The boat zips along the water, giving them a wonderful vantage of the scenery on both sides of the lake. They pass one vacation home after another. Accessible only by boat or hiking trail, the cabins line the lake, each with their own private pier. Most of the cabins look empty, closed up for the end of the season. There are a couple of girls in bathing suits goofing around on a dock at the far end of the lake, probably daring each other to jump into the ice-cold water but neither taking the plunge. Otherwise, no one is around.

Hannah checks her phone, just to give her hands something to do, and sees that there’s no service out here.

Finally, she takes a deep breath and says, “I think I’ve seen you at the gym.”

Logan smacks his knee. “I knew you looked familiar.”

Hannah mentions that she’s seen him in the afternoon spinning class, the least crowded of all the classes because it’s in the middle of the afternoon when most people are working.

“I sometimes go there to get the blood flowing before I’m on deadline,” Hannah says. “I work at the Lake Tahoe Gazette.”

He starts asking questions about her job, and then their conversation seems to become more and more natural. Relief washes over her like a warm wave. Why was it so hard to start talking to him? There’s obvious chemistry.

She reaches into her daypack and pulls out a business card. She hands it to him, suddenly feeling awkward again. She’s giving him her number in the guise of professional courtesy, but she hopes he’ll see through her pretense to know her real intention: she wants him to call and ask her out.

He asks if she has a pen and an extra card, and the next thing she knows, he’s writing down his telephone number on the back of one of her business cards.

“If you ever want to go to a class together,” he says, “give me a call. You know, for motivation.”

She stares at the card. He’s written his full name, first and last—Logan Bishop—and his cellphone number.

Hannah smiles. She can’t help herself. Logan’s green eyes are telling her that he’s looking for more than a gym buddy. She looks away, feeling her cheeks flush.

“So, what about you?” she says. “What do you do for a living?

He looks away, his embarrassment palpable.

“I don’t really like to say,” he says, squirming visibly in his seat. “I have a little trust fund that I’m living on right now.”

“Oh,” Hannah says.