“I’m giving it throttle. This is all the throttle it has.”
I think she was worried about drifting too far off the path, so she didn’t cut the engine until we were really close. We overshot and headed right for the shore.
“Reverse! Put it in reverse!” I yelled.
The snail’s-pace speed the pontoon put out somehow seemed faster with the beach approaching. Maddy threw it in reverse. The engine downshifted miserably, but we started to slow. Then to my horror we began to move backward, motor first, right into the dock.
The sides of the boat had bumpers. Large air-filled rubber balls that keep the body of the pontoon from making contact and causing damage when it hits. But the motor had no protection. It was prop blades and the engine, heading straight into the dock.
“We’re gonna back into it!” I shouted.
“Well push me off!” she said, throwing it frantically into drive. The weak engine fought against the inertia—and lost.
I sprinted to the end of the boat, pulled up the bench seat, grabbed the paddle, and leaned over the side just as we were about to make impact. I stretched out and used the paddle to push us off the dock inches before the hit. It was just enough and we started to float back to the lake.
Both of us were panting. We stood there, hearts pounding, drifting aimlessly in the water for a moment like astronauts ejected into space.
When we were safely away from anything we could crash into, Maddy killed the engine and slumped in the captain’s seat. “If we’d been on the other side of the dock, we could have hit the yacht,” she said, looking shaken.
I let my eyes slide over to the boat that probably cost more than both of us made in five years. I had a retroactive heart attack.
“Are you gonna be okay to dock this by yourself back at the cottage?” I asked.
She was still catching her breath. “I mean, what choice do I have?”
We looked back at the shore. We had to try this again. We’d have to get good at this. We’d have to drive and dock this boat, at a minimum, twice a day on days we worked.
We’d have to do it at night. In the rain. During heatwaves and maybe even during hailstorms—if we had to get to work, we had to get to work.
I hadn’t really anticipated it being this hard or there being this many variables. When you drive a car, you don’t have to worry about the wind.
“Do you want me to try?” I asked.
She nodded. We switched.
I lined the nose of the boat up with the side of the dock and started for it again, only this time I killed the thrust earlier. We coasted along the side and I put us into reverse to slow us down while Maddy grabbed one of the dock poles and we came to a stop.
“Don’t tie it up,” I said. “I’ll just get off and push you back out.”
We switched again, I grabbed my bag, stepped off the boat, gave it a steady push back toward the lake, and watched her drift until she was clear.
I had no idea how she was going to dock this by herself back on the island. I was actually really worried about it.
“Call me when you’re docked!” I shouted.
She gave me a thumbs-up.
I was completely frazzled. Rattled by the near accident. My hair was windblown and I felt like I was starting to get a little burnt too. This was not how I wanted to start this date.
I watched Maddy for a moment. Then I turned and made my way across the lawn toward the side of the mansion and around the garage. When I got to the top, Justin stood there in the courtyard, leaning against his car.
CHAPTER 8 JUSTIN
The moment Emma came into view, my entire world slipped into slow motion. My brain took a screenshot. I felt the moment freeze and save.
She was beautiful.
I’d seen pictures, we’d video called, but it didn’t even begin to make me ready for this.
Long brown hair, a white top, leggings. She was smiling at me, this easy, comfortable smile, and the closer she got, the more paralyzed I felt. I couldn’t even will my legs to walk to meet her. I wasn’t standing by my car, waiting for my date. I was in the middle of a road, watching the headlights of a Mack truck coming right at me.
I liked to consider myself a pretty level, confident, easygoing person. I didn’t get flustered or anxious about dates. But everything I knew about myself prior to the moment I laid eyes on her was no longer true.
I was a nervous wreck. Instantly.
She closed the distance between us. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I said a little breathlessly, hoping that I didn’t actually sound breathless.
Then I was just staring. Wide-eyed and mute, like a human Justin wax figurine.
She didn’t seem to notice. She came in for a hug. The hug we’d agreed upon in the survey. But I was not prepared.
She wrapped her arms around me, and I processed her in split seconds. Shorter than me. Soft. Warm. Her hair smelled like flowers. This is what she feels like. This is her…
“You smell good,” she said, breaking away.
“Thanks. You too,” I managed.
