Chapter Thirteen
MORGAN
The paddleboard wobbles as I try to step onto it from the shallows near the beach. Below me, Lake Eufaula’s reddish water looks ready to swallow me up. I double-check the buckles on my life jacket.
“Just have a seat like you’re on a kayak.” Will hands me the two-sided paddle, and I flop down with all the grace of my uncle James, trying to climb up on his tanning mat in the pool.
Once I’m settled, Will shoves the board, and I float out onto the water. I’m expecting immediate capsize, but I feel steady. Very steady. How does a blow-up board feel this sturdy? I run my hand over the surface. It’s rigid and unyielding, not at all like a pool float.
Will must see my surprise because he says, “Told you it wasn’t that hard.”
He’s right—again—though I’m not about to tell him so. It’s almost like I’m sitting on the ground. Since the beach is nestled on a narrow stretch of lake—a jagged finger of the larger body of water—it’s well protected from the Oklahoma wind, and the water is still.
“Come on. Let’s go this way.” Will is already standing, paddle in hand, perfectly balanced. He makes it look as easy as walking down the street. Meanwhile, I’m sitting crisscross applesauce like a first grader.
As he glides away, I dip my paddle in, pulling myself along on one side and then the other back and forth until I’m keeping pace.
A smile crosses my lips as the breeze ruffles my hair. This is actually…fun.
I follow him along the shore beyond the beach. Turtles dive off rocks and fallen logs, tiny fish swim below the surface, and birds chirp from the trees. This is a whole new way of exploring the world. A laugh burst loose, and I whisper, “I love this.”
We point out bits of hidden nature as we float along until Will leads me away from the shore. He turns his board to face me, a challenge hardening his jaw. “You ready to stand up?”
“Um. I don’t know.” Am I? I mean, it doesn’t seem hard.
“You can always sit back down if you don’t like it.” He sits like me and then maneuvers onto his knees. “Start like this.”
“It’s hard to take you seriously when you’re wearing swim trunks covered with multicolored catfish.”
He smirks. “My options were limited. Stop stalling.”
“Okay.” Deep breath. I steady myself and move onto my knees.
“Now tighten your core and center your body over the board.”
The hot Oklahoma sun beats down as I will my legs to stay steady. I can do this.
“Just stand up nice and slow. Keep your eyes focused on the shore.”
I fix my gaze on the far shore, a mix of scrubby trees and red dirt rocks. And slowly, shakily, I rise to my feet. The board wobbles, but I bend my knees and find my balance.
“There you go!” He grins. “Not so bad, right?”
I bite my lip, still not quite believing I’m standing on this thing. “No, not bad.”
He paddles closer, his muscular arms propelling him through the water with ease. That thin braided bracelet slides down his wrist. I tear my gaze away from his tanned biceps before he notices my staring.
“Okay, now try paddling. Nice and slow.”
I skim my paddle along the surface, intent on staying upright.
Like one of my grandpa’s newborn baby calves, all wobbly knees and elbows, I must look ridiculous.
I eye Will, self-conscious, but he’s watching me with excitement and maybe pride.
He nods, so I keep going, paddling once on one side of my board and then the other.
I begin to relax my tense shoulders, and once again, I’m smiling.
“See! I knew you could do it. Fun, right?”
My paddle and my own strength propel me across the top of the lake. “I hate it when you’re right.”
He snorts. “I’ll try not to gloat. Too much.”
We continue along in the deeper parts of this section until we reach the edge of the no-wake zone.
I pause and roll out my shoulders. “We better get back to work.”
Will lets out an exaggerated huff. “I hate it when you’re right.”
I start to say something snarky, but my lips part when a bright-blue speedboat closes in. It’s not heading at us, but a boat going that fast will send a wake.
“What is it?” Will turns back around. “Oh.” He grips his paddle. “Bend your knees and ride it out.”
The boat speeds to the wake zone and banks. When its engine quiets, its nose dips toward the water as it slows. Waves surge out behind it and roll in our direction.
I scramble into a seated position.
“You’ve got this. Bend your knees.” Will looks over his shoulder. As he nods his approval at my new posture, the wave swells under his board. His foot slips, and he splashes into the water.
I grip the edge of my board as it surges upward and then down again.
Will’s life jacket propels him upward, and his stunned face bobs above the surface.
“Sorry!” the boat driver yells as he rumbles past.
Will gapes in his direction, and I can’t help but laugh. The waves become ripples, and I loosen my grip and lie back on the board, giggling.
“Think that’s funny, huh?” Smiling, he swims in my direction. His board, attached to his ankle, follows along. “Will you laugh so hard if I tump you over?”
He grabs the edge of my board, and I sit up, trying to put on a serious face. “No, please. I beg you. My hair! It took an hour to straighten it this morning, and rehearsal dinner is tonight.”
He pauses, hands ready to send me over.
I grip the edge. “Please. And we’ve already been out here too long. I’ll lose another hour.”
He loosens his grip. I let out a long breath. My mouth slides into a grin, but I don’t dare voice my win lest he change his mind.
His wet face shines up at me, and his smile indicates he knows what I’m thinking. Point, Morgan. “Don’t look so shocked. When I’m not sleep-and-luggage deprived, I’m a pretty nice guy.”
I snort a derisive laugh but find I can’t force my gaze away.
Water droplets have gathered on his lashes, and he brushes at the hair plastered to his forehead. The water makes it appear almost black. I reach out to help him push it away from his eyes. We lock gazes, and his expression changes.
I snatch my hand back. What am I doing? I shouldn’t be touching his hair. Wasn’t I supposed to loathe him when no one is around? That’s the deal I made with him last night.
He pulls his paddleboard closer and reclaims his carefree smile. “Just know only your beautiful brown locks saved you today. Otherwise”—he points down at the water—“red-dirt bath.”
“Noted.”
He pushes away from me and flops onto his board.
I stay seated as we paddle toward the shore. Just what was that thrill as the word beautiful left his lips?