.

I ease up on the engine once we hit Evans Lake and am glad to see we basically have the entire thing to ourselves. We cruise the shoreline and I keep one eye on the depth finder even though I know these waters like the back of my hand. Once I find a spot deep enough where we can float but shallow enough I can toss an anchor, I cut the engine. I fiddle with the anchor and Maren turns on the radio, finding us some Jimmy Buffett.

Then she cracks open a beer from the cooler and removes her shirt and shorts, stepping out of them with those bare bright-pink polished toes like it's no big deal. Because it's not. We're adults who have known each other our entire lives on a boat on a lake and it's hot outside. This is the exact situation you should take off your clothes in.

Which is why I don't understand why the fuck my face is burning like a kid who just got caught watching porn by his mom. I continue to mess with the anchor far, far longer than is necessary, tugging on the rope and pretending to tighten the knot at the base. I fuck around so long, Maren asks, "You need help?" And starts to head my way.

"No!" I practically shout, before turning it into a self-conscious laugh, clearing my throat. "Sorry. No. No need to walk over here. I got it. There was just… something. On the… like a weed, or… I thought it was a fish."

"A fish?"

"Or something. It was nothing." I step down and move past her, avoiding staring at her curves, of which there are plenty, and also why are they so perfect? I have seen Maren in a bathing suit before. When she was a teenager. I don't remember her having curves then. Definitely no swells or swoops and absolutely zero dips. Now there are all of those in all of the right places.

Holy fuck this was a mistake. Liam will murder me.

"Can you help put this on my back?" Maren asks, holding out a bottle of SPF 35. I notice it's also organic and nontoxic, but when I rub it between my palms, it's smooth and slippery.

Great.

"I'll do you next," she offers.

I swallow and grunt my agreement somewhere in the back of my throat.

She turns, catching her pony up in one hand and twisting it in her fingers. Which makes me think of twisting it in my fingers as I sink into her from behind.

I shut my eyes, shaking the thought from my brain. Liam. Think of Liam. And her other brothers, Kyle and Brett. Hell, think of Mrs. Laughlin. That helps, and I start to spread the sunscreen over the soft skin of her shoulders, down her spine, along her trim waist and across the dimples in the small of her back. I manage all of this while fighting off the hard-on to end all hard-ons, and even manage to collect myself enough so that when she spins to face me again, smiling gratefully, I pass her the sunscreen and remove my own shirt.

"My turn."