Page 49 of Romantic

“I think you did.”

“You are free to think what you will, but I didn’t baby talk.” He paddles off away from us.

“Should we get him?” I ask Pepper.

“Game on!”

We paddle as hard as we can to catch up with Brandon, who is leisurely paddling ahead of us in the general direction of the otters. When we reach him, I backpaddle hard so we turn around abruptly. “Now!” I say.

Pepper angles her paddle just right so that a huge spray hits Brandon. Pepper and I are both laughing maniacally; we sound like a couple of cartoon villains. We’re laughing too hard to paddle very fast, which is a tactical error.

“Remember, you started this!” Brandon calls after us.

We paddle as fast as we can, but it’s not fast enough. Almost immediately he’s right next to us and showing no mercy. He skillfully drenches both of us with two well executed splashes. All three of us are laughing and shouting and completely wet. When we begin to paddle back to shore, the sun finally breaks through the clouds, warming our bare arms and sending a trail of dancing light on the Pacific.

“Thanks for this,” I tell Brandon as he helps me drag my kayak up from the water. “I didn’t want to leave on a bad note.” He nods seriously.

“Yeah, well, you got to see your otters, and I got a New Year’s Eve prediction right.” The mention of New Year’s Eve predictions makes me think of the kiss prediction. I guess there’s no chance for that one. As if to rub that in my face, he has just removed his life jacket and takes off his wet shirt. I can’t look away. Brandon might have the most beautiful back in the world. I watch the muscles slowly ripple, like waves before they hit the shore. He turns around, and I’m still staring. I’ve always been more into brains than brawn, more interested in soulful eyes than a sixpack. But I can’t help but appreciate Brandon’s sculpted torso.

Brandon quirks an eyebrow at me, and I realize I’m caught. He saw me staring. And Pepper is watching both of us and . . . smiling—and, if I know Pepper, scheming.

His musical talents were considerable. —Sense and Sensibility

15

Annie

“Do we have any requests?” I ask mid-way through Starry Nights. This is my last time leading the campfire singing before I leave next week. I’m feeling torn about leaving. Kayaking with Brandon and Pepper today was so much fun; if I’m honest, it’s the most fun I’ve had all summer.

We laughed so much! Brandon might be a bit uptight and serious, but for all that, the man has a great sense of humor. The two of us joke around a lot when we’re together. Jack and I don’t have the same kind of fun. Can I really love a man I don’t laugh with? Last week I was ready to leave immediately, but now I’m not sure how I feel about spending three months alone with him on a sailboat.

“I have one!” It’s Pepper’s assured, sweet voice. I look up in surprise. She and Brandon must have just arrived. Brandon’s wearing his blue flannel. Pepper’s French braids are looser than Brandon’s usual tidy work, which makes me think she braided them herself.

“What would you like to sing?” I ask Pepper.

“‘We Are the Champions.’”

“Ah yes! That’s a favorite.” We all sang that song together the day we saved Lady Whimple from being cut down. Brandon was a bona fide hero that day. He climbed up that tree and threatened to call his lawyer. He was wonderful—absolutely wonderful. I knew he was saving the tree for Pepper, but there was a part of me that whispered it was also for me. And I wanted it to be. That was the moment I started hoping there was some ground for all of J.J.’s teasing about Brandon having a thing for me.

Just thinking of that day tinges my voice with sadness. No one seems to notice, and everyone sings along with gusto. There’s something magical that happens when you sing with strangers, even if the singing isn’t very good. There’s this moment of oneness, when you feel a part of something bigger than yourself. It eases my sadness.

I can’t help but look over at Brandon. He holds my eye and gives me a tentative smile.

“How about ‘You Fill Up My Senses’ by John Denver?” asks a camper with white hair.

“I don’t know how to play that one,” I lie. Of course I know that song—I love it, but I can’t sing it right now—not in front of Brandon—or Jack for that matter.

“Daddy knows it,” Pepper pipes up. “And he can play the guitar.”

“Will you please play it?” The gentleman who requested the song turns to Brandon. “It was our wedding song forty-eight years ago today.” He puts his arm around his wife sitting next to him. I wonder what they looked like when they were young and beautiful. I doubt they could look any more in love than they do right now. Old people who are still in love are my catnip. That’s romance.

“Okay,” Brandon says, his face neutral.

“Okay?” I ask in surprise. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Yeah, why not?” He stands up and walks over to me. I hand him my guitar—for this song of all songs . . .

“He plays guitar?” asks Jack.