The Spark - Jules Wake Page 0,34
at the sky. I hoped my quick shrug looked nonchalant, when inside every cell was singing with happiness. ‘You do realise it’s the only reason I’m coming. It’s a day to be outside and on water.’ No point making things too easy for him.
He nodded gravely and I felt a bit mean. It wasn’t like me to play games, but he needed to know how I felt about the situation.
‘Look, I’m sorry I kept my phone off and didn’t reply to your texts. This is uncharted territory for me, but I refuse to be the “other” woman. I’m just not playing that game. It’s all or nothing.’ I felt uncomfortable being cast in that role and it felt like a horrible irony. For years I despised my dad for running off with another woman and leaving a wife and child. But Sam hadn’t run off with me and I needed to remember that. Even so, it made me wonder how Dad’s partner had felt. Did she know how much damage she’d caused. Did she care?
‘I understand.’ He took my hand. Smooth move, Sam. Except, it didn’t look smooth; it looked heartfelt. ‘I’m sorry for abandoning you. It was an awkward situation that I didn’t handle very well. We were out on a date; I should have taken you home.’
‘Right.’ I nodded, accepting his words, although part of me wondered what else he could have done without being a complete bastard. How would I have felt if he’d walked away and left Victoria? I wouldn’t have thought much of him, for sure. He’d been in a no-win situation and I ought to cut him some slack. ‘OK, shall we go?’
‘That’s it?’ he asked warily.
‘Yup. You messed up but you’ve admitted it. You’ve apologised. I’ve had my sulk. We’re even.’
Uncertainty clouded his eyes, as if I still might have a tantrum or two up my sleeve.
‘Sam,’ I patted his arm, ‘it’s done. There’s some famous saying, accept the past, don’t let it affect the future, or something like that. Now, are you taking me out or not?’
‘Have you ever been canoeing before?’ he asked, taking my hand and leading the way to the car.
‘Not recently. I used to go to a Christian camp when I was a kid – it was that or Filey with my mother and her best friend. We did all sorts of outdoor activities, but it’s been a while. I’m assuming as you have your own canoe, you’re an expert.’
‘I borrowed it,’ he said with a grin. ‘But I’ll try not to capsize us.’
The canoe glided through the water as Sam paddled – somewhat expertly to my mind – down the canal and away from the busy reservoir which today was teeming with people. We kept the conversation easy and impersonal, ‘Oh, look, a heron’ and ‘Isn’t it hot?’ sort of stuff, which wasn’t difficult to keep up given Sam, up front, had his back to me. After only a few minutes we had the shady towpath on this stretch of water to ourselves, with the rhythm of the splish-splosh of his paddle dipping in and out of the water the headline above the muted sound of bird calls and the whisper of a welcome breeze through the trees.
Despite the shadows of the trees dappling the sunlit water and the inquisitive ducks, their feathers gleaming with iridescence, my gaze kept straying to the muscles in Sam’s back, the rise and fall of his shoulder blades and the strong forearms handling the paddle with smooth command. If I were the sort of girl looking for a hunter-gatherer type to take care of me, he’d just ticked every last box. I grinned. My thoughts were running on earthier lines, like what he’d say if I stripped off his T-shirt or licked the back of his neck just where the hairline stopped and his top reached up with each paddle stroke. Just watching him, dip and stroke, I was getting all hot and bothered, and it had nothing to do with the blazing sun.
Honest to God, when we stopped, I felt a little breathless. Making it look easy, he steered the canoe into the bank and hopped out, holding the boat with the paddle while leaning to grab my hand. Gingerly, I stood and clumsily stepped out with Sam’s aid.
He hauled the canoe up onto the bank and picked up the wicker picnic basket that had been stowed in the bow. Get me, with the nautical terms.
‘Nice spread,’ I said looking