Chapter 11 #3
“Did you know that Canada has more lakes than the rest of the world combined?” I ask as we drive by another one. A couple is traveling across it, slicing through the water in a shared kayak.
“I think we’ve seen half of them on this drive,” Owen says as we head into Muskoka.
We drive into Port Carling, an adorable town built on the land where three lakes meet. It’s a perfect tiny town, all charming and warm in a way that makes you want to move here before you’ve even gotten out of the car.
The stores look like log cabins with open doors and window boxes overflowing with summer flowers.
I spot a cute used bookstore I definitely want to check out.
Every restaurant along the water has its own dock with boats tied up alongside it like the most casual valet parking in the world—just pull up on the lake, tie your boat, and go have dinner.
I watch a couple step off a gleaming wooden boat and walk hand-in-hand up the dock to a large terrace overlooking the water, and I feel a little wistful inside.
“I love Muskoka,” I say, although we mostly stuck around Huntsville when I came here as a kid. Dad always said Port Carling was for the wealthier folk. Now I can see why.
We pass a little white church and I grin when I see a sign posted on the side of the road. Keep a safe distance from wandering moose.
Owen slows down to look.
“I want to live in a town that has wandering moose in it,” I say.
“That’s because you’ve never seen one up close. They’re significantly larger than they appear in photographs and considerably less friendly.”
“Still,” I say as we drive past it. “If I saw a moose, I think we’d be friends.”
“I think you’d be in for a nasty surprise,” he mumbles.
He pulls into the long-term parking lot by the dock and I glance at the GPS screen. I’ve been so distracted by the scenery that I didn’t realize we arrived at the destination.
“He lives in town?”
“No,” Owen says as he parks the car. “He’s picking us up at the marina. His cottage is only accessible by boat.”
“We’re going to be trapped on an island with these people?” I say, feeling my stomach drop. “That little morsel of information was left out of your description of the weekend.”
“Apologies,” he says as he turns off the car.
I wonder if Uber has a water service. Can someone pick me up in a canoe?
“Any other surprises you haven’t told me?”
“Just one,” he says.
My stomach churns. “What is it?”
“Your name for the weekend is Scarlett Montgomery.”
“What?” I shout. “Why?”
“That’s the name we posted for my wife on our socials.”
“Why Scarlett Montgomery?” I ask, squeezing my eyes shut. “What am I a porn star from the 1800s?”
“It was the first thing that came to mind.”
“Scarlett Montgomery was the first name that came to your mind?! No one is named Scarlett Montgomery. It sounds like a French spy. Should I wear a red cocktail dress with a tiny gun strapped to my thigh?”
Owen just stares at me.
“Fine. Whatever. Scarlett Montgomery it is.”
We get our bags and head down to the dock.
A hot guy, just a bit younger than me, is lying in a speedboat, tanning. All that shiny skin and those shredded abs catch my eye. You can tell he’s tall even though he’s lying down. Light messy hair, strong jaw, the kind of arms that could easily row that boat back home if the engine ever cut out.
I remind myself I’m married.
I remind myself a second time as I tear my eyes off him.
Owen asks the guy working at the dock where Edward Baines’ boat is. He points at the hot guy.
“That’s him?” I ask with a gasp. My heart starts pounding as we walk over.
“Can’t be,” Owen says. “Mr. Baines is much older.”
He sits up as we arrive. “Owen Lavoie?”
“That’s me.”
The guy’s eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, but I can feel them on me, looking me up and down. “And you are?”
“Scarlett,” I say, my voice a little shaky.
He looks like the kind of trouble that summer vacation was invented for.
The kind of guy who’s perfect for long nights of sneaking into town and worrying your parents by staying out too late.
The kind of summer dream guy that makes you come back after curfew with swollen lips and crazy ideas of moving across the country swirling in your head.
“I’m Tristan Baines,” he says as he gets up. He’s only wearing a bathing suit and sunglasses. “I’ll be taking you to the cottage.”
He offers his hand and I take it, suddenly very aware that he’s still not wearing a shirt.
“Thank you,” I say as I step into the gorgeous boat. His hand lingers on mine for an extra second or two.
Owen climbs down behind me, rocking the boat.
I don’t see his expression.
But I feel him sit very close.
My eyes linger on Tristan as he calmly gets the boat ready, unraveling the ropes from the dock and pushing off with his bare foot. This guy has the kind of easy, relaxed energy that suggests he has never once in his life lost sleep over anything.
“Ready?” he asks, grinning at me before he starts the engine.
I nod, but as I look at Owen sitting beside me and then to this hot shirtless stranger giving me a sly look, I’m not sure I’m ready at all.