43. Marnie

It’s strange not having my phone ring constantly.

Not dealing with a mountain of invoices.

Endless emails.

The social media beast has released its grip on me, too. I only post when I feel like it. Neat clouds. Pretty wildflowers.

Aside from a baby shower here, and a church reception there, my baking orders have been pretty light. The next wedding isn’t for a week, so that’s left me with plenty of time to go through Gus’s things. And I’ve been helping Dusty with odd tasks.

I especially like helping him irrigate. We get up early to open the gates on the pipe, letting cold, clear groundwater cascade down the crop rows. Then we go out in the afternoon to switch rows. And again at night.

I’ve started to learn the fields based on the time of day. Sunrise and the quiet birdsong.

The energy-sapping sun at midday. And the lazy sunsets at night.

I like it better than I could ever have imagined.

Maybe Tia was right, maybe I’ve got country girl running through my veins.

It helps to have such a sexy partner.

Dusty works hard.

Like, damn hard.

It’s not a stretch to see what Uncle Gus saw. Dusty is honest and hardworking.

But, he knows when to take a break.

When he invited me to his buddies’ annual lake trip, I almost said no.

I’ve only had brief interactions with his friends, but they don’t strike me as my kind of people.

They’re like oversized jocks with cowboy boots.

I tend to stick to the art nerds and music lovers.

But the idea of camping with Dusty was compelling enough to overcome my reservations about his friends.

And it turns out, his friends have at least one thing to recommend them, they come with boats.

Josh brought a fishing pontoon, and Bo brought a sleek speed boat that might be my new favorite thing.

I think it’s his favorite thing, too. Right behind Andy.

He guns the boat across the water, ignoring backhanded complaints from his girlfriend about upsetting the lake’s biome. Apparently, she isn’t just a bird lover; the fish get in there, too.

They’re a bit of an odd couple, but at least the running commentary is amusing.

Almost as good as watching the boys water ski. Which they are ridiculously good at. Because… of course, they are.

My water-skiing career began and ended with one sad belly flop an hour earlier. I’ve been perfectly content to sip a beer and watch Dusty show off. What can I say? I’m a sucker for beautiful things.

And his sheer athleticism, the raw strength, is a thing of beauty. Bo swings the boat wide, and Dusty cuts a sweeping arc behind him, reaching out with one hand to brush the water’s surface. He swings the other way, sending a fan of water spraying into the air. Bo eventually slows down, and Dusty sinks below the surface. He swims back to the boat, climbing inside with a big grin on his face, chest heaving from the exertion. He sidles past Bo, coming to sit next to me.

Shaking his head like a dog, he showers me with cold water before tugging me against his wet skin with a laugh. I protest, of course, but it sounds weak even to my ears. Because being pressed up against that body is not something you complain about.

I hand him a towel and watch him soak up the beads of lake water perching on his tanned skin.

“God damn, I like this bikini,”

he murmurs, tossing the towel aside.

“You’ve mentioned that. But you can keep saying it.”

I reach down, snagging a beer for him from the cooler. He accepts it with a smile, but his attention is on my body. His fingers feather over my shoulder, brushing past the halter top tied at my neck. I’m wearing my light-yellow suit. It’s simple, no pattern, no frills, but it contrasts sharply against my dark skin.

He weaves his arm behind my back. His fingers slide under the edge of my bikini bottoms, hand curving possessively along my hip.

There was never any question of how to play our relationship for his friends. From the moment we arrived, he hasn’t let go of me. And thank God for that, because he’s the only reason I agreed to come. It would have been awfully lonely to keep my distance, acting like we’re just friends.

They’re a tough group to break into.

Andy and Erin sit in the back of the boat, heads bent together as they trade stories. I think they spend a lot of time together, thanks to the fact that the boys are always together. Erin’s husband, Josh, is currently being pulled behind the boat. He’s not as flashy as Dusty, but he still water-skis like a pro.

Reese is the only person, aside from me, who isn’t a regular in this little posse. She’s Josh’s sister, dark-haired and fair, just like him, and freshly graduated from college. But, unlike me, she seems completely at ease with the rest of the group. It’s clear she grew up around them.

Bo flips his hat around backwards, steering through the water in wide, easy turns. “I saw you east of town the other day.”

When Dusty glances down at me, I realize Bo’s talking to me. “East of town? What was I doing over there?”

Bo glances at me. Sunglasses hide his dark eyes, but he’s grinning. “Working your ass off from the looks of it.”

“Sounds about right.”

I grin, looking up at Dusty, who’s got a silly, proud smile on his face.

Bo swings the boat in the other direction, looking over his shoulder to make sure Josh is still up and flying. “My grandpa was a few years ahead of your Uncle Gus in high school.”

And in the space of one sentence, I feel old again. I’m trying to do the math, trying to figure out how young Bo’s parents and grandparents might have been. Maybe if they all had kids at a young age… But still, it doesn’t seem like my uncle and his grandpa should be in the same category.

Not without making me feel ancient.

In my defense, my mom had me late in life. But the nine years between Dusty and me are not a small number. I can’t help but to think about the fact that I was getting my driver’s license when he was starting first grade. I was a freshman in college when he was nine.

Dusty must notice the way I go rigid in his arms. He pulls his hand away from my hip to grip my waist. Dipping his head down, he kisses my neck. Blowing soft breaths and nipping until I’m squirming in his arms and laughing.

He can distract me from the facts, and I appreciate that he’s trying, but that’s one decade we can’t laugh away.