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When I look over, I see he’s stopped, waiting for me to pull alongside him.
It’s a weirdly human moment.
Almost like he doesn’t mind—or maybe he even likes—the fact that I’m having a good time.
Whoa, girl.
Let’s not get carried away.
“It’s nice to just hear the sea. I always forget how noisy Seattle can be until I come home,” I say, lifting a hand so I catch the breeze in my fingertips.
“I know what you mean about the silence. Half the reason I spend so much time on the water is so I can hear myself think.”
I wonder about the other half.
“Yeah. It’s good to be alone, just the two of us here.” I snap my eyes open, regretting my words, just in case he could take that the wrong way.
But he’s just looking at me contemplatively.
Not like he’s about to make my slip more awkward.
Because wearealone now.
And that’s something I haven’t stopped thinking about ever since we embarked and the little towns along the shore became smaller and sparser.
“Alone, yes. Fifty or more miles from every demanding asshole and bitter disappointment. Even money can’t always buy that much solitude, Destiny.” He glances away again.
It’s fascinating how he relaxes when he paddles, like he’s truly content, even though he’s still vibrating raw power. Still, something about his giant, tight-wound body just loosens up here.
Though honestly, I’m a little more fascinated hearing my name.
It rolls off his lips like a tiger’s purr, a new word he has to taste to understand.
No, this isn’t the same man I met on Alki Point, all bluster and deep grudges against life.
That man didn’t seem like he could ever find any peace without a heaping risk of drowning and hypothermia.
I think I like this version of Foster better.
Dangerous thoughts, I know.
But I don’t have a prayer of stopping them as he looks at my face, then away, like his eyes might bleed if he stares at me too long.
“We’ve only got a few more hours of good light. We should rest and then bring it home.”
The minute I stretch my arms over my head, my aching upper body agrees.
Apparently, his version of a rest is to paddle up to shore so we can stretch our legs while eating another piece of flapjack.
“I’m happy it won you over,” I tell him between bites of my own. “I knew you had a sweet tooth in there somewhere.”
His eyes flick to me, already narrowed. “Woman, I have a calorie deficit from five hours of steady kayaking and nothing more. Also, any interest in homemade sugar highs stays strictly between us. Don’t make me put it in an NDA.”
He’s so ridiculous I laugh.
“A little late for a nondisclosure agreement over snacks, isn’t it?”
He doesn’t reply, ripping off another Shepherd-sized bite of his bar instead and chewing like he means business.
