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Despite Dannie claiming to be cynical about relationships, he did not miss the wistful look in her eyes when she heard that she had been so right about the island being an idyllic setting for a honeymoon! Joshua, good intentions aside, wasn’t sure he was up to grown-up time with Dannie on an island where people had their honeymoons!
Still, he didn’t miss the fact that Sally and Michael, though no business had been discussed, must be opening just a little bit to the idea of him acquiring the Lodge for Sun since they were encouraging him to see all that comprised it.
In search of perfect adventures for the clients of Sun, and in keeping with his fast-paced single lifestyle, Joshua had tried many activities, including some that might be considered hair-raising like bungee jumping and parasailing.
None of those activities had ever really fazed him, but an hour later, out in the canoe with Michael, brushing up on his canoeing skills, Joshua felt the weight of responsibility. He had canoed before, but never in waters that could kill you with cold if you capsized and had to stay in them for any length of time.
Michael assured him the island was only a twenty-minute paddle across quiet waters.
“I’ll keep an eye on you,” he promised. “If something goes wrong, I’ll rescue you in the powerboat.”
Joshua was not sure he could imagine anything that would be more humiliating than that, especially with Dannie sharing the boat with him. He was also aware Dannie’s presence, besides making him aware of not wanting a rescue, made him feel responsible for another human being, something that was also new in his freewheeling bachelor existence.
In a way it was ironic, because he shouldered tremendous responsibility. The business decisions he made literally affected the lives and livelihoods of hundreds of people.
That kind of responsibility didn’t even seem real compared to having a life in his hands. Naturally he’d had his own life in his hands many times before, but if he got himself in trouble, he was the only one who suffered the consequences. Maybe the truth was he didn’t really even care.
Strangely, both feelings—of not wanting to make a fool of himself in front of her and of feeling responsible for her safety—made him feel not weakened, but strengthened. Like he was manning up, assuming the ancient role of the protector, the warrior. He would never have guessed that role could feel so satisfying.
Trust Dannie not to let him relish the role for too long! He got her settled in the front of the boat—the non-control position in a canoe—and gave her a paddle for decorative purposes. He issued dire warnings about the tipiness of the contraption they were setting out in, and then he settled into his own position of navigator, course setter, and head paddler.
He was so intent on his duties, he noticed only peripherally that her red sweatshirt matched the red of the canoe, and that her rear in those jeans was something worth manning up for!
But before they were even out of the protected bay that sheltered the lodge, she turned to him in annoyance. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion, which she was bringing on herself by trying to pull the boat single-handedly through the water with her paddle!
“Look, I think this is a team activity. I’m not really the kind of girl who wants to sit in the front of the boat and look pretty, but I think we’re paddling out of sync.”
In other words she wasn’t the kind of girl he’d gotten accustomed to.
In other words, maybe he’d been going it alone a little too much. He wasn’t even sure he could play on a team anymore.
But to his surprise, as soon as he relaxed control, as soon as he began to work with her instead of trying to do it all himself, the canoe began to cut through the water with silent speed and grace, an arrow headed straight for that island.
“That’s better,” she said, looking over her shoulder and grinning at him.
He wasn’t quite sure when she had transformed, but somewhere in the last few days she had gone from plain to beautiful. The sun had kissed pale skin to golden, she had given up all effort to tame her luscious hair, and it curled wildly around her face, her expression seemed to become more relaxed each second that they left the children behind them.
“You are pretty,” he stammered, and was amazed how he sounded. He, who had escorted some of the world’s most beautiful and accomplished women, sounded like a schoolboy on his first date.
In answer, she scraped her paddle across the surface of the water, and deliberately splashed him with the icy cold lake water.
Now he could see the gypsy he had glimpsed in her before, dancing to life, especially when she laughed at his chagrin. Dannie said, with patent insincerity, “Oops.”
Now, in this moment, he could see the truth of who she was, shining around her. This is what he had glimpsed when he had touched her lip with this thumb, a very long time ago, it seemed. This is what he had known about her that she had not known about herself. That she was made to dance with life, to shine with laughter, to blossom.
And in that he recognized another truth.
It was not her who was becoming transformed. It was him.
“Don’t rock the boat,” he said grumpily. And somehow it sounded like a metaphor for his life. Joshua Cole, entrepreneur who performed feats of daring and innovation in business, and who embraced adventure in the scant amount of time he allowed for play, did not rock the boat in that one all-important area.
Relationships. He did not even risk real involvement. He saw women a few times, and at the first hint they wanted more he made an exit. At the first sign of true intimacy of the emotional variety he was out of there. He was willing to play the game with his wallet, but he did not take chances with his heart.
Because his heart had been battered and bruised. When his parents had died, people had told him time would heal all wounds. When he had agreed with Sarah that the best thing for that baby would be to allow him to go to a loving family who were emotionally and financially mature, who were prepared for a child in every way, he had thought time would eventually lessen the ache he felt over that decision.
Maybe he had even believed that time had eased the pain. But he had only been kidding himself.
Outrunning something was not the same as healing. Not even close.
“Land ho,” Dannie called, as they drew close to the island.
He looked at her face, shining with enthusiasm for the day, and he felt his guard slip away. He made a decision, just for today, he would engage as completely as he was able.
For her. So she could enjoy one day of being irresponsible, of having fun without the kids.
They landed the canoe, gracelessly, coming as close to tipping it as they had come yet, though thankfully the waters off the island were shallow enough that he didn’t have to worry about her dying of hypothermia in them if they did capsize. Still, even with her jeans rolled up, she was wet to her knees.
He lifted the picnic basket Sally had packed for them and followed Dannie up the shoreline and left the basket there.
“I can’t wait to see it,” she said, and started up the path that led to the cabin. She stumbled on a root, and he reached out his hand to steady her. Somehow he never took his hand away. Hers folded into his as if it was absolutely meant to be there.
There was a well-worn path to the cabin, which was as quaint up close as it had been from far away. Like Angel’s Rest, it had a name plaque hanging at the entrance to the covered, vine-twined porch.
“Love’s Rhapsody,” she read out loud. “Isn’t that lovely?”
“Corny,” he said, deciding then and there the sign was coming down the minute he owned the place
“Should we go in?” she asked. There was something about her wide-eyed wonder in the little cabin that was making him feel edgy.
“Well, yeah, it’s not a church. Besides, I might own it one day. I might as well see how much money I’d have to throw at it to keep it.”
She reacted as he had hoped, by glaring at him as if he had desecrated a sacred site. It was important that she know that distinction existed between them. He cynical and pragmatic, she soft and dreamy. It was important she know that that distinction existed between them, so the wall was up.
And a man needed a wall up in a place like this! He needed a wall up when he was beginning to feel all enthused about playing the protector and warrior. When he felt strangely uncertain if they should enter that sanctuary. What if whatever was in there—the spirit of romance—overcame them? What if he was helpless against it?
Annoyed with himself for so quickly breaking his vow to make the day about her instead of about him, Joshua pushed past her and shoved open the door.
His first reaction to the interior was one of relief, because the cabin was dark and musty smelling. There was absolutely nothing in it to speak of. An old antique bed, with the mattress rolled up, and the linens stored, a little table, a threadbare couch and a stone fireplace just like the one at Angel’s Rest.
And yet, the fact there was so little in here, seemed to highlight that there was something in here, unseen.
“Look,” she whispered, wandering over to one of the walls. “Oh, Joshua, look.”
Carved lovingly into the walls, were names. Mildred and Manny, April 3, 1947, Penelope and Alfred, June 9, 1932. Sometimes it was just the couple’s name, other times a heart and arrow surrounded it, sometimes a poem had been painstakingly cut out in the wall. It seemed each couple who had ever honeymooned here had left their mark on those walls.
It was hard not to be moved by the testament to love, to commitment. There really was nothing at all of material value in this cabin.
And yet there was something here so valuable it evaded being named: a history of people saying yes to the adventure of beginning a life together.
In this funny little cabin, it felt as if it was the only adventure that counted.
Cynicism would protect him from the light shining in her eyes. But what of his vow to let her have the day she wanted?
So, when they left the cabin he took her hand again, despite the fact he wanted to shove his into his pockets, defending against what had been in there. Strangely, holding her hand seemed to still the uncertainty in him.
The island was small. They walked around the whole thing in an hour. He soon forgot his discomfort in the cabin, and found himself making it about her with amazing ease. But then, that’s what being with her was like: easy and comfortable.
With just the faintest hint of sexual awareness, tingling, that added to rather than detracted from the experience of being together.
Finally they returned to the beach and opened Sally’s picnic basket. She had sent them hot dogs and buns, matches and fire starter.
They gathered wood, and he lit the fire, feeling that thing again, the shouldering of the ancient role: I will start the fire that will warm you.
Obviously, the corniness from the cabin was catching!
With hot dogs blackening on sticks over an open fire, and the magic of the cabin behind him, he found himself taking a tentative step forward, wanting to be more but also to know more. Soon she would go her own way, and he would go his. It made the exchange seem risk-free.
“Tell me why you’re content to raise other people’s children,” he said, touching the mustard at the edge of her mouth with his finger, putting that finger to his own lips, watching her eyes go as wide as if he had kissed her.
“I told you, it’s a job I love. I never feel as if I’m working.”
“But doesn’t that make you think you are ideally suited to be a mother yourself, of your own children?”
Maybe that was too personal, because Dannie blushed wildly, as if he had asked her to be the mother of his children!
He loved that blush! Before her, when was the last time he had even met a woman who still blushed?
“It’s because of the heartbreak,” he guessed softly, looking at the way she was focusing on her hot dog with sudden intensity. “Will you tell me about it?”
This was exactly the kind of question he never asked. But suddenly he really wanted to know. He knew about things you kept inside. You thought they’d gone away, when in fact they were eating you from the inside out.
“No,” she said. “You’re burning your hot dog.”
“That’s how I like them. What was his name?”
She glared at him. Her expression said, leave it. But her voice said, reluctantly, “Brent.”
“Just for the record, I’ve always hated that name. Let me guess. A college professor?”
“It’s not even an interesting story.”
“All stories are interesting.”
“Okay. You asked for it. Here is the full pathetic truth. Brent was a college professor. I was a student. He waited until I wasn’t in any of his classes to ask me out. We dated for a few months. I fell in love and thought he did, too. He had a trip planned to Europe, a year’s sabbatical from teaching, and he went.”
“He didn’t ask you to go?”
“He asked me to wait. He made me a promise.”
Joshua groaned.
“What are you making noises for?”
“If he loved you he would never, ever have gone to Europe without you.”
“Thank you. Where were you when I needed you? He promised he would come back, and we’d get married. I took the nanny position temporarily.”
“No ring, though,” Joshua guessed cynically.
“He gave me a locket!”
“With his own picture inside? Thought pretty highly of himself, did he?” It was the locket she’d worn when he first met her. That she’d put away. What did it mean that she had taken it off?
That it was a good time for her to have this conversation? He knew himself to be a very superficial man, the wrong person to be navigating the terrifying waters of a woman’s heartbreak. What moment of insanity had gripped him, encouraged her confidences? But now that she’d got started, it was like a dam bursting.
“At first he e-mailed every day, and I got a flood of postcards. It made me do really dumb things. I … I used all my savings and bought a wedding gown.”
Her face was screwing up. She blinked hard. Maybe wheedling this confession out of her hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
“It’s like something out of a fantasy,” she whispered. “Lace and silk.” She was choking now. “It was all a fantasy. Such a safe way to love somebody, from a distance, anticipating the next contact, but never having to deal with reality.
“Can I tell you something truly awful? Something I don’t even think I knew until just now? The longer he stayed away, the more elaborate and satisfying my fantasy love for him became.”
She was crying now. No mascara, thank God. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, and when that didn’t seem to give her any comfort, or him either, he threw caution to the wind, and his hot dog into the fire. He pulled her into his chest.
Felt her hair, finally.
It felt as he had known it would feel, like the most expensive and exquisite of silks.
It smelled of Hawaii, exotic and floral. This was why he was so undeserving of her trust: she was baring her soul, he was being intoxicated by the scent of her hair.
“Actually,” she sniffed, “Brent was the final crack in my romantic illusions. My parents had a terrible relationship, constant tension that spilled over into fighting. When I met Brent, I hoped there was something else, and there was, but it turned out to be even more painful. Oh, I hope I don’t sound pathetic. The I-had-a-bad-childhood kind of person.”
“Did you?” he asked, against his better judgment. Of course the smell of her hair and her soft curves pressed into his body made him feel as if he had no judgment at all, wiped out by sensory overload. And yet even for that, he registered her saying she’d had a bad childhood and he ached for her. There were things even a warrior could not hope to make right.
“Terrible,” she said with a defeated sigh. “Filled with fighting and uncertainty, making up that always filled us kids with such hope and never lasted. It was terrible.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re so invested in children. Giving them the gift of happiness that you didn’t have. You do have that gift, you know. So engaged with them, so genuinely interested in them.”
“Did you have a good childhood?” she asked, and her wistfulness tore through the barriers around his heart that usually kept him from sharing too deeply with anyone.
“Camelot,” he said. “I can’t remember one bad thing. I often wonder if every family is only allotted so much luck, and we used ours up.”
“Oh, Joshua,” she said softly.
“My parents were crazy about each other. And about us. We were the fun family on the block—my dad coaching the Little League team, my mom filling the rubber swimming pool for all the neighborhood kids. And it was all so genuine. I see parents sometimes who I think are following a rule book, thinking about how it all looks to other people, but my folks weren’t like that. They did these things with us because they loved to do it, not because they wanted to look like great parents.”
“And because of that they were great parents.”
