Chapter 12 Emi
TWELVE
EMI
I’ve planned a surprise outing for Austin today, and as I stand here waiting for him to arrive, my stomach is in knots. I have no idea how this is going to go over, and I’m hoping I didn’t overstep in assuming this is something he’ll enjoy.
Austin’s very nature is to give of himself.
He doesn’t know how to be any other way.
If someone around him, whether friend or stranger, seems to need help, he jumps in to do whatever he can.
No hesitation, no second thoughts, and never any regrets.
I’ve seen him pay for a woman’s groceries when she didn’t have enough, and heard from Jane about the time he gave his winter coat to a homeless man shivering in an “L” station alcove.
But the problem with always giving is that eventually there’s nothing left.
He needs to take time for himself, to do something he enjoys and recharge his battery, which is why I’ve orchestrated today’s outing.
I made some calls and set everything up.
His only job was to get himself to Northpoint Marina in Winthrop Harbor.
I see his truck pull in, and my belly does a series of pirouettes.
I’m both excited to see him and worried this was a lot better of an idea in my head, but it’s too late to back out now.
He walks toward me with a huge grin, both dimples winking at me.
He’s in a pair of khaki shorts, tennis shoes, and a T-shirt with a firefighter emblem and the saying “Where my hose at?” on it that makes me laugh.
Like always, I feel instantly lighter when I see him, as if I could float away and dance in the clouds.
“Hey there, handsome,” I say.
“Damn, you’re a sight for sore eyes, Emi.”
He brings his hands up to cup my face and kisses me breathless.
I cling to his arms, loving how his muscles shift beneath my fingers, and lose myself in the reverent way his tongue strokes mine.
For as little as I’ve seen him lately, he pulls away too soon for my liking and I don’t bother to stop the groan of complaint.
“My thoughts exactly,” he says, tracing my lower lip with his thumb. “Say the word and I’ll take you back to my place. My dad doesn’t need me today. We can spend the whole day in bed.”
I smile and nip his thumb before I pull his hand down to twine our fingers together. “As lovely as that sounds, I’m going to take a raincheck. I have plans for us.”
“What plans should I be grateful for that has you looking like you’re about to go sailing?”
“I do?” Laughing, I look down at my white shorts, Toms, and navy halter top and mentally shrug. I suppose it’s a bit nautical, but it wasn’t intentional. Maybe because it’s paired with my French braid. I normally don’t wear my hair this way, but it’ll prevent the lake wind from whipping it around.
“Wait,” he says, scanning the area with a hint of panic on his face, “are we going sailing? Shit, do you have a gigantic yacht or something?”
My father does own a gigantic yacht, but I’d never suggest we take it. I know my family’s wealth makes him uncomfortable, plus that would require him meeting my father, which I want to avoid for as long as possible.
“No,” I reassure him as I pull him toward the dock. “Stop worrying and follow my lead for a change.”
“I’d follow you just about anywhere, princess.”
I feel a blush steal into my cheeks and tell myself not to look into the statement.
He’s a man, and men say flirty things they don’t mean all the time.
Austin is especially flirty—it’s part of his natural charm—but recently some of his normal come-ons are missing their usual light tone.
They’re tinged with a hint of realness, something that wasn’t there when we first started seeing each other, and each time it makes me wonder all manner of things I have no right to wonder.
I lead him down the dock until we get to The Dreamer. She’s a decent-sized charter boat and the pride and joy of her owner.
“Nice boat,” Austin says, clear appreciation in his voice as he looks her over.
“I’m glad you think so. Come on.” As we board, the sound of male laughter floats to us on the wind. “Hellooooo,” I call out. “Permission to come aboard, captain.”
Two people emerge from the enclosed captain’s room: one a slight-in-stature man with thinning black hair, and the other a barrel-chested Chicagoan with a white buzz cut.
“Pop?” The look of confusion on Austin’s face means his dad was true to his word and didn’t let on why he didn’t need his son’s help on the house today.
“There’s my son,” Glen Massey says proudly as he envelops Austin in a bear hug that would make me worry for his ribs were he not an incredibly fit man. Then the older man turns to me. “And I finally get to put the beautiful face with the voice. Emi, it’s such a pleasure to meet you.”
I brace myself to get epically squished, but he’s surprisingly gentle. I return his hug and say, “The pleasure is all mine, Glen. I’m so glad you could make it.”
Austin looks from me to his dad and back again. “Somebody wanna fill me in on what’s going on here?”
“Austin, meet my uncle, Martin Bissett; captain of The Dreamer and owner of Trout Master Charters. Uncle Martin, this is Austin Massey, one of Chicago’s finest firefighters and lifelong fishing enthusiast.”
Extending his hand, Austin says, “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. Emi speaks very highly of you.”
My uncle smiles and shakes Austin’s hand enthusiastically with both of his. “My niece speaks very highly of you, too. As does your father.”
When Austin levels me with an arched brow and a big old explain yourself expression, I fill in the holes for him.
“You and your dad have been working so hard on his house lately, and I thought you could probably use a day off. And since you told me how much you both like fishing, I asked my uncle if he would take us out on the lake.”
Martin throws his hands up. “And I said yes!” He laughs in delight, which is pretty much my uncle’s default setting. “Glen and I have been enjoying each other’s company for the past hour, and he’s told me many funny stories of you and your friends getting into trouble.”
Austin groans playfully. “Thanks, Pop. You’ve been sabotaging me before I even get the chance to make a good first impression.”
Glen huffs out a hearty chuckle. “Don’t worry, son. When Martin gets a look at your shitty fishing skills, you’ll be sabotaging yourself.”
A round of male posturing and smack talk commences.
It’s oddly fascinating and highly entertaining.
It’s like watching rams headbutt each other on Animal Planet.
“All right, old man,” Austin says to Glen, “let’s put your money where your mouth is.
A hundred bucks says Emi and I catch more fish than you and Martin. ”
The older men’s eyes light up. They exchange a look and some form of male telepathy, and before I can talk sense into my misguided boyf—uh, lover, the three have agreed and sealed the deal with gentleman handshakes.
Minutes later, Martin has us on the open water of Lake Michigan, headed out to find the best spot for our impromptu competition.
The boat is built specifically for several people to man about a dozen poles in the open area at the back, and the captain’s helm is in a little room in the middle with tinted windows.
Martin has the door propped open so he can be a part of our conversation, and we have fun talking and laughing as Glen and my uncle recount funny stories from Austin’s and my childhoods in an attempt to utterly embarrass us.
When we finally set anchor at a spot Martin promises as one of the best for Chinook and Coho salmon, the game is on.
Martin sets up all twelve poles and lets the lines out so that they don’t get tangled with each other.
Then we draw an imaginary line down the middle of the boat and take to our sides.
It’s a beautiful, sunny June afternoon and I lift my face up to the sky to soak it all in. The soothing sounds of the water lapping against the sides of the boat, the cry of gulls overhead, and a gentle early summer breeze tugs at the wisps of my hair that managed to pull free of my braid.
Strong arms wrap around my waist as Austin steps up behind me. I sink into his chest with a contented sigh and let my head rest back on his shoulder. “Such a gorgeous day, don’t you think?” I ask.
“I feel like I haven’t noticed anything but you since the moment you stepped onstage.”
My breath catches in my throat from the reverence in his tone and the possibility of his words having a deeper meaning than anything we’ve dared say to each other before.
He nuzzles the side of my neck and then kisses that spot just below my ear.
It’s not his usual lustful kind with tongue and teeth; this is a firm and lingering press of his lips, as though he’s branding me with the very reverence with which he spoke moments ago, and it sinks inside to wind itself around my heart.
I hug him to me and revel in the feel of him. The tickle on my palms from the hair on his forearms, the firm planes of his chest against the back of my shoulders, the sense of peace that washes over me every time he’s near.
I’m afraid that if I open my mouth, I’ll say the things I’m not ready to admit.
That maybe I’m ready to take this to the next level.
But I need a little more time to sort it all out in my head before I make any big decisions, and I need to make sure that this thing with Austin isn’t just a flash in the pan.
I’m worried about my father’s heart if I tell him I don’t want to marry Marco.
If the added stress pushes him into dangerous territory again, the guilt will be unimaginable.
“You’re quiet,” Austin says, his lips brushing my temple. “What are you thinking about?”