Page 17 of Summer Showdown
As Rory disappeared toward the kitchen, Bramble at her heels, I wandered into the empty dining room. Standing by the bay window overlooking the gardens, I felt caught between worlds—the cutthroat legal arena I'd always known and this slower, gentler place where people offered help without expecting anything in return.
Which was real? The Chicago where colleagues were constantly angling for advantage, or this Wintervale where neighbors brought casseroles to community cookouts and strangers offered connections just to be kind?
Perhaps both were real, just different versions of humanity. And for the first time, I wondered if I'd spent my entire adult life in the wrong version.
***
By late afternoon, I'd brushed up on basic paddling techniques using the inn's spotty Wi-Fi, determined not to appear completely helpless on the water. Knowledge was power, as they said, and I’d always been determined to acquire it.
Right on time, Wade's pickup truck appeared in the inn's circular drive. My pulse quickened unexpectedly as I watched him exit the vehicle, his tall frame casually outfitted in board shorts and a faded t-shirt that had seen better days but somehow looked perfect on him.
"Ready for your initiation into Montana water sports?" he called as I descended the porch steps.
"As ready as I'll ever be," I replied, ignoring the flutter in my stomach. "How was your swim class?"
His expression brightened at the question, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Really good, actually. Logan's becoming quite the teacher. He's got a natural way with the younger kids—probably because he remembers his own struggles in the water."
"Logan's your cousin, right? The one I met at the cookout?"
Wade nodded as he opened the passenger door for me. "That’s right. He’s my aunt Diana's son. He's thirteen going on thirty sometimes. Smart kid."
There was something in his tone when he spoke about Logan—pride mixed with a hint of worry. It made me curious about the young teen, and I sensed there was more to the story than Wade was ready to share.
The drive to the lake access point took less than ten minutes, Wade pointing out local landmarks along the way. Unlike yesterday's crowded public beach, he turned down a quieter access road that led to a secluded cove.
"I thought we'd start somewhere a bit more private," he explained, parking beneath a towering pine. "Fewer distractions, and no audience for your first attempts."
"Worried I'll embarrass myself?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Worried Zoe Blake will document every splash for her blog," he corrected with a laugh. "Trust me, we both need a break from being the talk of the town."
Two kayaks were already waiting at the water's edge—one red, one blue—alongside paddles and life vests. Wade must have brought them earlier, a thoughtfulness that caught me by surprise.
"I went with a recreational model for your first time," Wade explained, handing me a life vest. "Stable, easy to maneuver, harder to tip over."
"Is that a challenge?" I asked, fastening the vest.
"Definitely not," he grinned. "Mayor Snowcroft would have my head if I let his star attraction drown before the regatta."
"So I'm just an attraction now?" I teased, surprising myself with the flirtatious tone.
"The main event, according to festival ticket sales." He held my gaze a moment longer than necessary before turning to adjust the kayaks. "Let's start with the basics."
For the next hour, Wade patiently demonstrated paddling techniques on dry land, explaining the mechanics of steering and stopping. His teaching style was clear and encouraging, never condescending despite my novice status. I found myself impressed by his natural ability to break down complex movements into manageable steps—a skill that likely served him well in both his roles as lifeguard and shop teacher.
When we finally moved to the water, the practical application proved more challenging than the theory. My first attempt to enter the kayak ended with an ungraceful wobble that nearly sent me toppling, saved only by Wade's steady hand at my elbow.
"Easy," he said, his voice close to my ear. "Sit first, then slide your legs in."
His proximity sent an unexpected warmth through me that had nothing to do with the summer heat. I nodded, unable to form words with his hand still at my elbow, his body near enough that I could detect the faint scent of pine and sunscreen.
Once on the water, my competitive nature kicked in. I was determined to master this, to prove I wasn't just a city lawyer out of her element. The first few strokes were awkward, my kayak zigzagging rather than moving forward in a straight line. But with each correction from Wade, each adjustment to my technique, I improved.
"You're a quick study," he observed as we paddled side by side across the calm water. "Most people take days to get that rhythm."
"I've always been a fast learner," I replied, suppressing a surge of pride at his approval. "Though I doubt I'm regatta-ready just yet."
"We've got time," he said easily. "And the regatta's more about showmanship than speed anyway. Most participants decorate their kayaks—flowers, banners, that sort of thing."
