“Did you catch anything?”
“Sometimes. Mostly not.” He picked up his fork, twirled it absently. “But that wasn’t the point. The point was being there. Together. He used to say that fishing wasn’t about the fish—it was about learning to be still long enough to listen.”
“Listen to what?”
“Whatever needed to be heard.” Dakota met her eyes. “Sometimes it was the birds. Sometimes it was the wind across the prairie. Sometimes it was him, telling me stories about his Army days, or asking me about school, or just sitting there while I rambled about whatever eight-year-old boys ramble about.”
Something ached in Jayden’s chest. “He sounds wonderful.”
“He was.” Dakota’s voice softened. “He never made me feel like I had to be anything other than exactly who I was. Never pushed me to be smarter or stronger or better. He just . . . liked having me there. Even when I couldn’t catch a fish to save my life.”
The words stirred up a memory. “My grandma was the same way.”
Dakota’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah?”
The words came without permission, spilling out before she could catch them and shove them back down where they belonged.
“I was on a swim team in high school. Competitive. I was pretty good, actually—made it to state twice, had scouts looking at me for college.” She picked at the edge of her napkin. “But my parents didn’t care. They only cared about grades. My little sister was the academic one.”
“So what happened?”
“I quit. Junior year. Dropped out of the swim team so I could focus on AP classes.” She smiled, but it tasted bitter. “Graduated salutatorian from Miss Porter’s.”
“Miss Porter’s?” Dakota tilted his head. “The boarding school in Connecticut?”
“The one and only.” She shrugged. “My father was transferred Stateside and decided we’d spent too much time traveling. He wanted me to be . . . Well, I had rich grandparents, and they wanted a better life for us. Boarding school was the easiest solution. My sister and I were both shipped off to learn which fork to use and how to make small talk with senators.”
“That sounds . . .”
“Lonely?” She met his eyes. “It was. But I got very good at pretending it wasn’t.”
The admission hung between them. More honest than she’d meant to be, but that was the problem with Dakota, wasn’t it?
“But your grandma,” Dakota prompted gently.
“Right.” She took a breath. Let herself go back. “She came to every swim meet. Every. Single. One. She lived in Vermont, and some of those meets were three hours away, but she never missed one.”
Dakota waited. Patient. The way his grandfather must have been, sitting by that misty South Dakota lake.
“After every meet, she’d take me for ice cream. Win or lose. Didn’t matter if I came in first or last—she’d drive us to this little shop near the pool, and we’d sit in the truck and eat mint chocolate chip and talk about nothing.” Her throat tightened. “She used to say I was a natural in the water. That watching me swim was like watching a seal—all grace, no effort.”
“She sounds like she really knew you.”
The words pried something loose. “She did. She was the only one who—” She stopped. Swallowed. “She died my sophomore year of college. Heart attack. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
Dakota reached across the table and covered her hand with his. Warm. Solid. Real.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Me too.” She didn’t pull away. “For yours, I mean. It sounds like he was special.”
“They both were.” Dakota squeezed her fingers.
A shadow fell across their table. Jayden looked up to find Mags Winston standing there, sharp eyes twinkling behind her glasses. “Well, don’t you two look cozy.” She glanced at Jayden and winked.
Oh boy.
The afternoon dive site was deeper, the coral formations more dramatic. Walls of reef dropped away into blue darkness.
