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“I’m glad it’s on your mind at least. I’ve been dying to know what’s been going on in there.” You playfully tap your knuckles on top of my head.
    “Glad I gave that away,” I mumble, making you laugh louder.

    Out on the water, you cast your line with a shiny fake bug on the hook for bait. The boat rocks, and I grab the sides. You watch me, relaxed and amused.
    Fortunately, we only found one reel, so I’m off the hook for the fishing part of this expedition. Instead, I slip to the bottom of the boat and stretch my arms and legs out in the sun hoping I don’t burn to a crisp. Water laps at the sides of the boat. A fish jumps. Birds fly high overhead calling to each other.
    “Content?” You balance the pole against your bench and lean back to wait for a bite.
    “Why would you say that?” I can’t give you satisfaction for dragging me here yet.
    You fold your arms over your chest and quirk a smile. “You sighed.”
    “Could’ve been a sigh of irritation.” I glance away from you then back. I can’t stop looking.
    Your dimples deepen. “No, it was contentment.” You mimic my sigh and thread your fingers behind your head. “I could live here. Maybe I won’t leave.”
    “Don’t you have responsibilities? A little business to run?” I nudge your leg with my bare foot.
    Your gaze shifts out over the water. “I’ve been thinking about retiring.”
    “You’re thirty-two!”
    “I’m a billionaire.” You sit forward and pick up your rod, reel in the line and cast it back out. “None of it matters, anyway. What does it mean to own a bunch of buildings?”
    “You’re not old enough to have a mid-life crisis, you know.” I nudge you again, but you don’t respond. “It has whatever meaning you give it.”
    You rub the stubble on your jaw. “Yeah. I guess that’s the problem. It doesn’t mean much anymore. It’s just…empty. I don’t know. It doesn’t make me happy anymore. Maybe it never did.”
    “This place makes you happy, so you’re ready to chuck it all in for a rundown hotel and a canoe?”
    You close your eyes and nod. “I don’t want the competition anymore, the back-stabbing, the rumors. It’s so peaceful here without all of that.”
    What’s happened to you to make you want to throw it all away? “It’s a big decision.” Your whole life has had to have been wrapped up in your business to make it what it is today.
    Your eyes open, and you lean toward me. “That’s another reason I had to have you here. You know how to make hard decisions—even ones that tear you up inside, like turning down a job you really want. I need you to help me make mine.”
    I rise back up on my bench so we’re eye-to-eye. “I can’t help you make that decision, Merrick. I barely know you.”
    You take a strand of my hair and pluck out a leaf. Our hair and eye coloring are so similar; we could be brother and sister. Only the heat I feel at your touch isn’t sisterly at all. “We’ve only just started our time here together,” you say, flicking the leaf in the water. “You’ll know me well enough soon.”
    “How long will I be here?” You make it sound like this is an extended stay for both of us.
    “A few weeks.” You lean back again and pick up your pole. “This time.”
    “I can’t…” Before I finish saying I can’t stay, I realize that I can. I’m not missing anything at home. My internship—my internship sucked anyway. I haven’t found a job yet after turning you down.
    You eye me across the boat. “You can. I made sure of it.”
    I’ve never been free to do whatever I want. From the time I was old enough to take the dance classes my mom signed me up for, through college at the university she and dad chose—close to home—through the past few years trying to intern and help my mom care for my dad after his cancer diagnosis. Then he passed away and she was so lonely. I couldn’t leave her. My time, my choices have never been my own.
    “Do you resent having to