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“I figured you’d appreciate me being punctual, especially when we’re doing something like this. Thanks again for taking a leap of faith, Mr. Foster.” She nods at my kayak parked by the shore and the still water nearby. “Is that your ride? She’s a beauty.”
“She’s sturdy and efficient,” I clip, looking over her shoulder to see what else she’s brought. “Where’s yours?”
“Oh, that’s the one.” She jerks her thumb behind her. “Do you mind helping me carry it down? I had to fight hard enough to get it on my car.”
“You tied it up there by yourself?”
“Well, yeah. I’m too old to call my dad for help lugging around heavy things, and too stubborn to go begging random guys. I’ll show you.” She rolls her eyes as she starts back up the beach.
She’s wearing sneakers right now, but there’s a waterproof backpack slung over her shoulders, and I can make out boots dangling from it.
By the looks of it, she’s gone out of her way to buy the full kit.
Impressive, considering she only had a couple days to pull everything together.
“I can handle myself out here, in case you have any doubts. I’m not a china doll,” she tells me as she leads the way to her small VW Bug.
It’s blue—Wailea blue, I think, remembering that special shade of paint from Maui—and there’s a slight dip in the side where it looks like a dent has been popped back into place. Whale-shaped air fresheners hang from the rearview mirror.
It looks like a car that’s been well used and well loved.
Not at all what you’d expect from a billionaire coffee mogul’s daughter who must have a trust fund large enough to leave her plenty comfortable for life.
Although it’s old and dented, it’s been lovingly polished, and I think she had the paint touched up recently.
“Um, this is Ladybug,” she says, patting the roof affectionately.
My eyes snap up.
Somehow, defying commonsense safety and possibly the laws of gravity, there’s a kayak strapped down with webbing.
A verynicekayak.
I reach up and run my hand along its side without thinking.
“This is a decent piece of equipment, Miss Lancaster. Congratulations.”
Assuming you ever use it for more than a weekend hoofing it with your boss,I think grimly.
“Is that such a shock?” Destiny folds her arms. “You don’t think I’d figure out how to shop?”
No, actually.
Most people who are new to this addiction tend to buy the flashiest boats. The brands that get promoted with young, hip models who spend more time on their haircuts than paddling on the water.
This is a Boundary Rider 520 with a sleek green hull.
Versatile, stable, and pricey but reliable.
“I could have lent you one of these if I’d known,” I tell her. “I only use this brand.”
“I appreciate that,” she says blandly. “But I didn’t want to borrow from you. Not any more than I already have, I mean.”
I dart her a look, unsure whether or not I’m being insulted.
I look her car over again.
It’s definitely at least ten years old and must have decent miles on it, considering her active lifestyle.
