Chapter 12
Cricket
“Did you have to secure the life vest so tight?” I ask, tugging on the straps to loosen the top one so I can breathe normally. “This isn’t even necessary. I know how to swim.”
Standing toward the back of the rowboat, Griffin pulls the paddle through the water. He glances down at me, a grin set on his face, seemingly enjoying my struggle. “Better safe than sorry. It’s dark. You can’t see to the bottom of the water, especially when we’re stirring up the mud.”
I pop the latch, freeing my chest from the confines, and take a deep breath. “Good lord, is this a kid’s vest or what?”
“It’s small. You’re small. Figured it’d work.”
“If you’re so worried about falling in the water, why didn’t you have to put on a life vest?”
“Because I know my strengths. I’m not going down in five feet of water. I can literally walk to the shore. But you . . .” Sitting down on the back bench of the boat, he sizes me up, then says, “You’d be underwater, hence the life vest.”
“For your information, I’m five-four. I could walk out of this river as well.”
“Not without your mouth underwater.” He rests the paddle on the side of the boat, and asks, “Is this what you want to argue about? Your safety?”
“I’m not arguing. I’m simply—okay, fine.” Yeah, okay, I was arguing, but this isn’t a battle I need to fight, not with him anyway. “I’ll zip my lips.”
“No need to go to extremes there, Little Chirp.”
I drop my head to the right, having a strong suspicion this is the name I’m going to be stuck with from him. “Little Chirp doesn’t even make sense.” Annoyance coats my tone, and I cross my arms over my stomach since this vest keeps me from holding them higher.
“Sure it does. Crickets chirp, and you definitely do,” he deadpans with half a smirk on his face. “You’re not so tough or big, so little fits.”
“I’m not so unique. Everyone is little compared to you.”
He chuckles. “True.” Digging into the brown paper bag he had packed at the pizzeria, he pulls out a can of beer and pops the top before handing it to me.
Four beers are more than I usually drink, but considering it’s been over a five-hour period, and I didn’t finish the last two, I’m not worried about the aftereffects. I take a sip and set it in a cup holder so I can rest my hands on the small board at the bow of the boat.
He cracks open a bottle of water. “You’re not drinking?” I ask, suddenly feeling like a lush for accepting the beer.
“Since I’m driving you all the way back to your place, I’m good with water.”
The beer isn’t as appealing when I’m drinking alone. “Got another water in there?”
He nods and digs a bottle out of the bag. Twisting the top to loosen it, he hands it to me. I take a sip. It’s cool but not too cold. Just how I like it.
Soon, the sound of cicadas will overwhelm the summer nights, so I appreciate the gentle breeze rattling the leaves, the water soft around the paddle as it wades through, and frogs croaking from the shoreline of springtime.
The moon lights the way as we glide through the still waters.
I look out into the night between trees that grow tall from the water.
Moss hangs down, but Griffin steers us clear of the patches of grass and the lower branches.
I keep my voice down so as not to disturb the peace of our surroundings.
“This reminds me of Louisiana more than Texas.”
“An alligator wouldn’t be so shocking in this part of the marshy Colorado River. They’ve found practically everything else floating in these waters.”
I sit up, a bit alarmed by the implications. “How do you know about this place?”
“Been coming out here since before I could ride a horse—”
“Which was?”
“Almost four.” His downplaying that he could ride a horse as a toddler is interesting, and so unlike the side of him I’ve known prior to tonight.
Seems like a child who’s Jacob’s age riding a horse on his own is something worth bragging about.
“My dad and Mr. Riggins were old friends. We’d come out to help him now and again with plowing his field so he could plant a garden each year. We’d return to help harvest.”
I look back toward the shore, though we’re a long way from where we pushed off.
I didn’t see a house or area marked off for a garden.
There was a rusted tractor with flat tires and the boat that Griffin dusted the cobwebs before grabbing a vest from it and squeezing me into it.
We didn’t spend any time exploring the property for me to get a look at anything much prior to boarding the boat.
“So what you’re saying is we’re trespassing?
” I quirk a grin at him, not wanting to hold any competitive nature for the time being despite him typically bringing it out in me.
His chuckle sends birds’ wings flapping nearby, the frogs to quieten, and the boat to gently rock. “I’m allowed out here anytime I like. One of the perks of helping Riggins back in the day.”
“What’s another?” I ask, staring off into the darker parts of the river.
“Owning it.”
My gaze darts back to him. “What does that mean?”
When his eyes slide to mine, he stops paddling, and replies, “He left it to me in his will.”
“The house?”
“All of it. The house, the acreage, even this shoreline is still a part of it.” He starts paddling again as if this wouldn’t be news to anyone else. I find it incredible.
“He left you his property because you used to help him with his garden? That’s quite a gift.”
His smile is small, but I can still spy the upturned corners. “Twice a week every week, sometimes more, I helped him until I left for college. He had no kids. No wife.” He shrugs. “Guess he felt like leaving it to someone who had tended the land.”
“Weren’t you busy at your family’s ranch? You also had baseball. I know that keeps kids busy.”
“Sure, but neighbors help neighbors when they need it. He needed someone steady he could rely on, especially in his later years.”
He makes it sound so easy to fit in all those obligations and even has it sounding like it’s common every day to give that much of himself.
I’m left wondering how he fit it in, and he’s sitting there as if it was nothing.
He adds, “He came to every one of my home games. I’d see him sitting in the stands, proud as if he were part of the family.
He was in a lot of aspects. My mom would invite him over on holidays, or I’d bring him a plate she’d made if he wanted to stay home. ”
Hearing about his life growing up, even just this small glimpse of what it was like, has my chest aching. I swallow, not wanting to project my emotions onto him. It doesn’t sound easy, but I hear no complaints either. The anomaly of him returns, leaving me conflicted. Is he a good man in disguise?
“At what point did the cockiness take over? And why did you decide to bury this side of yourself? Which, by the way, is much more attractive.”
“Attractive, huh?” A glimmer of arrogance dances in his eyes, but maybe it’s just the moonlight playing tricks on me.
“I misspoke. It’s the alcohol.”
“You sure about that?”
Sighing, I knew I had messed up as soon as the word left my mouth.
This is him. Griffin Greene, not Savvy. The slip might have been of the Freudian kind, but he’s the last person who needs to be told he’s good looking.
He’s already well aware of that fact. “What do you want me to say? You’re unattractive?
” I laugh, glancing away briefly before returning to see him still staring at me.
“What? Just say whatever it is you want to say and let’s get it over with. ”
“I think you’re beautiful.”
You would have thought the compliment came on the point of a sword by how it hit. I’m left searching for a reply that’s not coming and throw in the towel. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
Laughing, he rows a little faster. I’m sure he’s ready to escape this awkward moment that I’m certain neither of us intended to be a part of. “You don’t have to do anything with it, Cricket. Just enjoy.”
My head juts back on my neck. Enjoy? The man just told me I’m beautiful, and I’m supposed to sit here and just take it like he really might have meant it.
“Hey,” he says, nabbing my attention. “You don’t have to overthink it. It’s not that deep.”
“I don’t know, Greene. Sounded kind of deep to me.” I rest my hands back again, feeling like myself when bantering with him. “Next thing you know, you’ll be proposing marriage or something ludicrous like that.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not the marrying kind.”
I eye him while his gaze dips away and returns quickly like a yo-yo back to me. “Not surprised.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you’re not even a relationship guy, much less the marrying kind.
” I shake my head, remembering how it felt to be left in that bed the following morning.
Doubt ran deep as if I should have gotten something from him—a name, number, social media handle, or anything that would allow me to find him again in the future.
It would have come in handy when I was giving birth to his child.
“Because I had to talk you into staying the night—” I gasp, covering my mouth.
The paddling stops. His eyes latch onto mine like he might lose sight if he looks away. His mouth just barely opens, his tongue dipping out and sliding back and forth along the center of his lower lip.
Dropping my head, I close my eyes in disbelief that I screwed up like this. Screwed up big time. At this point, remaining silent might be my best alibi.
When I look up, a slow smile glides onto his face. It’s not anger or confusion, indifference, or shame that shapes his expression. It’s arrogance that blazes like a wildfire in his eyes. Figures.
I look away, needing the few seconds without him distracting me to get my story straight.
But lying is not my friend, so I go with the truth.
Carelessly throwing my arm out to my side, I snap, “Like you didn’t remember.
” I want to roll my eyes, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten to me.
He doesn’t bother saving me as I dig myself deeper into this hole I’m trapped in.
My heart starts thumping hard in my chest, my breath growing shallower as panic starts to set in.
It’s not just the night. It’s Jacob who stays at the forefront of my mind every time I think of our night in Costa Rica.
What if Griffin connects the dots before I’m ready to expl—
“I remembered.” His confession is loud and boastful. It’s not soft either. It’s steady and sure, his tone a force of honesty. “I never forgot.”
“You didn’t?” I hate how weak I sound, as if he’s made everything better by his admission.
“No,” he replies, grinning. No cockiness is found despite the earlier spark of it. “I just didn’t know if you did. I felt foolish.”
I whisper, “Why would you feel foolish?”
“Because that night meant a lot to me. You did.” It’s the first time I’ve seen him with any doubt caving his shoulders. “I should have gotten your information.”
I breathe easier knowing we were on the same page. “You don’t know how many times I wished I had done the same.” I take a deep breath and slowly release it, and then ask, “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
Tilting his head to the left, he glances just to my side and then back again. “Probably the same reason you didn’t.”
“Spite?”
He balks, his laughter echoing through the marsh. “Ego, but spite works as well.”
I hadn’t noticed we’d turned around until we bumped up against the shoreline where we originally found the boat docked.
Seeing the old tractor up on the level ground ahead makes me wonder if we just walk away now like nothing happened, when it feels a lot like something shifted in my universe. Good or bad, I feel different.
What happens once we get off this boat?
He stands and hops to solid land, and then tugs a rope attached to the boat, pulling it up on the shore.
After tying the rope around the base of a tree, he comes back and offers me a hand.
Before I can take it, he grips me under the bottom of the vest and lifts me to the shore next to him.
Being this close has me thinking about things I shouldn’t.
Kissing him probably wouldn’t be a great idea.
Not when so much has been revealed, and there’s so much more to share in time.
Time. I don’t know how long he plans to be here. He doesn’t even know.
He pops the latches on the vest and then drags it from my shoulders and tosses it in the boat. Neither of us rushes to walk away or say anything. Just a shared look that says more than we should exchange.
The back of his hand brushes against my chest, causing my breath to momentarily catch. I part my lips, needing air in my lungs, but when he leans down, I stop breathing altogether. He whispers, “What happens if I kiss you?”
The whole world can hear me gulp when I swallow, but then I say, “We blame it on the moonlight?”
His lips meet mine in a rush like time is running out.
The pressure firm and his hand strong as he cups my cheek, tilting me up for better access.
When his other arm comes around my lower back, my lips part.
Our tongues meet as I melt into him, the kiss, and the reunion I never in my wildest dreams imagined would happen.