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“I wanted to go by paddleboat, put those leg muscles of yours to work. I don’t need it,” he says, running a hand over his muscular thigh. “But apparently the water is too dangerous to go by paddleboat there.”

“Careful,” I say. “You keep making me roll my eyes, they might end up getting stuck in the back of my head.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” He smiles. “No one else manages to look at me with such adoration and shock at the same time. I’d miss it.”

“Whatever.” Am I that obvious? Amo Eli does say he can read my face like a book. I’ve got to get better at hiding my emotions. I wouldn’t want Ben to be able to tell I’m faking it with Axel. Although, lately it’s been harder to distinguish the moments I am faking it with Axel from the ones I’m not.

It’s kind of difficult being fake around someone who brings out the truth in you.

“So, we’re taking a water taxi to the amphitheater? Then what?” I ask.

“Is this a green apple moment or do you think you can trust me, at least until the boat ride is over?”

“It’s not a green apple moment.”

“Good. And I’ll ask the captain how long the ride is.” Axel smiles. We walk up the dock and Axel chats with the captain for a moment, paying our fare. He extends his hand and helps me on board.

“He says it will take about ten minutes. Once we get to the venue, we’ll locate all the bathrooms. Okay?” he says as he takes a seat. I sit across from him and nod.

A boat ride on Lake Ontario wasn’t part of any plans I had (it definitely wasn’t on the bucket list), but as I take in the fresh lake water, watching how the almost-setting sun glistens while giving the most spectacular view of the quiet Toronto Island on one side, juxtaposed with the bustling city on the other, I think to myself how maybe this should have been on my list. Or maybe going off-plan once in a while is good. Helps me learn to be more spontaneous, like Ben wanted. Deal with the anxiety head-on. Exposure therapy, like my therapist repeatedly mentioned in our sessions.

“How did you know to do this?” I ask, but the breeze and roar of the boat engine drown out my voice. Axel moves closer, placing his arm behind me and leaning his head to mine as I repeat the question.

“I did my research. Not just a pretty face after all.” He winks, then glances down at his phone. “The opening act should be finishing their set soon, which means we’ll make it in time for the main event.”

“Really? You’re excited to watch—what did you call them—Red Rodeo?” I ask as the captain revs up the engine. The boat rocks and my body slides closer to Axel. Instead of adjusting myself, I leave my leg pressed up against his.

“Yeah. They’ve got some good bops.”

“What’s a bop?” I ask, furrowing my brows.

“Were you born this century or nah?” he asks as the boat heads west. “It means a good song.”

“Well, technically it doesn’t,” I begin. Axel pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “The word ‘bop’ derives from ‘bebop,’ which is a specific kind of music, early modern jazz. But it’s also slang for ‘move,’ ‘go,’ or ‘proceed.’ ”

“The Queen of Homographs strikes again.”

“Yeah,” I say, looking away and studying the water. “Why do I always do that? Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s a cute quirk. And I like it.”

“Okay. Then I’m not sorry. Speaking of the word ‘quirk,’ I can think of at least five different homographs for it.”

“Fill my brain with your knowledge,” he says, scooting himself closer, arm still draped behind me. This time, I lean against it.

“Challenge accepted.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

It doesn’t take long before the heavy thumping of the music from the amphitheater reverberates to our boat. It’s nice being out here, both seemingly in the middle of nowhere and yet in the middle of all the action. The water taxi stops at a marina behind Budweiser Stage. Axel helps me off the boat and his eyes roam around the dock in search of something. I can almost see the wheels spinning in his head.

“First bus. Then streetcar. Then boat. What’s our next mode of transportation?” I ask. Axel nods at my feet before his eyes move up my body.

“Now we go by foot. Just need to make our way through those bushes to get to the fence.”

“We’re hopping a fence?” I ask, stalling in my spot on the dock. “And I’m sorry, did you say bushes?”

“Would you keep it down?” he says, eyebrows raised. “Don’t worry. It’s not a tall fence. The bushes, on the other hand…”