Page 12 of Kayak Girl

“It’s that girl, isn’t it?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes searched mine for the truth.

I felt a frown crease my forehead. “Stop calling her ‘that girl’. Her name is Elle,” I corrected him, feeling a protective edge in my voice. “And yes, it’s about her. But I also need to run.”

Weston’s expression softened, a sign of his readiness to listen. “Okay, spill it. I need to finish this run within an hour, so get talking.”

I exhaled. “She’s helping with the summer camp.” I put my hand up to pause his protest. “Calm down… it wasn’t my idea. Brenda set the whole thing up. And no one said anything about me dating her. Besides, she’s nothing like Kayley. For one, she’s a serious Christian. I believe she’s here for a reason. God keeps putting her in my path, so I’ve given up fighting it. Again, I don’t plan to date her. She already told me she’s leaving soon, and I’m okay with that. I thought I could just be her friend.”

Weston leaned back against his truck, his arms crossing over his chest as he contemplated my words. “Okay. Chill, dude. Sounds like you’ve made up your mind. I won’t say I give you my blessing, but please promise me you’ll be careful.”

I nodded firmly, feeling a sense of resolution. “Done.”

“Fine. On another note, as your inside informant at Trust Insured, did you ever get a response from the person who hit your car? I know I’m not supposed to get involved while I’m on leave, but I’m just curious.”

I shook my head. “Nope, I even sent two emails. I don’t get it. Why would the person bother to leave their details if they didn’t plan to respond?”

Weston shrugged. “You’d be surprised how often it happens. It’s okay though, we’ll give it a few days and the office will proceed with your claim in the meantime. If push comes to shove, we can use the email address to find more details about your guy.”

I couldn’t help but smile, grateful for his support. “Thanks, Weston. Have I told you that I love your insurance company? I hate this kind of admin.”

Weston pushed away from the truck, his face set in a determined expression. “Enough talking. Let’s get running. I need to get at least eight miles in today,” he said in his usual no-nonsense tone.

We ran along the beach road. The sun had just begun its descent, casting a warm golden glow over the ocean to my left and the suburban houses to my right. My chest heaved with exertion, each breath a desperate plea for respite. Weston, being a professional triathlete, barely seemed phased by the distance we’d covered. As the sweat trickled down my face, I anticipated the chorus of aches and pains my body would serenade me with the following morning. Yet, despite the exhaustion, I felt invigorated by the run.

With a final warning about Elle from Weston, I made my way back to the hostel. I grabbed a quick shower and let the warm water wash away the last remnants of my fatigue. As I stood beneath the showerhead, I let my mind wander to Elle. Would she return? If so, how would I navigate it?

Remembering I’d promised to help with dinner prep, I raced to the hostel kitchen after my shower. Brenda had me wrapped around her little finger, so I often helped her with any of the heavy lifting required to set the table. I’d carry the extra-large casserole dishes to and from the kitchen or help with the washing up. She’d need even more help now with her foot giving her trouble.

I stepped into the kitchen ready to help. “Sorry I’m a bit late Bren… you’re not Brenda.” It was a stupid thing to say, but Elle took me by surprise. It was odd to see her standing in this familiar kitchen washing dishes like she’d always belonged here. “I mean... hey, Elle,” I said with a chuckle. My heart raced as I took her in. Gone was the flour and sunscreen from earlier. She had her long, wavy blonde hair half pinned back with a small clip. Her purple sundress flared at the waist and hung just below her knees. It reminded me of wildflowers.

She smiled, and it immediately changed the atmosphere in the room. Whoa!

“Do you need Brenda? She went to fetch napkins,” she said, her voice soft yet clear.

I shook my head, a small smile playing on my lips. “No, I’m just here to help. Anything I can carry?”

Elle glanced around the kitchen, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “I don’t think so, but you can help wash these dishes,” she suggested, gesturing to the towering piles of dirty pots and pans around her.

Choosing the sink next to her, I pushed up the sleeves of my Henley and dove into the task. We worked in a comfortable semi-silence; only the clink of metal and Elle’s soft humming filled the air.

After a few verses, I caught onto the melody and I belted out the lyrics of the song, deliberately off key.

Elle shot me a look that was half amused, half exasperated. “Do you have to massacre my favorite song?” she asked.

Ignoring her, I continued my musical assault. So, she quit that song and started a new one.

“Challenge accepted,” I said.

Elle groaned, but her subsequent struggles to hum without laughing only encouraged me further.

Each time she started a new tune, I’d join in, turning our kitchen chores into an impromptu karaoke session.

Elle sighed dramatically. “If I’d known I was going to have to endure a one-man concert, I would’ve brought earplugs.”

“And miss out on my charming voice? I’m hurt,” I replied, grinning.

We continued with our task, our hands reaching for plates and pans, always so close yet never touching, creating a tantalizing dance of nearness and distance.

But our sink choreography was interrupted when Elle stretched to grab a scrubber and accidentally nudged a bottle of dish soap. As if in slow motion, it wobbled and then tipped, landing in my basin with a dramatic splash. I looked down at the droplets of soapy water now covering my shirt. Her wet hand hovered in front of her mouth and a gasp escaped her lips. “Oh! I’m so terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

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