Page 114 of The Promise Of You

And fall off again.

“Come on, you guys, you’re paying by the hour!” Mindy says, laughing.

Shit. She’s right. I need to get my head straight.

“Are we done yet?” Justin’s almost upright. “This was supposed to be fun.”

“That’s it, Chloe! Now, hold the paddle with both hands, shoulder-width apart. Now insert the blade into the water near the board’s nose and pull toward the tail.”

Splash! That was Justin.

Bark! And that was Moose.

“Now alternate sides, Chloe. Justin, you might wanna look at your girlfriend. She’s got it.”

“She’s on her knees.”

“Yeah, that’s how you start!”

“But it’s called Stand Up Paddle,” Justin replies. The surging water cascade sounds again, then “Fuck!”

Splash.

“Now, Chloe, place your paddle horizontally across the board in front of you. Bring the right foot where your knee was. There you go. Now the left. Now slowly stand up, keeping a slight bend in your knees, and look straight ahead.”

That’s the trick. “I got it! I got it! I got it!” The board feels steady under my feet, and I’m upright.

“How’d you do it?” Justin shouts.

His voice makes me weak in the knees. “I stopped looking at you!”

He laughs heartily, and I need to crouch again to keep my balance. Trying to ignore his sexy laugh rippling on the water, I straighten myself and paddle away.

“Moose!” Mindy and Justin both call out. “Moose! Come here!”

Suddenly my board rocks for no apparent reason.

“Moose! No!”

And then I’m under water.

“Well that was fun.” We’re lying on our backs on oversized beach towels, drying off. Justin pulled out a picnic basket, and he’s hand-feeding me cherry tomatoes. Moose is twenty feet from us, in the shade of the trees, looking at us in case we should decide to do something dangerous again—like stand on a flat piece of wood and drift away—and his immediate intervention is again required. You never know what crazy stuff your humans are going to come up with, and you have to be there to save them. Being a dog is exhausting. Not one moment of peace and quiet.

“You hungry for more?”

I squint at Justin, his head like a golden halo against the blinding sun. “Like what?” My center heats up, and my thighs automatically rub against each other.

He leans in and whispers, “Like real food, you dirty girl. This is a public beach.”

“Oh.” I pretend to pout. “Sure, what you got?”

He unwraps ciabatta bread sandwiches with mozzarella, tomatoes, basil, and bacon. We share an egg salad, taking alternate bites from the same fork.

“My god, Justin, best meal in a long time. I can’t believe you made all this in the time it took me to take a shower this morning.”

“What can I say? You inspire me.” He drops one of his feather kisses on my forehead, then puts the food wrappers away. “Full disclosure, the sandwiches were made by Chris. Special order. He hand delivered them.”

“Isn’t the bakery closed on Mondays?” I ask as he settles on his side, facing me.

---