Chapter 8 What We Build
What We Build
Luna caught my bow line one-handed, hauled the runabout against Rosewater's dock, and kissed me before I got both feet under me.
One second I had a hand on the windshield frame and a shoe on the gunwale. The next, she had my shirt in both fists and her tongue in my mouth while the boat bumped gently against the dock behind me.
I found her waist on instinct.
The sun had warmed every inch of skin between her cobalt-blue bikini top and white cutoff shorts. Twin blonde braids hung over her shoulders beneath a backward navy Rosewater cap, and when she pressed closer, the strong line of her stomach tightened beneath my palms.
She kissed me like Thursday night had ended ten minutes ago instead of making us wait until after lunch on Friday.
Somebody near the fuel pumps whistled.
Luna didn't even slow down.
When she finally let me breathe, her fingers stayed twisted in my shirt and her lips remained close enough to steal the next word.
"You came alone."
"You told me to."
"Good listening skills." She kissed the corner of my mouth. "Very attractive in a boyfriend."
Rosewater's dock gave her an audience. She'd claimed me without checking who watched, and it still hit me every time.
"I thought you needed help," I said.
"I do."
Her gaze dropped to my chest, then lower, taking her time on the return trip.
"Eventually."
"That sounds promising."
"It should." Luna stepped back and caught my hand. "Tie your boat properly, Brewster. I have something to show you."
I secured the runabout in the main guest slip while she watched with the critical expression of someone prepared to fail me on technique. When I finished, she tested the line herself.
"Acceptable," she said.
"High praise."
"Don't get used to it."
She led me along the spotless dock with our fingers linked, moving like the woman who knew every stubborn pump and loose cleat on the property. Her cutoffs hugged an ass built by years on skis, and the hot tomboy certainty in her stride made the nearest storage building seem dangerously useful.
She glanced back.
"You're staring."
"You dressed for it."
"I dressed for work."
"That's the problem."
Her smile flashed, bright with the girl I'd grown up with and the woman she'd become.
"Save some attention," she said. "You're going to need it."
James and Tina waited beside Rosewater's equipment building. A row of beginner skis rested on padded racks behind them, with life jackets organized by size, three neatly coiled tow ropes, and a ski boat tied along the side dock.
James shook my hand. Tina squeezed my arm and gave Luna a look that held more pride than curiosity.
"She refused to tell us how she planned to present this," James said.
"Because I didn't need a committee," Luna replied.
"You made us stand here."
"You're visual aids, Daddy. Try to look useful."
James laughed. Tina's mouth curved as she adjusted one of the life jackets on the rack.
Luna stepped into the center of the equipment and put her hands on her hips.
"Rosewater has enough unused beginner gear to run a small clinic," she said. "Youth skis, adult trainers, jackets in every size, low-stretch ropes, and the backup boat. I checked the inventory yesterday. The boat was serviced in May and hasn't been used since."
She pointed through the open shed door as she spoke and never looked to her parents to finish the thought.
"I want Brewster Bay to run a trial clinic Sunday. Rosewater lends the equipment through the partnership. Your family controls the event, the schedule, and the guest list. If the gear isn't solid, or you don't think the route works, we stop here. I haven't promised anyone anything."
She'd found a Rosewater resource Brewster Bay could turn into exactly its kind of lake memory, then done the work before asking for credit.
Watching her explain it in a bikini didn't hurt.
"You've checked all of this yourself?" I asked.
"Inventory and surface inspection. Not a full water test." She tipped her chin toward the backup boat. "That's why you're here."
"To carry the heavy stuff?"
"Among other things."
Her eyes held mine long enough to make the promise clear.
James gestured toward the gear. "It's available if your family wants it. No hidden terms. No change in control. Rosewater provides the equipment, Brewster Bay runs the clinic."
"One trial," Tina added. "Then everyone decides whether it was worth repeating."
Luna folded her arms. "After we test it."
There was the question beneath the proposal. Not whether I would let her help. Whether I trusted her work enough to build on it.
I walked to the nearest pair of trainer skis and ran a hand along the edges. The bindings looked clean. No visible cracking. The tow rope beside them had been coiled properly instead of knotted into a plastic disaster.
"We test every set," I said. "Boat, ropes, jackets, route. Then I call Dad and Mom."
Luna's grin came fast and bright.
"Try to keep up."
"There's my visual aid," James said.
Luna pointed at the path without looking at him. "You're dismissed."
Tina kissed Luna's cheek before she left. James clapped my shoulder, and the two of them headed back toward the main building without turning the afternoon into a board meeting.
Luna watched them go, then faced me again.
"Ready to work, Brewster?"
I looked from her to the boat and back.
"Lead the way, Sundance."
The nickname softened her smile for one private beat.
Then she tossed me two life jackets and nearly knocked me backward.
"Less flirting," she said. "More lifting."
We loaded the backup boat in a rhythm older than either resort partnership.
Luna checked bindings and buckles while I carried skis and tested rope handles.
She opened compartments before I asked, and when I suggested moving the youth jackets, she listened, saw the logic, and moved them without treating agreement like a loss.
The older backup boat had a broad sun deck, deep storage, and easy stern access. While I stowed gear, Luna checked the anchor, throw cushion, first-aid kit, extinguisher, stern ladder, and fuel.
"I told you I did the work," she said.
"I'm verifying."
Her mouth curved. "I like watching you verify."
I was securing the last trainer ski when Luna disappeared into the oldest section of the equipment shed.
"Brewster."
She stood at an open gear locker with a faded navy ski bag in her hands, scuffed at the corners and soft from years of use.
Across the side, in uneven block letters gone gray with age, was one word.
SUNDANCE.
My handwriting.
I remembered writing it at thirteen because she kept stealing my bag.
"You kept it," I said.
Luna ran her thumb over the faded letters.
"Mother tried to throw it away twice. She barely survived."
"I told her it was still useful," she said. "That wasn't the whole reason."
I stepped closer, but I didn't take the bag from her.
"The name mattered," she said. "Even when I acted like it didn't."
She held the bag steady between us and let the truth stand without dressing it up.
"Put it with the gear," I said.
Her gaze lifted.
"You sure?"
"We're testing Sundance's clinic. Seems like she should come."
That smile was worth every year the bag had spent in the dark.
Luna carried it aboard herself and secured it beside the skis.
Before we left the dock, she stripped off her cap and cutoffs, folded both, and tucked them into a dry compartment with my work shirt and boat shoes. The cobalt bikini showed crisp tanlines and every hard-earned line of her athletic body. Her braids remained tight against her shoulders.
"Your boat stays here," she said as she took the helm.
I checked the main dock. My runabout remained tied exactly where we'd left it.
"Good," she said. "This one's mine."
She backed us out with one hand on the wheel and the other on the throttle. I stood beside her as we cleared the no-wake zone, close enough to smell sunscreen and clean lake water on her skin.
The second we reached open water, she pushed the throttle forward.
The boat climbed onto plane. Wind flattened her braids against her back, and her face opened into the kind of grin Rosewater's polished photos never caught.
We started with the widest adult trainers.
Luna went first. She put on a life jacket, checked the bindings, and slid into the lake. I fed the tow rope out while she settled into position.
"Beginner pull," she called. "Try not to rip my arms off."
She gave me the signal.
I eased her up slowly. Luna resisted every instinct to show off, testing broad turns and a deliberate fall before coming up again under an even gentler pull.
The cobalt fabric darkened against her body. Her legs stayed strong beneath her, and every controlled movement made the safety test harder to remember.
When I circled back, she climbed the stern ladder with water pouring from her braids.
"Stable," she said. "Slow to edge. Good for nervous adults."
"You looked bored."
"I was being responsible. Praise me."
"You were very responsible."
"Say it like you mean it."
I caught her wet waist and kissed her before she could step away.
Her laugh disappeared into my mouth. One hand landed on my shoulder, the other against my chest, and the gear stopped mattering for three dangerous seconds.
Luna pulled back first.
"Work," she reminded me, breathing harder.
"Your idea."
"I'm starting to regret my professionalism."
We switched.
She drove while I tested the youth trainers and second adult set, giving me clean starts and calling adjustments without turning the work into a competition. When I climbed aboard, she handed me water and told me my excuses were softer than the life jacket.
We tested the tow handles next. I was feeding one rope through my right hand when a small loop caught against the stern cleat. Luna bumped the throttle to hold our line against another boat's wake. The rope snapped taut before I got my palm clear.
Heat tore across my skin.
I let go and swore.
Luna killed the throttle immediately. "Hand."
"It's fine."
"That's not a hand. That's a lie. Give me the hand."
I opened my right palm. A raw red stripe crossed the center, angry but shallow.