Page 131 of Mr. B

Wes picked up a piece of pizza. “Good. We’re all on the same page.”

On Tuesday, Wes drove himself to work and parked in his spot. After getting out of the Wagoneer, he wiped a piece of dirt from the ‘Don’t even think about parking in Mr. B’s spot’ sign, then headed for the office.

It was still early, and only a few cars sat in the parent drop-off lane. As he passed the car at the front of the line, three girls got out and waved at him.

“Good morning, ladies.”

“Morning, Mr. B. Welcome back.”

“Thank you.” He went into the office and stopped at the counter. Polly handed him a stack of phone messages and a cup of coffee. He smiled. “Good morning, Polly.”

“Good morning, sir.”

He went to the office and sat down behind his desk. The chair had been fixed, and he patted the arm. “Thank you, Roland.” He switched on his computer and waited for it to warm up. “Here we go.”

Five Months Later

Cassandra snuggled closer to Wes as he tucked the wool blanket they were sharing around them. “Are you warm enough?”

She smiled up at him. “You could’ve delayed finishing the boat until spring.”

The sun was bright overhead, but the temperature on the lake was around forty degrees. The red mainsail fluttered in the light breeze, catching just enough wind to keep them moving slowly across the water.

“I didn’t want to wait another minute to marry you.”

“We have waited a very long time for this.”

“Too damn long.”

“I think we should do this every year on our anniversary. Or maybe our half-anniversary. September would be so much warmer than February.”

“How about we go every summer?”

“That works, too.” She looked at the luggage they’d brought. “You’ve been very secretive about this trip. Are we really going to spend our honeymoon night in that tiny berth down below?”

“We could. Or we could spend it in the cabin I rented.”

She turned to him. “You rented a cabin?”

“See those trees over there?”

“Yes.”

“About a hundred yards up from the lake, nestled in those pines, is a cabin only accessible by boat.”

“So isolated and private?”

“And romantic.”

“How long will it take us to get there?”

“About thirty minutes.”

“You should’ve put a motor on this thing.”

“That would’ve totally ruined the aesthetics and historical purpose of a sailboat. Why the rush to get off the lake?”

“I want to make love to my new husband in the romantic cabin.”