Chapter 12
Jake
Who was I with this woman? She kept warning me that she was impulsive and chaotic. And yes, I completely believed her. I just didn’t care. I wanted more of it. She made me want to be more of those things myself.
Which was completely new for me. I was the one with the plan. Always. I was the one well prepared. I looked far out past this day and structured the day after that and the day after that. I approached new experiences with caution and armed myself with information ahead of time.
And even though she and I were polar opposites, I was helplessly drawn to her. Maybe it was because we were polar opposites. Didn’t opposing ends of a magnet attract? But while my ions clearly couldn’t pull away from Ali’s, she didn’t want that connection. At least not the way I wanted it.
I understood her reasons and respected her decision. But I could not help feeling triggered. It felt like a rejection that applied pressure to an old wound. One easily reopened. Because Ali was absolutely right about me.
I was practical and predictable. Not exciting. Not spontaneous. Those parts of me were what had sent my ex-fiancée, Charlotte, away three years ago. Why would I be worthy of someone like Ali?
Charlotte and I had tried to work on things.
She’d compared our relationship to chicken dinner—a metaphor for what a life with me felt like.
Or perhaps it was a way to describe the life I led?
I wasn’t fully sure. Her point was clear, however; I was a bland and boring meal, and she wanted something more exciting on her plate.
We tried to spice things up in our lives, on our plates and in the bedroom.
But when Charlotte stood at the start of our wedding aisle looking at me at the altar, her face dropped.
Her father took a step forward, but Charlotte stayed rooted in place only long enough to give me a devastated look and to mouth, “I’m sorry.
” Then she bolted. All the effort I’d made to be less rigid wasn’t enough. She wanted more than I could offer.
It hurt like hell at first, but I’d come to make peace with it. I made a stable life for myself just as we’d planned. It was my tried-and-true way to deal with life’s heartbreaks: lists, schedules, routine, and precision.
In the wake of the breakup, I’d renovated this old cottage.
Took over Tender Paws. Became immersed in the community.
Discovered hobbies I loved. Maintained an active lifestyle.
Learned nine hundred ways to make chicken (and other delicious meals).
I’d settled into the life in Lakeside that I had envisioned.
It just happened to be solo instead of married with maybe kid number one on his or her way.
I loved this community. I loved all the quirky folks who lived here. I appreciated that when Charlotte left me at the altar, the town and its good people had wrapped me in a comfort that set the world back to right under my feet, even though I was a relative newcomer at the time.
Maybe the universe was testing my notions of contentment when it blew Alison Bennet into town.
It didn’t matter, though. I would need to move past these feelings and settle for what I could get.
Friendship. At least I would still be near her.
Have a chance to get to know her. As a friend I could still support her and protect her.
All those impulses I’d felt when she was speaking at the village meeting.
I just couldn’t touch her, kiss her, coax groans of pleasure from her .
. . Those impulses that I’d had against the tree at the end of that night were what I had to shove down and forget.
The next morning, I woke up an hour earlier than our agreed-upon time to prepare for this ill-concocted morning activity with Ali. So many things could go wrong here.
I looked up the weather and water conditions. I also looked up how to stay safe while doing a cold plunge. I got caught in a rabbit hole of intel regarding the health benefits of cold-plunging.
I made up two tumblers of hot coffee. I warmed towels in the dryer.
I dressed in clothes I could shed easily if a rescue was required.
Chic would be along to help with that as well.
Neither of us was trained in water rescue, but I was confident we could get Ali to safety should her muscles seize up from the cold or her heart rate and blood pressure instantaneously increase beyond what’s normal.
I remembered to grab the life preserver I had stashed in my garage to be able to toss out to her at a second’s notice.
This was actually how I was wired.
“Here we go, Chic,” I said as I folded the last towel out of the dryer and into the insulated bag I’d decided to use to keep the towels warm on this chilly morning, because how else would they retain heat?
Ali was already standing at the end of her dock overlooking the water.
The sky was painted in shades of orange and pink as the sun emerged over the horizon line.
The world was quiet. As if only whispers were permitted at this time in the morning.
The water’s surface looked like silk sheets, smooth and skimming.
Tiny ripples from a fishing boat anchored in the distance moved gently across the lake.
From the surface, our six-square-mile lake looked dark, dirty—even scary.
But it was actually crystal clear. Crisp.
Clean. And there existed very few, if any, threatening critters to worry about.
Its depths sank into the earth so immensely that it was impossible to see the bottom from the surface.
It was dark because light couldn’t reach that far down and any luminosity was absorbed by the silt and biomaterials settled at the bottom.
Even believing a lakebed existed somewhere down there or imagining what it must be like to exist as a fish, amphibian, or aquatic plant beneath the surface was impossible.
But mostly, I think we as humans couldn’t wrap our heads around what the lake offered beneath because we were constantly blinded by the incredible beauty above.
The lake’s reflective qualities may very well be Mother Nature’s greatest sleight of hand meant to conceal the fragile, delicate life below the surface.
She distracts us with spectacular views above.
I stepped lightly onto the wood plank dock.
Chic followed me. It was old and warped.
It creaked and groaned with each step. Most homes had switched to newer aluminum-style docks.
I had done what I could to repair boards over the past few years as Libby’s neighbor.
But the dock was aged and probably needed to be replaced completely.
“You’re late,” she said.
I looked at my watch. “No. You’re early.” I resisted the urge to lean in and kiss her cheek. “Good morning.”
Chic stood between us, then sat. We all looked out along the water’s surface.
“Good morning.” I think she was saying it to the world. Or the lake. Definitely not just me.
Chic nudged her hand with his nose. “And a good morning to you too, Mr. Chicory.” She let her hand scruff the top of his head. I was an idiot for feeling jealous. He got her undivided attention and her touch.
“Are you ready for this? I have warm towels and some hot coffee for after.”
“Thank you.” She reached her hand toward my chest, one finger outstretched, and poked me gently. “I knew you’d be a good spotter.”
Just a poke, but it was a fire warming me. I locked my arms by my side so I wouldn’t accidentally wrap my arms around her and pull her into my chest. Breathe in the scent of her hair. Kiss the top of her head. Instead, I drank her in with my eyes.
She seemed so serene today. Playful. Flirty. Yesterday she was burdened and distant. Today she was present and calm. As tranquil as the water before us. I wanted to freeze the sight of her.
“Do you want me to take your photo?” I offered.
“Great idea!” I took her phone. “Here on the dock and then while I’m in the water, okay?”
The camera app was already open. She untied her robe, let it drop open on one shoulder, and turned her head slightly back and down as she bent one leg out of the robe.
The robe was plush and gleaming white like something you might get from a spa or luxury hotel.
I took a step back and was able to capture her in the foreground and the gorgeous morning sky in the background.
It was breathtaking. She was breathtaking.
I snapped a few shots and handed her phone back to her so she could see.
“So how will you enter the water? I read some material with recommendations if you’re interested.”
“These are so good. Thank you!” She handed her phone back to me.
She let her robe fall from her shoulders and collapse to the dock around her feet.
Underneath she wore a shimmering gold bikini that looked way too fancy for the task at hand.
I guessed it was designed for retreats to the Italian coast, not cold-plunging in a lake in the Midwest. She had no idea what it was doing to me either.
Look away, Jake. Look away. Ali is just your friend. I was going to need to remind myself of that a lot.
She stretched her arms up to remove the silky elastic from the top of her head, her dark-blonde hair cascading to just past her shoulders.
She pulled her fingers through to settle it in place.
It looked like a habit more than a necessary adjustment.
She handed me the hair tie. I noticed goose bumps prickle her arms from the cool morning air.
What I wouldn’t give to run my hand up her arm and down her stomach and back up in the space between her breasts.
No. Don’t be an asshole. Friends. Just friends. It is not right to fantasize about your friends.
She stepped out of her flip-flops and onto the edge of the dock.
“Are you planning to jump in? Shouldn’t you ease in using the ladder?” I asked. All the advice online suggested easing into the cold. Acclimating in stages.