Page 113 of Letting Go at 40

“Are you sore?” His voice is tender, matching his touch as he smooths back my hair and removes the ponytail holder from the back of my head.

“No,” I admit. I feel surprisingly good. Better than good. Still, my hand lowers to cover my belly as I often have when with him. And just like he always does, he tugs my arm free.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells me.

Typically, I’d be self-conscious standing bare naked on a boat on a lake despite the apparent seclusion. But I feel . . . beautiful.

“You’re perfect, too,” I whisper to him, eyes lowering to his firm chest.

Mason hums. “I want you again, but I need a minute.” He glances over at the lake. “Dipping in there might cause me to need even more than a minute.”

I laugh as I stare at the water, softly lapping against the side of the boat. “I’m nervous. I bet it’s cold.”

“Only way to know for sure.” Suddenly, Mason’s arms are around me, hoisting me a few inches off my feet.

“You wouldn’t,” I yell.

“Oh, I would.” His voice fills with laughter as his fingers slip through mine on one hand. “I’ll never let go, Anna.”

The whisper at my ear is a promise in several ways.

Then he counts to three as I relax into his body, and we jump.

Together.

+ + +

After plunging into the water and breaking the surface, I let out a scream. The lake is take-your-breath-away freezing. I’m not certain I can tread water, I’m instantly that cold.

Mason is there, though, holding onto me and tugging me back toward the boat.

“Fuck it’s cold.” He laughs as he tosses his head, forcing his hair to whip away from his forehead. He looks youthful and carefree.

As we reach the back ledge of the boat, Mason grips my hips and hoists me awkwardly upward until I can tug myself the remainder of the way. He gracefully pulls himself upward and stands on the back deck.

He’s quick to step into the sitting area and climb the side of the boat for the blanket we used earlier. He wraps it around me and then descends below deck in search of towels.

When he comes back to me, he’s wearing a towel around his hips and hands me one which I wrap around my middle. He slips the blanket back over my shoulders and rubs at my hair with the extra towel.

Eventually, I pull free of his attention and finger comb my own locks while he disappears again only to return with a bottle of scotch.

“To warm us up.” He holds the bottle higher before taking a sip directly from the container.

Mason hands me the bottle, and I take a timid sip. I’m not a hard alcohol person. He sits on the bench seat and pats the space beside him. I sit as well, and he wraps his arm over my shoulders.

“The sun is almost gone,” I whisper, afraid to break the spell around us. Only a sliver of golden yellow marks the horizon. The sky is a ripple of muted pinks and dull orange. The lake is a perfect deep blue like Mason’s eyes.

“Another day,” Mason replies, his voice just as quiet as mine.

Another day. How different I feel. More than a year ago, the thought of making it through a day was filled with dread. Back then, my goal was simply day-by-day and step-by-step. At some point, I passed from anger and bitterness into quiet acceptance.

I shift, looking at Mason in profile. When did I cross the line to peace?

When a wave of cool air brushes over the boat, I shiver and tuck the blanket tighter around me. Mason still holds the scotch in his hand, and he takes another pull from it.

The motion focuses me on his mouth, his lips. Mason is an incredible kisser and touching his mouth with mine makes my blood heat. My body ripples with excitement every time he kisses me, and I’m almost ashamed of the immediate desire that rises within me. Almost.

Instead, I stand and climb over him. His gaze falls to my eyes, questioning me as I awkwardly straddle him with the blanket around my shoulders and towel around my middle.