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“That’s what you said last time,” I tease.
Lennon sticks her tongue out at me before turning back to look out at the lake. “Guess I’m a sucker for baseball players.”
I chuckle, because we both know she’s the furthest thing from a groupie. The girls who flirt with me at Clarkson parties and hang around the bleachers after our practices know nothing about me aside from the fact I can throw a baseball pretty damn fast. Lennon knows me better than anyone else in the world.
“Good to know,” I tease her.
Lennon scoffs as she leans back on her palms. “So…are you excited to go back to Clarkson next week?”
I look away, out at the smooth surface of the water, any amusement slipping away as things turn serious between us. “Yes and no.”
I’m excited to be reunited with my teammates and friends.
I’m eager to prepare for the next season—for my final season of college ball.
I’m dreading leaving her.
“I’d be more excited if I knew you’d be there this fall.” I can’t help but add the words, even knowing it will pull the sudden tension between us tighter.
Lennon says nothing.
She might not have heard back yet, but I’m not harboring any doubts she’ll get into Clarkson. I doubt she is either. She was our class valedictorian at Landry High, which is the best school district in the state. And, as far as I know, she’s gotten nothing but A’s at Richardson Community College.
We both know the chances of her attending Clarkson this fall will be decided by her attachment to Matthews Farm and to Earl rather than the whims of the Admissions Office.
It would be a lot easier for me to resent her indecision if I didn’t get just how hard of a choice it is.
I’ve spent a lot of time at Matthews Farm since my first visit there, over four years ago. With Earl. With the horses. I know what those acres of grass signify to her.
“It’s fine, Len,” I assure her when the silence continues to stretch between us. “Whatever happens, we’ll be fine.”
Lennon likes to challenge me. It’s one of my favorite things about her. She’s not one to shirk from a problem or pretend everything is fine when it’s not. The fact that all she says in response is, “Okay,” gives me a clue of just how worried she really is.
“I mean it.”
“What is it with you and serious conversations in canoes?” Lennon asks me, spinning around fully so she’s looking at me, not the lake.
I’m relieved to see she’s smiling. The sun is rising, backlighting her hair and pulling out tints of red in it.
“We’ve had plenty of serious conversations on dry land,” I reply.
“Yeah, I guess,” she concedes.
We have a lot of serious conversations, period.
“I like having you to myself,” I tell her. “I feel like I hardly ever do.”
Most of the time I spend with Lennon is at Matthews Farm. I’m closer with her grandfather than I ever was with either of mine, but it never feels like we’re totally alone there. And whenever we’re not at her farm, it’s around my friends or Cassie or worse, random people from town who stare at us the whole time.
I feel like I’m often on eggshells, not wanting to appear too desperate for her attention. Not wanting to get into an argument about anything when we probably won’t have time to come to any sort of resolution before I have to leave again.
“I like it too,” Lennon tells me before tilting her head back to catch the sunbeams filtering down from the sky.
The only sound is the splash of my paddle as we glide along the glassy surface of the lake, topped with a light layer of mist that’s quickly disappearing. A bird’s call echoes in the distance, reverberating across the empty, open space.
“Must not be many early risers living around here,” Lennon comments, looking around the lake we appear to have to ourselves. “Guess none ofthemgot dragged out of bed.”
“You would have been up by now anyway,” I retort.
