Page 80 of The Fall

This is definitely not what I had in mind. I thought we’d be tangled in sheets right now, not out here and fully dressed. I glare at the long stretch of green before us, bordered by the endless blue of the ocean.

“I’ve never held a real golf club in my life.” Mini-golf doesn’t count. “Hockey sticks, yes. Baseball bats, sure. But this?” I pick up one of the clubs, testing its weight.

Blair takes it from me, replacing it with a different one. “Start with this. It’s a seven iron, forgiving enough for beginners.”

“We’re really going to do this?” I ask, eyeing the bucket of balls at our feet.

“Trust me,” Blair says. “You’ll love it.”

I doubt that, but I love him, so I’m willing to try. “I thought following you would involve less clothing,” I tease.

“The day is young.” He moves behind me, and his hands guide mine into position on the grip.

“This way,” he says, his voice dropping lower.

“Right hand below left. Thumbs pointing down the shaft. Now for your stance,” he continues, nudging my feet apart with his own. “Shoulder width. Knees slightly bent.”

I follow his lead, mimicking his posture as best I can. “This feels weird.”

“That’s because you’re used to being on skates. This is different.” He steps back to assess me. “Not bad. Now watch me.”

He tees up, centers himself above the ball, and swings, fluid power snapping through his body. The ball soars straight, arcing into blue sky and over the beach before dropping somewhere near the 200-yard marker.

“Show-off.”

He shrugs, but his eyes are shining. “Your turn.”

I take a practice swing, trying to copy his fluid motion. My club whooshes through empty air, awkward in my hands. I keep wanting to hold it like a hockey stick.

“Here,” Blair says. His body curves around mine again, hands repositioning my grip. “Relax your shoulders.” I’m hyperaware of every point where we connect.

When he steps back and I swing for real, my club connects with the ball with a satisfying ping . My shot isn’t pretty; it slices right and doesn’t go half as far as Blair’s, but it’s airborne and traveling down the range.

“Not bad.” He picks up another ball and places it on the tee. “Again. This time, keep your left arm straighter.”

I reset my stance, focusing on the corrections. “So is this what you do in the off-season? Trade ice for grass?”

“Sometimes. It’s different enough from hockey to be a break, similar enough to keep me sharp.” He watches my form with critical eyes. “You’re too tense,” he says, tapping between my shoulder blades. “Your body knows how to move athletically. Trust it.”

I roll my shoulders back. “What else do you do in the off-season?”

“I fish. Swim. Read more than I get to during the season.” His eyes track my movements as I position myself over the ball.

I swing again. The ball goes straighter this time. Progress.

“Better,” he says with an approving nod. “Cody used to say I was boring in the off-season.”

I tee up again but pause before swinging. “I don’t think you’re boring.”

“No?”

“No. Thoughtful. Intentional.” I turn back to the ball, trying to remember everything he’s told me. “I like that.”

“Good to know,” he says, and a warmth enters his voice.

This time when I swing, the ball sails straight and true, landing a respectable distance from Blair’s.

“See? You’re getting it.” He kisses my cheek.

I want to freeze this moment: the pride in his gaze, the sun catching the edges of his hair, the way his smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Just call me Tiger Woods.”

“I think Tiger might still have you beat,” he teases. “But your learning curve is impressive.”

He sets up for his next shot. There’s something hypnotic about the fluid motion of his swing. “So what’s next for me to conquer? Synchronized swimming? Curling?” I twirl the club in my hands.

He laughs. “Your choice next. I think I know what you’ll pick.” He winks.

An attendant crosses the sand to us, a young guy in pressed khakis wearing mirrored sunglasses and an island-blue shirt. “Would you gentlemen care for a drink?”

Blair looks at me, then back at the attendant. “Two frozen virgin pina coladas, please.”

It’s stupid, it’s nothing, it’s two frozen virgin pina coladas, but my heart goes warm and soft. Even here on vacation, away from everything, he’s got my back.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell him.

“Do what?” Blair asks, genuinely confused.

“Order virgin drinks for both of us.”

“I don’t need alcohol to enjoy this,” he says. “Or you.”

His choices seem effortless, as if ordering a non-alcoholic drink alongside me isn’t a sacrifice or even a consideration. I smile.

When the drinks arrive, icy yellow with fat wedges of pineapple cluttered on the rim, Blair takes both from the tray and hands one to me. I take a sip, the frozen sweetness coating my tongue. The cold rushes to my head for a second, but it’s worth it. “This is good.”

Blair settles his club against the golf bag and takes a long drink of his own. A small dot of white foam clings to his upper lip.

“Your turn,” he says, nodding toward the tee.

I set my drink down on the wooden table next to us and pick up my club. The weight feels more natural in my hands. I line up my shot, trying to remember everything Blair taught me about stance and grip and follow-through.

When I swing, I connect with a satisfying thwack. The ball arcs higher than my last, landing with a distant plop right next to his.

“Now that,” Blair says, “was beautiful.”

“Remember,” I say, “keep your core tight and your knees bent.”

“I’ve got it this time,” he insists. “My center of gravity was off before.”

This is attempt number four, and each time he’s managed to topple spectacularly.

“Sure,” I say, pushing my board into the shallow water and dropping to my knees. “Follow my lead.”

Blair mimics me, kneeling on his board as we paddle out. The water is crystal clear, the sun glinting off the surface, turning the soft waves into fields of glittering diamonds.

This is not what he thought I’d pick next for us today, but when he said he’d never been paddle boarding, well… How could I resist?

I rise to my feet, finding my balance. My board wobbles beneath me for a second before steadying. “See? Knees bent, core engaged,” I call back to Blair. I dip my paddle into the clear blue, pulling through with a smooth stroke that propels me forward. “You coming?”

Blair is still on his knees, watching me. “Yup,” he says. “Got it.”

I grin and face forward, giving him space to make his fourth attempt without an audience. I hear the scrape of Blair’s paddle against his board as he tries to stand up. My board slices through the water in a clean, quiet glide. It’s so beautiful out here.

A splash shatters the calm, followed by a string of curses. I wheel around, and there he is, thrashing in the water again.

On solid ground, he’s unstoppable. On water? He is a beautiful, hilarious disaster. All the powerful grace he owns on the ice—or on the tees—vanishes completely out here.

Blair breaks the surface sputtering, slicking his dark hair back.

I brace his board while he hauls himself back on as delicate as a hippo trying to climb a ladder. He finally gets a knee on the slick surface, then the other, and glares at me as if the whole thing is my fault.

“You good?” A smile pulls at my words.

“It’s the board,” he grumbles. “Or maybe the ocean is tilted on your side.”

“The ocean is definitely tilted.”

His hair is plastered to his forehead, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes. “These boards are different sizes,” he insists. “Yours is wider.”

I shake my head. “Same model.”

He growls under his breath and scoots forward, then manages to clamber to his feet. His arms windmill for a few seconds. His knees are as wobbly as a rookie’s on his first shift, but he finds his balance. He spreads his arms, a triumphant grin breaking across his face. “Eh? Eh?”

A gentle swell rolls under my board. The board lifts under me, and a beat later the swell reaches him, a soft, innocent little nudge.

His board skews sideways and he goes down, a straight drop into the shallows, scattering a school of silver minnows.

A laugh bursts out of me, and I paddle closer to enjoy his good-natured scowl when he surfaces again.

“You’re laughing at me!”

“Me? Never.” My board rocks gently in the water he’s stirring up.

He scoops a handful of water and flings it at me. I paddle backward out of range.

“You’re a menace.”

“But a dry one.”

He narrows his eyes. “You know what would cheer me up?” He swims for the edge of my board and grabs the heel. My board wobbles.

“Oh no.” I try to backpedal with my paddle, but he’s holding me fast.

His smile turns dangerous. “Having company down here...”

“Oh no, no, no?—”

“Come on in, babe,” he says. “The water’s perfect.” He gives one sharp wrench, and my board flips.

For a suspended moment, I am weightless, surrounded by a silent, blue-green world. Then his arms are around me, pulling me to the surface.

“ You’re a menace,” I say, the words soft between us.

His laugh rumbles through his chest and into mine. He brushes a thumb over my cheekbone. “You look good wet.”

Our boards drift nearby, bumping together softly. The water cradles us, bringing our bodies closer. He rests his forehead against mine. “You make me happy.”

“Even when I’m beating you at paddle boarding?”

He laughs again. “I was watching your technique.”

“From underwater?”

“Mmm.” He cups my jaw. “I’m a thorough student.”

The ocean bobs us up and down, our legs tangling as we tread water. His eyes, bright blue against his tanned skin, don’t leave mine.

“What did you learn?”

“That you’re graceful. Strong.” He pulls me closer, our chests touching. “And that I want more lessons.”

I bounce my eyebrows twice. “Race you back?”

We try to beat each other to the dock, mostly splashing instead of swimming, and then climb the ladder together. We’re laughing when we clamber onto our dock.

Blair collapses onto his lounge chair and throws his arms wide, as if he could claim the entire horizon-to-horizon sky. I follow him down, settling onto his lap and linking my arms behind his neck. “Hi.”

His broad palms start a slow glide up my sides. “Hi,” he whispers.

I lean in and taste him. He holds me close, kissing from my ear down. My head falls back, and his hands slide down my back to my ass.

He gets his feet under him and stands, lifting me as if I weigh nothing. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he carries me through the open doors of our villa. He lays me on the bed, his hand cradling the back of my head, one knee sinking into the mattress beside my hip.

His eyes hold mine, as blue and deep as the water we just left. “I want you,” he confesses. “All the time.”

Salt water drips from his hair to my chest. “You have me,” I tell him. “All of me.”