Vanessa didn’t agree with Jackson’s assessment, but she considered his point.Her brother understood the male perspective.Paul wasn’t an ogre.Neither was he a pushover.She couldn’t bulldoze a man like him into doing her bidding.She had to use finesse.
“Fine,” Vanessa said.“I’ll change my approach.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m willing to go to the campground tonight.But I want to talk to him one more time first.”
Jackson didn’t tell her she was wasting her time.He gave her a hug and retrieved the charcoal for the cooking grill.After he lit the briquettes, she washed her hands to assist him in dinner preparations.He’d brought hot dogs and cucumber salad.
Vanessa’s stomach rumbled with hunger.“This looks great.”
“I want lemonade,” Emily said.
“We’ll make some tomorrow,” Vanessa said.
Their exchange was interrupted by the sound of an approaching engine.Paul appeared with his fishing boat, which Jackson hadn’t seen yet.He cut across the choppy water and drifted toward the dock, where he tied off.
“He rented a boat?”Jackson asked.
“He bought it,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
While she watched, Paul stepped from the boat onto the dock.He took off his cowboy hat and tossed it aside.He stood at the edge of the platform, wearing a pair of faded cargo shorts.His body made a dark outline against the vibrant orange horizon as he dove off the side, into the water.
Feigning disinterest, Vanessa arranged the hot dogs on the grill.Ten minutes later, the dogs were sizzling-hot, crosshatched with black marks.Jackson turned them with a grilling fork.In the close distance, Paul had climbed out of the lake and was sprawled on the dock, drip-drying.
“Mr.Paul likes to eat lemons,” Emily said.
“You shouldn’t tell someone their face looks sour,” Vanessa said.
“Why not?”
“It’s not nice.”
“Okay,” Emily said, still doodling.
Vanessa glanced in Paul’s direction again.She needed to win him over.Giving up without a fight wasn’t an option.He was attractive and intimidating.Everything about him disturbed her, but so what?She was an ER nurse.She dealt with difficult patients every shift.She could handle a hot cowboy with a dry sense of humor.
She didn’t agree that she was being irrational or dramatic, but she knew one thing: you caught more flies with honey than vinegar.She loaded up a plate with three hot dogs, squirted some ketchup on them, and grabbed a soda from the cooler.Then she gestured toward the dock.“I’m feeling neighborly.”
“Good luck,” Jackson said.
“Where are you going?”Emily asked.
“To see a man about a dog,” she said.
“Can I come?”
“Stay with Uncle Jack.”
Emily obeyed without complaint.She was fixated on drawing a trio of lemons with happy faces.
Vanessa’s nerves jangled as she stepped onto the dock.She could feel the heat of the sun-warmed path through the soles of her sandals.The planks were weathered, worn smooth in some places.
Paul must have heard her approach, because he rose to a sitting position on the platform and draped his T-shirt over one shoulder.The water from his body had created a damp outline on the wooden dock.His eyes caught the unfiltered light of sunset.They were a cold, gray-blue, without a hint of invitation.
Vanessa offered him the plate anyway.“My brother cooked hot dogs.”
He glanced toward the shore.Jackson waved at them.Paul didn’t wave back, but he accepted the plate.Encouraged, Vanessa sat down beside him.He set the plate between them like a buffer, and ate one of the hot dogs in four bites.
