Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mia
After I helped Bower unload the bed of his truck, I watched him throw the torture device, which he called a weed razor, out into the lake. He stood on a rock near the water, methodically throwing the razor and yanking it back in sharp, short pulls to slice the tops of the weeds.
I stood back, away from any splashes, just watching.
His muscles strained every time he yanked back the razor, which looked like a regular rake, but it had cut-up pool noodles zip-tied to its head, so it floated on the surface of the water, and tiny razor blades between its prongs.
Once he’d snipped enough weeds from the lake, he used a different rake to scoop them from the surface of the water and dump them onto the tarp he’d brought.
His hands were gloved, and he looped the excess rope each pull made around his upper arm.
Lake water dripped off the strands of the rope, wetting Bower’s shirt.
He looked hot weeding the lake, all his muscles rippling beneath his shirt. Maybe if he got heated enough, he’d take it off.
Suddenly a loud popping sound echoed across the lake.
I glanced out to see a Jet Ski had stalled out, but to my surprise the weed razor clattered onto the rocks, right next to the rake Bower had set down beside him.
My breath caught as I watched him fall to his knees, his hands gripping the rocks he’d been standing on.
“Bower!” I yelled. I tried my best to get over to where he was bent over while staying as far away from the water as I could. “Are you okay?”
Bower’s eyes were closed, and I could see his ribs moving up and down as he breathed. “Yeah—I’m fine,” his voice labored. He blinked several times before his eyes fully opened, immediately locking into mine. “Sometimes loud noises trigger me, but that wasn’t bad. It was just a Jet Ski. I’m fine.”
I nodded. Bower had spent years serving overseas. I understood that he had triggers; after what he’d gone through, anyone would.
He stood up slowly, grabbing hold of the rake lying on the rocks next to him. His hand shook as he lifted it, bringing the handle close to his chest.
I stayed on the rocks, balancing as I watched him recover.
I didn’t know what to do to help him. I didn’t want to seem too overbearing, smother him when he’d already told me he was fine.
But as I watched him stand there, his eyes closed and his chest visibly moving up and down as he breathed deeply, I couldn’t help but feel I needed to do something.
“Come here,” he directed, his hand gesturing toward the large rock next to him.
I jolted at his curt tone. He’d never talked to me like that. A shiver racked my body, starting at my neck and ending at the tip of my tailbone. He was still recouping; the Jet Ski had really startled him. I shook off the feeling the best I could.
I scurried over to where he’d directed, his eyes following my every move. I wanted to do anything I could to help.
“I’ll weed, and you can rake.” He held the rake handle out to me, and I grabbed hold of it, my hand briefly brushing against his. As soon as I did, I froze, pulling back as fast as I could.
Immediately, I regretted everything. There was sand on the handle, and the grains dug into my skin.
If I’d looked at the rake instead of at him, if I hadn’t been so keen on helping him, if he hadn’t looked at me like that as I’d climbed over the rocks toward him…
maybe I wouldn’t be standing here with the sandy rake in my hand and my face scrunched up like…
I forced the muscles in my face to relax.
“Here.” Bower pulled off the gloves he was wearing and offered them to me. He was still talking in that tone…the one that made my entire body flustered.
I looked down at my hands, at the grains of sand sitting on top of my skin. Bower grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it away from his body, offering it to me.
I kept my eyes down as I rubbed my hands on his shirt, the grains falling to the ground. As soon as my hands were free of the sand, Bower offered the gloves again. They were heavy, wet with either lake water or sweat. I sucked my lower lip between my teeth.
Bower reached for the gloves. “Shit, I’m sorry. I forgot—”
“No, no,” I lied, “they’re fine.” My fingers trembled as I pulled the warm, wet fabric over my hands. Bower had just been through his own triggering experience on the rocks—he didn’t need to worry about me. I could handle the gloves.
If Bower could take a deep breath and manage his anxiety, so could I. I breathed in through my nose. It was fine. They were just wet. I blew the air out of my mouth. I could handle it.
It wasn’t so bad once I’d lifted a few piles of cut weeds and dumped them onto the tarp Bower had laid out on top of some flat rocks. My fingers went numb, and I could no longer feel the sweat or the warmth inside them.
Bower cleared his throat. “I like the boots,” he said as he nodded toward the black rain boots I was wearing.
“Thanks,” I said. “You gave me the inspiration all those years ago.”
He tilted his head to the side, lifting his chin as if he was interested—like he wanted more.
“I’ve helped a few kids over the years,” I offered.
Bower nodded, like he was listening.
“There were a few kids who had similar sensory issues to me at my school. I mentioned to their parents that they might enjoy a pair of rain boots—an accommodation for the tight sneakers or sandals they usually wore.”
A proud smile, like mine, grew on Bower’s lips.
He’d offered me that accommodation all those summers ago.
His kindness had changed my outlook on the challenges I faced.
There were accommodations for everyone—we just needed to be patient enough to find them.
Those rain boots had helped me enough to where I was now able to offer the same kindness and patience to my students.
The sun beat down on me as I raked and scooped the weeds after Bower cut them from the lake. This section of the water was almost completely clear of lake weeds by the time Bower called it.
“I think we’ve done enough,” he said as he pulled the weed razor from the lake.
I looked at the pile of weeds I’d piled onto the tarp. There weren’t as many as I thought there’d be based on how many times Bower had thrown his weed razor into the lake, but I was sweaty and hot, and that felt good. It felt like I’d done something to take care of the lake I loved.
“We can leave the weeds here,” Bower said. “I’ll pick them up once the sun dries them out and they don’t weigh as much.” His eyebrows raised in the slightest way. “They’ll be great kindling for bonfires.”
He was still that boy I knew—obsessed with fire.
And I was the girl feeling the fire between us.
“Wait here.” Bower motioned for me to stay.
I stood there, my knees locked, watching him leap from rock to rock back toward his truck.
It only took a minute for him to return, bounding down toward me, with a cooler in one hand and a gray wool blanket in the other. As soon as he was close, he skidded to stop, small rocks tumbling down from the larger rock he’d stopped on. “Do you think you can make your way up here?”
I nodded. It was only a few large rocks away, and he had food. I picked and chose the rocks I stepped on to make my way up to him.
He had already laid out the blanket and was in the middle of unpacking, laying out meats and cheeses, crackers, and a few sides like pickles and olives.
I sat down on one of the rocks near the food, pulling off the gloves and laying them on the rock next to me. As I turned, my elbow bumped into a package of wipes Bower held out. “For your hands,” he said.
I couldn’t suppress my smile as I took the wipe and cleaned off every bit of sweat between my fingers.
Bower held out his hand, and I sheepishly kept the dirty wipes in my palm.
“Give them here, Mia,” he directed. “You have to eat.”
I placed the used wipes in his hand and glanced down at the food before selecting a cracker and adding a slice of cheese on top.
He tucked away the dirty wipe into one of the side pockets of the cooler, turning back toward the food between us. “So…come here often?” he asked.
I looked over, smirking. “Only every summer.”
Bower grinned back, looking back out onto the lake. He sat with his feet on the ground and his bent knees relaxed in front of his chest. His forearms rested casually on top of his knees. “Silence is comfortable with you,” he said.
I watched him stare out onto the lake; the worry lines on his forehead had flattened and his jaw had unclenched. This was the first time I’d seen him relaxed since…since we were kids.
“It’s always been like this,” I said. “It’s always been comfortable.” Besides these last two weeks, I couldn’t remember anything different. It’d always been easy with Bower. There’d been no pressure, just a calm understanding between us.
Time passed as we ate, watching the few boats and Jet Skis that passed by.
It wasn’t me who reached out, but somehow the fingers that we stretched out behind us, like a kickstand for the top halves of our bodies, touched.
I kept my fingers there just for a second, long enough that Bower felt them and didn’t move away.
He kept his pressed against mine just hard enough that it couldn’t be a mistake.
I looked out on the lake. The clear water seemed to go on forever. It was so different than the lakes in the Cities. The same was true with Bower—he was so different from the men I’d met there.
Here we were, touching fingers, eating together, looking out onto the lake. And it hit me.
This was a date.
A fucking date.
We’d never used the generator I’d help load into the truck, I’d raked a small number of weeds to consider this a “day’s” worth of work, Bower had brought lunch…
I yanked my hand away from his and pushed myself off the wool blanket, finding my feet beneath me. “Bower Lee Hanson. Did you just trick me into a date?” I glared down at where he sat looking up at me, the corners of his lips pulling up.
“You know I don’t like my middle name.” With a single hand, he pushed himself up to standing.
I brushed the stray hairs that’d escaped my ponytail off my sticky forehead. “Your idea of a date is putting me to work?”
He smiled. “But it’s so fun making you sweat.”
“Bower!” I used the heels of my hands to shove his shoulders.
Unfortunately his shoulders were unnaturally strong and unaffected by my shove. The imbalance of his strong shoulders and my weak wrists sent me completely off-balance, my feet stumbling over the uneven rocks beneath them.
I only stopped once two hands gripped hold of my waist, pulling my entire body close to his.
So close to his.
“Is this what you do to your dates?” Bower asked. “Push them and then fall over so they’ll put their hands on you?”
I moved toward him. It was all too tempting—his heat and the way his voice was suddenly several octaves lower.
“I had to get your attention somehow,” I whispered. We’d been together in tandem for so long—hours without anything physical happening between us.
“I was waiting,” he whispered back.
A shiver ran down my spine. “For what?”
In the distance, a boat blasted its horn.
Bower flinched, his arms wrapping even tighter around me.
I looked up at him, and at the same moment he looked down at me. My thighs were pressed against his, my chest pushing against his stomach with every one of my rapid breaths.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you like that.” Bower quickly removed his hands from my waist and bent over to gather what was left of the picnic we’d just shared. “We should get back for the crayfishing contest,” he mumbled.
That wasn’t what I wanted. I hadn’t wanted him to let go.
I looked at the rocks surrounding us—plenty of tripping hazards. Maybe I should fall again, just so Bower would catch me.