“Nooooo, it’s too late,” Noelle laughed, her voice bubbling with amusement. “You. Are. Ridiculous.” She could not help but tease, though her tone carried a hint of admiration for his daring nature.
“Yep,” Dustin shot back with a grin. “I am ridiculous. But tonight is too damn hot. And ‘late’ is relative.” In an instant, he was off, disappearing into the fading light. Noelle could hear the rhythmic slap of his flip-flops against his heels, blending with the soft crunch of gravel beneath his feet. Their duet drifted away as he trotted down the trail toward the lake’s edge.
Left in the quiet, Noelle remained, perched in the shotgun seat of Dustin’s ‘87 open-top Jeep. She breathed in the warm evening air, savoring the peace. She’d been away far too long. Home. She’d forgotten the enchanting charm this place held. The hills surrounding the canyon wrapped the valley in a protective embrace, their peaks standing tall like ancient sentinels. Seems like fate always smiled on those who lived here.
And surely, fate had something to do with today, right? Both cell phones - dead. Charge cords? In another car. No CDs. No MP3. Not even an 80s cassette. Just an old, battered ghetto blaster strapped in the backseat like a rebellious child. Its FM tuner long lost, leaving it to stubbornly squawk out static-filled AM channels. A crackling “Summer Lovin’” had been drifting through the airwaves when they pulled up, and now the tune from Grease was set in Noelle’s head. With all of this familiar emotional energy floating around her, how could fate not be near?
The perfect end to the perfect day. Noelle’s bikini, now dry but still clinging to her hips beneath her frayed denim cutoffs, felt like a second skin. She could not remember the last time that she had experienced a day like this. Perhaps when she was 16, maybe 17, she mused. There had been occasional moments spent on the lake since then, but nothing like today. This felt different. Restorative. Noelle inhaled deeply, letting the sweet nostalgia of the day wash over her, each breath pulling her back to a simpler time, to easier days.
In the distance, she heard it - SPLASH!. Dustin was in. His voice carried across the water, echoing back to her. “C’mon!” Noelle rolled her eyes and couldn’t help but mock him silently, “Now THAT’S a convincing argument.” But the truth was, did she really need persuading? Dustin, it turns out, was not the same Dustin of yesteryear.
Noelle's memories of him felt almost like a familiar troupe. She had placed Dustin in the friend zone back in junior high, a role he continued to play throughout high school. He was her comrade, her musketeer. They shared each other’s victories and offered comfort during defeats. Of course, there were always those occasional "attempts" on Dustin’s part, but they were innocent in nature, never anything worthy of prosecution.
The truth was that her physical attraction for Dustin had never seeded back then, and because of that, Noelle never had a row of lust to sow for him. But fate had, in its own way, granted them a series of emotional exchanges over the years, nurturing a connection deeper than most could ever dream. They had cultivated a bond, tending to that bond like a garden of understanding. She admired his courage, his audacity, his playful goofiness. But, the physical connection was always absent, and that fact, despite everything, had always saddened her. He had the heart of a lion in those days, but his wiry frame could not quite match the strength of his spirit.
Like fireflies, these memories flitted around Noelle as she unbuckled her seatbelt. Their glowing dance illuminated the moments of her past. She pulled the door handle, the Jeep’s rusted hatch creaking in protest. She swung her leg out, stepped onto the earth, then looked up into the sky behind her shoulder. The moon had made his entrance. Enormous, dominating the sky and taking center stage. “Whoa,” she muttered. “That’s new.”
Atop the embankment, Noelle felt as though Mr. Moon was so close she could almost reach out and touch him, perhaps just a simple tap on his cool, silvery shoulder. His charm lay in the way he reflected his own brilliance off the beautiful lake below, who seemed like a composed lady in her serene stillness. Without explanation, Noelle found herself caught in a celestial cocktail party, with Mr. Moon himself subtly petitioning for an introduction to Miss Lake. He indicated a palpable infatuation with her ripples, created by Dustin’s splash. As the illusion began to fade, Noelle raised an eyebrow and muttered, “What the hell are you up to, Fate?”
Leaving the moon to play his part, Noelle began her trek down the embankment trail toward the lake. “Healing” was the only word that came to mind when she thought of the adventures that had led her here. These were the energies of her youth. They were now stirring within her once again, reminding her of who she was, what she had overcome, and where she was heading.
Water, boats, jet skis, fishing, tubing - these were the recreations of her developing years. But the town’s connection to the lakes went much deeper than that. Much deeper. Their history included the worshiping practices of the Potowatomi along the shorelines, pioneers who fed and nourished themselves from the lakes, on up through thousands of marital ceremonies “In”, “on”, or “around” the lakes. This was a community that hosted generation after generation of people who held a nearly spiritual connection with those waters. How lucky could a girl get?
As Noelle continued her traipse, sights along the trail began to piece themselves into recognition, the curve in the path, the distinct row of trees, and the faint recollection of a rusted-out row boat. Had she? Yes. She’d been here before? The realization rushed through her like a cascading waterfall. This was the spot where she and Dustin swam as budding teenagers. A hidden gem they’d stumbled upon while out riding bikes one day. She chuckled to herself, remembering how Dustin had tried to convince her to go skinny dipping. "Oh, the audacity," she murmured. "Still, not the worst idea," she mused with a sly grin.
Before yesterday, there had been years, too many, really, since they had heard a word of the other. There was no grand explanation for why. People drift apart. No one person could be blamed for the distance. Just life. They hadn’t even connected via social media. And then, two days ago, Fate intervened when Noelle recognized him.
Both she and Dustin had been swept into a fundraising event while visiting their individual parents on the same weekend. “The Black Tie Paddle Wheel Cruise” was how the lake folk marketed the event, supposedly a fundraiser for the historic lighthouse, but everyone knew it was just an excuse to drink on a boat and flirt with neighbors. There were items auctioned off for the cause, but most attendees were well into their cups before the bidding even began.
On the auction block, one accolade towered above all others: a Men’s NCAA Championship swimming trophy. The owner had signed it along with the rest of his swim team including Olympic gold medalist, Michael Phelps. For a community built around water recreation, this gem held bragging rights. Noelle’s eyes drifted to the inscription card at the base: “Graciously donated by Dustin Robertson.” She froze. Dustin? Was this…THE Dustin? A whirlwind of thoughts swirled within her. She was torn, caught in a tug-of-war of disbelief. “It can’t be.” Then, “Can it?” Followed by, “No.” And finally a questioning, “Really? Is it?”
Beside the trophy, Dustin’s aunt had assembled a poster, a collage of amateur photos showcasing his achievements, each one more impressive than the last. For most of us, such a display would be embarrassing, but Dustin’s laid-back demeanor prevented any sense of shame from overtaking him. Noelle scanned the photos, her recognition of him dawning slowly. He looked like a celebrity.
Years of college swimming had carved him into something formidable. His boyhood frame was now a testament to strength and discipline. His arms, once unremarkable, had flourished into sculpted lines of power, his shoulders so striking they carried their own quiet authority. And that V-shaped torso? A masterpiece of motion and muscle.
Then Noelle’s gaze caught on something else - abs. Defined, undeniable. "Oh, holy hell. Actual abs," she nearly whispered, with her breath catching as she gawked at the photograph.
And then, across the room, she saw him.