“It’s barely been a full day. Let’s see how it looks this weekend.”
If he has faith, then I will too. “I hoped it would be magic. Super simple. That they’d look at us and believe we were happy and decide to just do the right thing.”
He squeezes my arm briefly. “We still would’ve had to keep it up for a few days so they wouldn’t get suspicious that we’re playing them.”
“I know. You’re right. But that sounds more fun than stressing that we’re committed to this through the weekend without any clue if it’ll work.”
“I’m having fun with you anyway.”
I glance up at him, but he’s moving on toward shore.
Leaving me with something to contemplate.
Whycan’tthis be fun? I want to stay friends. I like him. We’re in this together. And it’s not like we’re scheming for bad reasons. We’re not trying to steal inheritances or sabotage anyone’s business. We’re doing this to make things better.
So again,why can’t this be fun?
We get our picnic set up on the beach, complete with the candles around the picnic blanket. Close enough for ambience, not close enough to catch the blanket on fire.
Been there, done that.
And when I tell Dane the story, he laughs until he nearly snorts chickpea salad out his nose.
He pays me back by telling me about a time in college that he almost got arrested for public indecency, which is so not what I ever would’ve expected of Lorelei’s straitlaced older brother.
And yes, he times the best parts just right so I come close to snorting fried chicken out my nose.
Payback.
It’s hilarious.
We get halfway through his emailed list of things we should know about each other before I get a tingling between my shoulder blades. “Someone’s watching us,” I whisper as I lean in, smiling at him, and peck his cheek.
“Nice job letting us know, Chili,” he says.
The dog grunts in his sleep, and I crack up.
The sun is dipping low, but not so low that what I propose next is a bad idea. “We should go for a canoe ride.”
Dane sweeps a glance around the lake.
My family’s cabin isn’t the only one on the lake, but there are only a handful of other homes out here. A half dozen or so.
Most are owned by locals who live here year-round, but there are one or two that are vacation rental homes.
You can generally tell who’s home by the Christmas lights sparkling on the houses when the sun goes down. And there’s zero doubt that the locals would be spying and taking pictures and sharing them all around town tonight, so that tingling between my shoulder blades that says that someone is spying is pretty much expected.
“This one your canoe?” Dane asks, pointing to an upside-down canoe halfway between my uncle’s cabin and the neighbor’s house.
“I think so.”
He eyes me.
I grin.
“Exactly how sure are you?”
“This much?” I hold my hands about a foot apart.
