A Suite Life by Sue Gibson

Author:Sue Gibson [Gibson, Sue]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-11-10T20:36:00+00:00

It was almost noon when Trey descended the terrace's wide stone steps two at a time. With long, even strides he took on the graveled path that led him through a maze of well-tended flower beds until he emerged at the concrete pier. He pulled up short as the noonday sun bounced from the pier's impenetrable surface, stinging his unprotected eyes. Shifting the loaded picnic basket to his left hand, he reached to his back pocket and snapped a blue and white Blue Jay's cap onto his head and then paused to survey the postcard-perfect scene.

Tiny white gulls darted and dove above the fishing boats that dotted the bay, their calls piercing the Nirvana's midday calm. His eyes focused on a spiral of wood smoke rising and twisting above the fringe of spruce that lined the opposite shore. A burst of chil dren's laughter from a distant cottage briefly returned his thoughts to his own childhood summers.

Trey stood a moment longer in the heat of the day, his eyes absorbing every detail: the sparkling water, the layered grey rock that rimmed the shore, the incredible breadth of forest surrounding the tiny lake. His feet rooted to the spot as the peace of the place enveloped him. Delaney grew up on the shores of this lake, yet she couldn't wait to get away, he considered. Was there someone, a man, waiting for her in Paris? Not according to the Bluebird Cafe set, but he supposed their sources could be misinformed.

He scanned the narrow dock. There she was, seated on a bench at the far end of the pier, sunning herself. He felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth, and he let it happen. So what? He was happy to see her. There was nothing wrong with that.

Her long, tanned legs propped up on a bulky backpack, her head was tilted back, her eyes closed. A simple white T-shirt topped faded denim shorts, the shirt tied snuggly at belly-button level, the shorts, just short enough to make a grown man cry.

She must have heard his footsteps because she dropped her legs from their perch, slowly sat up, and with a fluid movement, slid the sunglasses from the top of her head to cover her eyes and peered in his direction. He swallowed hard. Man, this woman was pushing his resolve. Again.

The twenty yards of concrete between them stretched before him like a high school hallway lined with cheerleaders. It had been years since he'd felt this nervous about approaching a woman. Sweat dampened the back of his T-shirt as he soldiered on. He shifted the square wicker basket to a more comfortable position and raised his right hand in a wave.

She waved back. "Trey," she called out. "The lake's like glass. No breeze whatsoever. How about we grab a canoe instead of a motorboat?"

She was right. The morning wind had died down as the temperature had climbed into the high eighties. If he wasn't near the lake, the humidity alone would have kept him indoors in air-conditioned comfort.

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