Floating Down the River #2
He tilts his head at me, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds like you know what you’re talking about.”
I push the paddle in again, moving slightly faster. “Maybe a little,” I say.
We take a break near a bridge, just three miles downstream.
Ashton sinks to his knees and I do the same, keeping my balance as he ties our boards together.
Then he opens the snack pack he brought and hands me a container.
I bite back a smile as I open a mini charcuterie with crackers, cheese, grapes, cured meat, and some olives.
He also pops a mini bottle of champagne and hands it to me before doing the same for himself.
“There is nothing like sparkling wine on the river,” he says, tapping his glass bottle against mine with a tink.
Side note: I’ve been off my strict food plan since I landed in Lahoma.
I’m usually so disciplined, eating only vegetables and lean proteins to keep myself slim.
I’ve never had a weight problem, but I’ve also never given myself the chance.
Besides Italy, that is. When I was traveling, I enjoyed every food that landed in front of me, and at least two gelatos a day.
But when I came home, I was in the gym every single day, banned carbs from my diet, and drank a gallon of water daily until the weight slid off.
Now here in Lahoma, I’m eating things like the crackers and cheese in front of me, Bec’s delicious waffles and bacon, and drinking whole milk like calories aren’t a thing.
Besides the guilt and my mom’s voice in my head, I’m loving it.
Everything tastes so good. Probably because most of it comes from a nearby farm.
I’ve never had food like this, where there’s a story behind each ingredient.
Food has always been a burden to me, something to control and manage.
But here? It’s not just nourishing for the body, but also for the soul.
“Thank you for doing all of this,” I say after taking a sip of bubbles.
“What?” He grins at me, that intoxicating crooked smile of his. “This was nothing.”
I shake my head. “This was not nothing. You’ve been so good to me ever since I got here. Even though I hate depending on you, I’m kind of glad the hotel thing fell through. Otherwise, I’d be spending every night alone in my hotel room and just focusing on work.”
“No you wouldn’t.” He nudges my leg, and even though his hands are cold from the champagne bottle, I feel the warmth of him travel all the way through me. “You probably would have charmed this whole town without me monopolizing all your time.”
I scoff, nudging his foot with mine. “That’s where you’re wrong, buddy. I don’t make friends, and with the rocky start I had here, I was definitely not charming anyone. If it weren’t for you, this whole project would have felt like a disaster. I probably would have quit halfway through.”
“So, that’s where I went wrong.” He winks, but his grin falls when I don’t return his smile. “What?”
I quickly mask my features, smiling to hide my discomfort.
But inside I’m beating myself up. God, I’m such an idiot.
He’s only been hanging out with me to be nice, not because he likes my company.
I mean, of course that’s the reason. The fact that I’d even think otherwise is so completely stupid.
Fuck, this whole paddle boarding trip is so obviously just another one of his nice guy moves, and he’s just counting down the days until I leave.
“Sorry, I think I’m just overheated. That sun is unexpected.” It’s true. I’m sweating through my layers, but I can’t let him know I’d relaxed into believing any of this was more than a kind gesture.
“I have my dry bag, if you want to take off your sweatshirt and place it in there,” he says, grabbing the bag and handing it to me.
I take it, hating that this dark cloud inside me is ruining what had been a perfect day.
I slip off my sweatshirt, sliding it into the bag before handing it back to him.
His eyes glance down, then quickly to the bag as he takes it back.
We eat in silence for a while, the sound of crunching crackers competing with lapping water and the call of a nearby osprey.
Cars drive overhead on the bridge, the sound of their tires echoing along the banks.
I do my best to let go of my shame just so I can take in this moment.
When was the last time I enjoyed the sounds of nature like this?
When have I enjoyed nature, period? I’ve always loved the fast pace of New York, the constant sound of car horns, the shush of garbage trucks, and the echoes of people calling out on the street.
It’s like this incredible symphony, a cacophony of sound that is never the same from one moment to the next.
But here, I can think. It’s both relieving and terrifying. For the first time, I feel myself take a breath in, and then feel myself exhale. And it’s just that. Breathe in. Breathe out. Feel.
“I fucking love this,” I murmur, almost involuntarily.
“Me too,” Ashton whispers. I turn to him, and he looks back at me. He takes my hand, and my breath catches in my chest. “Lay back,” he says.
I lie back on my board, watching the clouds drift across the sky. For the first time in a long time, I let myself just exist. No expectations. No pressure. No deadlines. Just me, a sky full of moving clouds, and Ashton’s hand in mine.
His thumb brushes the back of my palm, slow and deliberate. I stay perfectly still, afraid that if I move, I’ll give myself away.
“Look at the sky,” he murmurs, “and just listen.”
I do.
I hear the water. The wind. A far-off radio playing music somewhere down the way. I hear my own breath, and I hear his.
I feel more alive in this moment than I ever have in my life.
Paddling upstream is a lot harder than drifting with the current. I start out on my feet, but exhaustion quickly wins out. Sitting cross-legged, I treat the paddle board like a canoe, dipping my paddle from side to side in slow, steady strokes.
We pass fishermen casting from the banks, each offering a lazy wave as we paddle by.
Rowing teams glide past us, their oars slicing clean through the water while the vocal guy in the back—the coxswain, as Ashton calls him—barks encouragement.
Riverfront houses come into view, their porches dotted with couples sipping coffee, watching us drift along like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And maybe it is.
Is this what small towns feel like? A rhythm you fall into without even realizing it?
Lahoma Springs is starting to feel like more than just a detour. It’s starting to feel like a place I don’t want to leave.
And after all I’ve worked for to get to where I am, this is not a feeling I want to entertain.