“Well, I doubt they’d be looking at my face.”
Don’t look down. Don’t look down. I keep my eyes straight. “We’re going to Centre Island.”
The ferry arrives in a few minutes. Sam climbs the staircase to the upper level and leans over the side, breathing in deeply. “I love the smell of water,” he says.
“Ocean or lake?”
“Ocean but lake will do. I have properties on both.” He catches my glance. “Grossly overindulgent to have multiple homes?”
“You know it is.”
“They’re investments. I rent them out.”
“Slightly better.”
The ferry starts moving and Sam grins into the wind, his capitalist spirit silenced by the beauty of the view. Sam stands at the front of the ferry, watching the island as it approaches, then moves to the back. The city shrinks in the distance until it transforms into a graph, the CN Tower the western outlier to the normal distribution of downtown business towers. A few intrepid boaters are out, and one dude on a Jet Ski zooms by. I often forget that Toronto is a lake city and there are people who own things like kayaks and actively enjoy being on the water.
When we arrive, Sam’s content to let me play tour guide. Even though it’s been years since I’ve been to the islands and it’s rarely been while sober, I do a good job of getting us to the beach on the other side of the island. The rain has stopped but it’s deserted. We pull off our shoes and make our way across sand that’s been dappled by the raindrops, taking selfies and digging in our toes.
“Canada geese,” Sam says, pointing as if I can miss the flock ten meters away. “Pretty.”
“Don’t go near them,” I warn. “Geese are mean.”
He’s already approaching them and looks over his shoulder with scorn. “I can handle a goose, Gracie.”
I swipe the water off a picnic bench and sit down to enjoy the show. Sam is determined to get the perfect close-up of one of the geese, as if the zoom feature doesn’t exist for a reason, and he creeps closer. I pull out my phone and start the video to show Fangli later.
He’s already off-balance in a stealthy attempt to get to the goose without spooking it when it attacks, thrusting out its beak as if to give him a nip. Sam leaps back, phone flying off to the side. The goose hisses and advances on him and Sam—action star Sam Yao, hero of the silver screen Sam Yao—falls back on his butt and does some weird commando roll to get away from it.
I’m laughing too hard to film properly so I don’t capture Sam’s indignant expression when he pops back to his feet.
“It’s not funny.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Go ahead.” He dusts the wet sand off his knees.
“What?”
“Say it, Gracie. I know you want to.”
“I told you. I told you so.” I hop off the bench to find his phone, which I hand over.
“You did.” He opens his phone and we check the photo. Sam captured the goose in attack mode and the entire image is a wide-open hissing beak, slightly blurred, with open wings in the background.
That sends me into another laughing fit. Sam groans. “All that for nothing.”
“Nothing? That’s a classic goose shot. It’s gorgeous.”
“Like you.”
Does he mean that as a real compliment or a quick tease? I don’t want to say “thank you” if it’s the latter because that would be embarrassing. I decide to treat it like a joke. “I think the goose has better feathers.”
Sam reaches out to touch my hair, then realizes he’s covered with sand when a clod drops on my shoulder. “You’re much prettier than a goose, feathers or not,” he assures me as he rubs his hands on his thighs.
Is it still a joke? It’s safer to act as though it is. “High bar.”
I grab my shoes and keep going down the beach. Sam comes up from behind and almost hesitantly laces his fingers with mine, his hand wet from the rain and rough from the sand. I do my best to be casual but holding hands is almost more intimate than kissing. When I glance up, Sam smiles and kisses my temple.
Ugh, why is he like this? My heart can’t deal.
We walk like that for a bit, matching our steps to each other until the rain begins again and we let go to open our umbrellas as the wind picks up. I gasp as it catches my umbrella and promptly turns it inside out.
Sam keeps us dry as I check my umbrella over. “Broken,” I say.
He wraps his arm around me, heavy but warm on my shoulders, and holds the umbrella over both of us. “Shall we keep walking or do you want to go?” he asks. The rain has beaded on his hat and his mask is tucked under his chin, ready to pull on if someone comes.
“Keep going.”
I move but he tugs me back. “I forgive you for laughing,” he says.
“I forgive you for not listening to me about the goose.”
“Fair enough.” He bends down and kisses me, lips cool from the damp day. The rain patters against the umbrella as my hands come up to wrap around his biceps, bringing him even closer. The kisses meld together and the sound of the lake fades and Sam is all there is around me. He’s warm in the cool day, and his hands smooth down the droplets on my hair. When he presses tiny kisses on me, he leaves a longer pause between each one, making me chase after him.
His last kiss makes me shiver and I’m not sure if it’s from the chill or his touch. In any case, he pulls back, rubbing my arms. “Let’s walk to warm up,” he says.
We turn east to the walkway that traces the edge of the lake. The rain comes in fits and starts, the same as our conversation.
“You know what’s weird?” I ask.
“That the largest living thing on earth is a fungus?”
“What? No.” I hop over a puddle. “Seriously? Not a whale or a tree?”
“The humongous fungus in Oregon.”
“That is fascinating but not what I was thinking. Why would I be thinking of that?”
He picks up a rock lying on the boardwalk and tosses it out to the lake. “I was.”
“I might delve into that later but I was wondering about why interviewers don’t ask you or Fangli about politics or human rights in China. It’s strange. It’s in the news all the time.”
“That’s not strange. Reporters are more interested in Fangli’s manicure and how I get in shape for action roles. Generally fans want us to stick to our lane and reporters give them what they want.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t need to share all my personal thoughts with the world.” He eyes me with amusement. “Do Canadian actors speak out against your own country’s abuses?”
“Not often,” I admit after I think about it.
“Did you ever think to ask why we’re responsible for answering for our government when they’re not responsible for yours?”
“A good point.”
“Obviously, there are problems with my home,” he says. “Those are issues for us to solve, the same as yours are for you to solve.”
We walk along in the misty rain for a few more minutes, thinking.
“Do you come here a lot?” he asks. “This is a calming place.”
“Not as much as I should,” I say.
“Where do you usually go? Say you have a Saturday free. Your ideal Saturday.”
I tug at a branch as I pass, letting the wet leaf drag along my palm. The entire left side of the path is treed. “It would be summer, but not too hot. I’d take a book and go to a café I like in Kensington Market. They have those Parisian-style seats on the sidewalk and I’d get a Mexican hot chocolate and sit and read and watch the people pass.”
“All day?”
“Two hours.” After that I’d need to pee, and when you’re alone, you can’t leave your bag, so I’d might as well head out. “Then I’d wander through the market and look in some stores to buy things I don’t need, like a hat.”
“Would you see a show? Go to a movie?”
“Nope. I’d go see Mom. How about you?”
“My perfect day? Sleeping. I’d sleep in and turn off my phone and then sit on the couch and do nothing. I wouldn’t leave the apartment. Get food delivered.”
“What if you had to leave the house?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“It’s on fire. You have to.”
“If my apartment is on fire, then it’s not my perfect day.”
“It’s a thought exercise, Sam.”