But, as it related to swimming in particular, he sent his mind back to the last time. They’d been wading at Sandcastle Beach. It had been a perfect summer day, sunny and hot. So hot that if you sat on the beach for too long, you’d end up sweaty. He’d known she couldn’t swim. When it came up, she’d always be self-deprecating about it, making fun of herself as the city girl who had never learned. He’d lured her out farther than usual that day, pledging to hold on to her. Getting her to feel buoyant in the water had been his goal, and at first it had seemed like it was working. She’d been nervous—he could tell by the way her pulse fluttered at her throat—but, judging by the set of her lips, determined.

Then he’d made his mistake. Thinking she would be fine—he was touching her so lightly that he wasn’t actually doing any of the work of keeping her afloat—he’d let go. And she’d freaked out. It was like she’d turned to stone and started sinking immediately. He’d grabbed her, of course. She hadn’t been in any danger, but her fight-or-flight instincts had kicked in and she’d started flailing and screaming. It had only lasted a few seconds—he’d carried her to shore—but he would never forget it.

The lifeguard had come over to check her out. There were people everywhere, and her skin had turned as pink as the bathing suit she’d been wearing. He’d tried to talk to her about it. She kept saying she was embarrassed, that she wanted to be in the lake but wasn’t brave enough—and she would shut down any further attempt at discussion. And the longer they went without talking about it, the harder it was to bring up.

So he’d started building the canoe. He’d taken what little she had said—she wanted to be in the lake but she was afraid—and acted on it the best way he knew how. Of course, he could have just borrowed a rowboat or had Jake take them out, but for some damn reason, he’d gotten himself fixated on personally making her a boat. Some guys gave their girlfriends letter jackets or promise rings. He was going to give Evie a boat. It was going to say what he couldn’t: That it didn’t matter if she could swim. That her fears had no bearing on how much he loved her. That he wanted, always, to smooth the way for her.

“Don’t let go,” she said.