The fabric is cool beneath my hands.
I didn't expect to meet someone like him. Someone who slows my world down to just the pulse of a single heartbeat. Time stretches in this second until I feel like our kiss will never end. And truth be told, I don’t want it to.
When he finally pulls back, I have to remember how to breathe.
His forehead rests against mine as a wry smile tugs at his mouth.
"Still think I'm crazy for letting you near the kayaks?"
I laugh softly.
“Absolutely.”
Dean
The beginner group is doing better than expected but I’m not entirely surprised. Dylan’s always been good at reassuring even the most wobbly of kayakers. The parents love him and so do the kids.
The first twenty minutes are spent convincing people that the kayak is not, in fact, trying to kill them. Everyone is tense. Everyone overcorrects. Every little ripple feels like a wave when you’re sitting three inches above the water in a plastic boat.
But eventually, they relax.
The Etowah has a way of earning your trust. The cold water, the mountains surrounding us, the steady rhythm of paddling downstream, it’s hard to stay nervous when you’re surrounded by nature’s beauty.
Paisley is no exception.
She still grips her paddle tightly, and I’m pretty sure she’s convinced every splash is a sign she’s about to capsize, but she’s smiling.
That’s what keeps distracting me.
Every time I look at her, she’s looking around like she can’t believe this place exists.
I know that feeling.
Not because I grew up somewhere loud or crowded like she did. I’ve never needed to escape Crescent Ridge, but I understand what it means to find something that feels right.
Watching her discover the river feels almost as good as experiencing it myself, which is probably why I’m distracted when one of the other kayakers starts drifting toward the wrong side of the current.
“Hey!”
I paddle toward him as he tries to correct himself.
He uses too much force and begins to panic. His kayak spins sideways, and he grabs the edge like holding onto the plastic hull will keep him from flipping.
It won’t.
“Look at me,” I call.
His eyes find mine.
“Put your paddle in the water on your left.”
“I’m trying!”
“Slow and steady,” I tell him. “Stop fighting the current and use it.”
He looks offended, but he does what I tell him. Slowly, the kayak straightens.
“That’s it,” I say. “Let the current help you.”
