“No, Darby belongs to the neighbors. She always hears the boat and waits for me.” He reached in his pocket and extracted a napkin full of barbecue scraps. “Good girl.” He tossed the treat to Darby, who ignored it until Rick took the rope to tie the boat. I climbed out as gracefully as I could and patted Darby, who had swallowed the meat whole and was looking hopefully at Rick.

“Is this your house?”

“It belongs to my family,” he said. “My dad built it when we were kids. My brother and I share it, trading off weekends. Mom and Dad hardly ever come out here anymore.”

Darby continued to stare soulfully at Rick, who shrugged and told her, “That’s all, girl. You can visit later.” The dog turned obediently and trotted off into the woods. Rick reached into the boat for my clothes. “Here,” he handed my purse and bag to me, “you can freshen up in the downstairs bedroom. It’s all set up and ready.”

“You think I’m spending the night with you?”

“Only if you want to. There are two bedrooms. I’ll be sleeping upstairs unless you want company.” He tossed a ring of keys to me. “I have to finish up with the boat. The door’s around back and the key with a red top fits it. Make yourself at home.”

I walked carefully, scanning for rattlesnakes. I’m not an outdoorsy girl. The door opened into a small kitchen of harvest gold and avocado green, prompting me to look around for The Brady Bunch. I crossed into a large living room with a stone fireplace and tall windows overlooking the lake. Rick was pacing back and forth on the dock with his cell phone to an ear, laughing and shaking his head.

I found a tiny apology of a guest bedroom downstairs. It had enough space for a twin bed, a small dresser and a thinner person to turn around. A chocolate brown quilted spread held light blue decorative pillows, and there were old family photos covering one wall. I had an easy time recognizing Rick’s grin in each of them, most of which featured freshly-caught fish. I was thrilled to find a private bathroom. I peeled off my wet clothes and regarded myself in the mirror. I needed makeup and hair styling immediately. Thirty minutes later I emerged in more comfortable jeans and a pink Alabama sweatshirt to find Rick slouched in a chair on the deck, feet up on the railing. The sun was dipping into a pool of pale coral and evening had fallen like coal dust on the treeline across the shore. He’d lit tiki torches at each corner and sat next to a plastic table with one beer, a plate of cheese and crackers, a wine glass and an open bottle of chardonnay. My chair was to its left. It took three tugs of the sliding glass door to make my entrance.