He carries me out into the moonlight. I can see his striking amber eyes staring at me with what I think might be concern.
“You hurt at all?”
“I don’t think so.” I shake my head. “I can … probably walk.”
“Oh, right.” He nods, setting me down on shaky legs.
My rescuer is taller than me.
Which is a feat, at 5’9
“I didn’t mean to startle you so badly.” He laughs. In the moonlight, I see more than a hint of regret on his face. For the first time, I notice there’s a Southern twang in the way he speaks.
“I’m fine, I just—” I shake my head. Honestly, I have no idea how I’m feeling. “I’m a little embarrassed, I guess. Thanks for catching me.” I offer him a genuine smile. “I doubt the gators would have been so chivalrous.”
“Ah, they could surprise you,” he says. There’s a tentativeness to his tone, before he asks, “Can I help row you back?”
“Oh, uh, yeah.” I push down the urge to refuse, out of fear of being an even bigger inconvenience. The fact is, I’m still a little rough on my feet and not eager to try to steer a whole ass canoe right now.
“You might want to be more careful songwriting at night,” he warns. It’s mortifying that someone saw me wandering around here, singing in the wilderness like a rejected Disney princess. “You mentioned you know about the critters around here. They can be a little more meddlesome in the dark.”
Would it be too insufferable for the girl who literally fainted to say she can take care of herself?
The truth is, all I could think about was seeing this place again. When I saw that canoe, I thought if it was still there tonight, I’d resign myself to go back. There was a melody dancing around my head, and though the words are still a mess, it’s the most inspired I’ve felt in a long time.
“You probably think I’m ridiculous,” I say as we approach the dock. The stranger helps me into the boat, guiding me with a gentle hand on my waist, and suddenly, I’m no longer a misguided tourist but a lady being helped into a carriage.
A very wobbly carriage. The canoe rocks to and fro as he hops in. His response to my self-deprecation is a mere shake of his head. He takes up one of the oars and begins to row, and for a while, the two of us just stare at each other. There’s something about him that feels like a song I’ve forgotten the words to; the more I look into his eyes, the more they seem to unlock a melody.
The sound of the water is hypnotic, owls coo in the distance, and for a moment, I close my eyes and take in every sound.
“You know, we haven’t even told each other our names,” I say, when I realize I’ve been quiet for too long. I’d like to call him something other than “that guy” or “park ranger” in my head—even though I’m not actually sure if he works here. “I’m Marina.”
“Marina—I knew it,” he says quietly.
“You what?” I laugh. “Do you normally guess the names of the damsels you save?”
“You’re my first, and I don’t take you for a damsel,” he says. If I’m not mistaken, his cheeks are flushed.“It … suits you, Marina.” I’m struck by how he says my name.
At work, it’s barked like an order.
Grams always calls me Mari. Uncle Orson called me “Mare-Bear” when he was alive.
ButMarina…
It’s like a song on his lips. Something glitters all the way up to his eyes, a warmth in his tone that heats my face and my heart.
“I’m Gil,” the man says, his hand engulfing mine in a firm yet gentle shake before he goes back to rowing the canoe.
“Gil,” I repeat, a hint of a smile landing back on my face. With his wide-set eyes and full lips, the name suits him. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Yeah… nice to meet you,” he says with a small nod. “For future adventures, stick to the paths on this side at night.”
“And you’re exempt from this rule because… you work here?” I ask, picking at the skin behind my ear before catching myself and placing my hands in my lap.
“Something like that,” he says, looking off in the distance. “You should be able to sneak back out to the old campgrounds before noon without too many people batting an eye. Boat tours don’t run that early.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
