Page 4 of Patio Lanterns

The day after she’d slipped him the note, Robin was hauled into a family meeting and read the riot act. Somehow, the whole wide world found out about her toe-curlingly graphic, four-letter word-laced missive. Robin’s parents, acting as both judge and jury, sentenced her to be grounded for the rest of the summer. The crushing humiliation broke her fourteen-year-old heart and cemented her place in the family as the silly, lovesick fool who leaped before she looked.

* * *

The swimmer ventured out into greater depths and disappeared from view. Robin was now fully invested in watchkeeping duties as she anxiously awaited their return. Minutes later, her radar pinged. Spotted. Her heart caught in her throat. If the mysterious swimmer turned out to be Aidan, then her evening had suddenly taken a most interesting turn.

She watched as they swam right up to the dock that Robin swore had once belonged to Aidan. It had to be him!

The figure then lifted out of the water, rising as deftly as they had commanded the lake. The silhouette was definitely masculine, with a bulkier build, wide shoulders, and solid biceps. Aidan had certainly filled out since she saw him last. That would explain having a little more meat on his bo—whoa. The man rose to his feet. The finer details were a bit fuzzy in the low light, but the big picture was coming into focus. He was naked! Naked!

Robin’s eyes traced his well-proportioned physique. Thick sturdy legs, rock-hard calves, and a torso gradually expanding up to a strong upper back, flexing with every movement. His broad, sinewy muscles tensed and twisted as he dried himself off with a towel, the tight, fleshy globes of his ass so sublimely ripe that her mouth watered.

She continued gawking, afraid to blink and miss catching a glorious full-frontal view. But instead of turning around, the man covered himself up, securing a towel around his waist before heading back to shore. Argh.

Robin flopped onto the dock. I just saw Aidan Fucking Hunter swimming fucking naked in the fucking lake.

She’d spend the rest of this lifetime, and a good portion of the next, paying back the karmic debt for being given a glimpse of paradise. But what if it was more than a glimpse? What if it was a sign? There had to be a more serendipitous reason why she’d been out there at the precise moment that gorgeous hunk went skinny dipping.

Maybe she’d arrived at the cottage a day early and a key short because the universe was finally, finally, giving her what she was long overdue.

Her shot at scoring with Aidan Hunter.

3

Robin

Robin rooted around in the back of the van for any tools of seduction at her disposal. A hairbrush. A stick of spearmint gum. A packet of lemon-scented wet wipes from a rib joint in Etobicoke. It would have to do.

After a few citrusy swipes under each armpit, she tore into one of the unopened boxes of Dawn Cherries t-shirts. They were basically worthless now anyway, having been pre-printed with concert dates the band would never play. She deliberately chose a shirt one size too small. No way Aidan could ignore the fact that the girl who’d once been easy to overlook had blossomed into a tempest in a double D-cup.

And, because her mother has taught her to never to show up empty-handed, she popped open the glove compartment and dove into her trusty stash of condoms. Only three left, but three oughta do it, she figured. It was a weeknight, after all.

Robin let Mutt Lange tag along, despite the dog smelling even worse after getting wet. Turned out diving headfirst into Lake Whippoorwill didn’t constitute the kind of deep cleansing with odour-penetrating enzymes that Mutt desperately needed. But even at maximum stank, he couldn’t be left outside to wander alone in the dark, nor did he deserve to be locked up in the van all night. He was merely a victim of circumstance after all. Hopefully, Aidan would be too distracted to notice the doggie stench.

Trying to keep her wits about her, she started down the hill to Aidan’s cottage at a brisk pace. She now had to pee, but couldn’t just pop a squat and risk dribbling on her last pair of clean underwear. It was best not to think about her pressing biological needs and instead focus on her surroundings. The local landscape was vaguely familiar and yet, had changed so much it barely fit the mold of her fading memories. As Robin passed by each cottage, she tested herself on the nicknames that had once reflected their unique charm and character: the Red Roof Retreat, Peekaboo Pines, the Mellow Yellow Hideaway, Camp Wagon Wheel.

Aidan’s place was aptly named Maple Leaf Lodge—not for Aidan’s obsession with the hockey team, but for the two giant maples planted out front. Robin had barely escaped their evil, homicidal clutches. She’d climbed one trying to spy on Aidan through his bedroom window, nearly ripping off her kneecap when she fell out of it. Teenage psycho stalker. Lucky she didn’t break her fucking neck.

Flanked by the same deadly maples that had scarred her for life, his cottage had been recently updated with larger windows, and new siding and roofing. But Robin would’ve known the place anywhere. It still popped up in her dreams, for crying out loud. She could see lights on inside, and a late-model Jeep parked in front of the garage. Ding-dong. He’s home.

Being blinded by lust had nearly got Robin voted off the island after that goddamn letter made her a teenage pariah. She’d vowed to never return to Lake Whippoorwill. She did, of course, return the following summer because as the youngest in the family, she had zero say in the matter. Robin endured several more family vacations to the cottage during which she spent nearly all of her time indoors avoiding Aidan. Her escape finally arrived when she became old enough to get a job babysitting for a lady her mother knew, so Robin had little choice but to stay behind in the city all summer. Aw, shucks.

That was years ago. Water under the proverbial bridge. Surely, Aidan would be as happy to see Robin now as she was to see him. All of him. But as she walked up his driveway, sober second thoughts crept into her mind. Maybe she should really learn from the past and stop and think things through before doing anything hasty. Maybe she should rein in her urges instead of acting on them.

Or maybe, she should just say fuck it.

She cracked her knuckles, took a deep breath, and knocked.

Through the frosted window covering the front door, she could make out shadowy movements inside. Maybe he’s still naked in there. Yum.

The door swung open.

Nope. Definitely not Aidan.

“Can I help you?” asked the man. He had to be in his late forties, maybe fifty judging by his salt and pepper hair, damp and combed back, and the hint of squidginess around his eyes. She studied the mature lines and light stubble on the face staring back at her.

Her brain was still catching up to the fact that the good-looking gentleman on the other side of the threshold was not Aidan, so her mouth was sluggish on the uptake. “Hi. Um… I’m sorry. I was looking for an old friend.” Just maybe not this old. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

He relaxed his imposing stance in the doorway, better suiting the laidback vibe of his loose-fitting shirt and jeans that casually flared above his bare feet. “No bother.”

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