Page 96 of Meet Cute Reboot
“Safety first,” he says. “If I pass out, I can’t trust Korg to pull me out of the water. He’d try, but I weigh two hundred pounds, so...”
Two hundred pounds of muscle.
While I was changing into my swimsuit, he switched his gray T-shirt for a blue, short-sleeved swim shirt. Disappointing. I wanted to see those muscles in action.
I feed my arms through the life jacket and fasten the clasps while Luke goes about unhitching the kayaks from the rack. When they’re both sitting on the deck, he lets me choose my color. I choose the lime green, and he hands me a double-ended paddle. He scoots my kayak into the water and anchors it against the dock with his foot.
“You first,” he says.
“I’ve never done this before.”
“I’ll help you.” He offers his hand and I grab it, his skin against mine.
“Don’t let me fall,” I say as I place a foot on the wobbly boat. Ripples form in the murky water while I find my balance. I grab the deck boards. Luke lets go of my hand and steadies my hips, his strength providing the safety and confidence I need to swing my right leg over. He doesn’t let go but braces me until I lower to my seat, then he hands me a paddle.
“You good?” he asks.
My hips burn where he held on, his energy signature imprinted on my cells.
“Yeah, I’m good.” In more ways than one.
As Luke is boarding his kayak, I take in my surroundings. The docks along the river vary in length depending on the breadth of the salt marsh. Todd’s stretches several meters through brackish water, mud, and cordgrass. The verdant grass still holds its color in the warm early-autumn temperatures. Soon the leaves will turn golden brown. In winter, they’ll break off at the stems, creating a mat of decomposition, further breaking into small pieces of detritus that will provide food for the marsh animals.
For now, I enjoy the vibrant green and the scent of the marsh, which some people find foul, like rotten eggs. I’m used to the smell. But I rarely take time to enjoy the Charleston outdoors anymore. I’m too busy trying to earn money.
I sigh and grab the center of my paddle.
“This is a straight shot to the river,” Luke points, referring to the wide creek we’re floating in. “But we’re not going that way.”
“Of course.” I laugh.
“I know a better way.”
“You first.”
It shouldn’t be hard to paddle a kayak, but it takes me five minutes to figure out how to alternate between my left and right blade without throwing my entire kayak off kilter. Luke and Korg wait patiently, Luke chuckling at my clumsiness and offering encouraging words and helpful tips, Korg perched on the front of Luke’s kayak with his tongue hanging out and a look in his eyes that says what-is-taking-this-crazy-lady-so-long.
When I fall into a comfortable rhythm, Luke leads me through the winding tidal creeks, checking frequently over his shoulder to make sure I’m keeping up. We’re both silent as our paddles slosh through the water, the wind rustles the cordgrass, and wood storks call in the distance.
The shirt may be hiding Luke’s chest and back, but I can still enjoy his biceps and forearms as he effortlessly pulls his kayak through the calm waters. His skin has already developed a sheen of sweat that reflects the sun and highlights the contours of his muscles.
I feel it too—the strain in my back from the water’s resistance, the misting of sweat on my face and arms. The sun feels brighter and hotter on the water, where the dense grass blocks the breeze.
The creek finally empties into open water. A stronger current presses against my kayak and I have to adjust my paddling to counteract it.
“We’re going against the current for a bit,” Luke says over his shoulder.
“No problem,” I lie. My arms are almost spent. Luckily Luke quickly maneuvers his kayak into another tidal creek on theopposite side of the river. I manage to fight off the current long enough to follow him while commanding my arms to cooperate.
Korg barks at something in the grass. The dog has it easy. All he has to do is sit there. But the longer I paddle, the more my brain unwinds, each pass of my blade through the water like a kind, reassuring stroke on my psyche telling me it’s okay. Everything will be okay. I didn’t realize how keyed up I’ve been. About Luke, yes, but mostly about work. I can’t remember my last official rest day. Sure, I go to church. I visit with my family, but every Sunday evening when I get home it’s back to planning, strategizing, problem-solving.
We round a bend in the creek, and I see land. Behind all the grass is a sandy beach with shallow water and a protective overhang of trees. I paddle until my blade strikes the creek bed, and then I step out of the kayak and splash through the water to pull my boat ashore. Alligators don’t worry me here. The water is too shallow for them to hide.
Korg seems to know the drill. He bounds off Luke’s kayak and starts prancing about, creating a generous spray of water. I laugh at his display, and then it hits me: this is perfect. The warm sun on my face is perfect. The scenery is perfect. Being here with Luke and Korg: perfect. Moments like this can’t be scripted.
With a smile, I collapse onto the sand with my water bottle. Luke drops down next to me. We take off our lifejackets and watch Korg frolic for a moment before I speak.
“My arms are about to fall off, but this is great.”