Perfect Song (Mason Creek Book 2) by Lauren Runow (christmas read aloud .txt) 📕

As we step around the back of it, I see McLovin written on the side and laugh out loud. “Did you seriously name your boat McLovin?”

He smiles with pride. “Hell yeah, I did.”

I shake my head as I laugh lightly. Stepping onto the boat, I check it out for the first time. I’ve never been on a houseboat before, so it’s interesting, seeing how it’s laid out.

I walk around the interior of the boat, and in the back, there’s a ladder that goes to the roof. Close to where it’s docked is a door, which leads downstairs to a tiny kitchen, bathroom, and a bed. Everything is neat and tidy, and even his bed is made.

When I look through the windows to the inside of the sleeping area, I notice how much stuff is physically here, like clothes, and the kitchen seems fully stocked.

“Do you …”

“Live here? Yes. My ex got the house, and I got the boats. After a few months of this being the only place I had to go to, I realized how much I liked living here. It’s peaceful, you know?”

I nod, looking around at the massive lake surrounding us. The sun is shining down on the still blue water, reflecting beautiful shades of yellow, amber, and orange on the glasslike surface.

“I can understand that,” I say as I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh mountain air.

It’s quiet here. No nosy neighbors, no lawn mowers, no chimes of the church bells. It’s even more peaceful than the small town of Mason Creek.

Something my parents said suddenly makes more sense as well. If he doesn’t live in town, they can’t keep tabs on him, so I can see how he’s this enigma that no one can figure out.

He points to the ski boat tied off to the side and walks us toward it. “That is what we’ll take to get out there. This thing pretty much just stays parked. Here.” He offers me his hand and helps me get in.

He hands down the bag and some towels to me before he steps in as well. When he cranks the engine, it roars to life, and water turns from behind us. After he backs the boat away from the dock, he starts moving us forward at a slow pace so as not to create a wake.

With his arm slung over the seat and his feet spread wide, he looks in my direction. I take a deep breath, letting the quietness of the moment wash over me.

After a few breaths, I point to the rack above us. “Do you and your son go wakeboarding?”

The smile that grows on his face is one that only a proud father wears. “We do. He’s pretty good too.”

“Tell me about him.”

“He’s such a great kid. We hang out and go fishing or just work on his truck together. As long as he still wants to hang out with me, I pretty much do whatever he wants to do. Even go paintballing.” He rubs his arm like he’s remembering the pain. “Those things hurt when they hit you. But he’s also a really good baseball player. Even being scouted by some D1 colleges. I never miss a game.”

“Nice. I played softball in high school. I love the sport.”

“You should come with me to a game. They really are the most fun you can have in this town.”

Him mentioning taking me to his son’s baseball game shocks the hell out of me. I’ve never dated anyone with kids, but I would think there’s some rule about introducing someone to them.

He continues, “I didn’t play any sports in high school. I was more of the auto-shop guy, hence what I do for a living.” He grins. “Now, are you ready to see why I love it out here so much?”

We pass the buoys that mark the end of the no-wake zone. Instantly, he drops the throttle, and we propel forward, skimming over the water as fast as possible.

I place my hand on my hat so it doesn’t fly off as we bounce over waves and fly through the water. The wind feels amazing against my hot skin, and the freedom racing through me puts a huge smile on my face.

He zooms the boat through the open water faster and faster, making me scream in both fear and excitement, which earns me a sexy smile from him. He drives like this for a few minutes as he navigates the large lake with ease, seemingly knowing exactly where he wants to go.

When we turn a corner, he slows the boat as we move closer to the shore, and a small cove appears in front of us. When he finds the perfect spot, he cuts the engine and stands to face me.

“Welcome to my favorite spot on the lake,” he drawls.

I glance around us. The shore is a couple hundred feet away, and there’s not a person in sight. I think of how red flags should be popping up everywhere since I’m with a guy, all alone in the middle of nowhere, but there’s none.

I feel at peace.

Out here.

With him.

It’s still surprising that I feel so comfortable with him, but it’s quickly becoming more of a normal reaction.

Reaching into the bag he brought, he pulls out two beers. “Want one?”

I take it from him and pop the top.

“I brought snacks and sandwiches and even some cookies for dessert.” He shows me the contents of the bag.

“Do we plan on staying here long? That’s a lot of food.”

“Yep. We have all day to sit and do nothing.”

The way he says that hits me deeply. For the past ten years, if I wasn’t doing something productive, I felt guilty. Like I was failing in life and only hurting myself because I was going to pay for it later when I was rushing to finish what needed to be done. I was always on deadlines—editing, writing, scouting, brainstorming, networking,