“Maybe,” I say vaguely. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I want to do this alone.” When I feel her gaze on me, I shift awkwardly in my seat. “What?”
“Look at you,” she teases. “Not being a dick for ten whole minutes.”
“You know me. I like to keep people on their toes.”
Blake gives me a solemn nod. “Of course. Gotta make them guess which Wyatt Graham they’ll get that day. Will he be a raging asshole? A creative genius? A lake fuckboy?”
“Hey, lake fuckboy is a great gig,” I say, and she responds with a smile that almost knocks me on my ass.
I’m frozen for a second. I’ve seen her smile before, but not like this, and I suddenly feel like someone seeing color for the first time.Thissmile is unguarded. It’s soft and alive and shining brighter than the sun. It traps my breath halfway in my chest.
For a moment, the entire world simply…stops.
I blink, the lyric floating through my mind.
Your smile stops the world.
As Blake resumes her sunbathing, I grab my notebook and scribble the line down before it slips into the ether.
Fuck.
I don’t know what just happened, but I know I’ll be chasing that smile in songs for a long time.
Chapter 6
BLAKE
THE MOOD IS LIGHTER WHEN we tie off the bowrider a few hours later. Despite the rocky start to the day, Wyatt finally calmed his grouchy ass down, scribbling up a storm on the boat while I napped. I’m not sure what inspired him, but I much prefer a chill Wyatt to the one who was snapping at me for daring to sunbathe.
At the house, we discover that like the urban legend he is, Houseman Henry paid us a visit when we were gone. The fridge and freezer are overflowing with food, including the juiciest-looking steaks from the butcher in town. Part of me still feels like a spoiled brat who’s taking advantage of her parents, but I keep reminding myself it’s what they want.Summer of Blake, Mom had encouraged. So I’m giving myself permission to be spoiled.
I go upstairs to take a shower and wash off the sunscreen and sweat from the day. When I come down to prep dinner, I stop halfway to the fridge, momentarily derailed by the sight of Wyatt in the dining room.
He’s at the table, shirtless, leaning over the puzzle that I noticed this morning. For some reason, I assumed someone else had started it,but I realize now how dumb that is. He’s the only other person here, unless Houseman Henry secretly shows up when we’re out to work on a jigsaw puzzle. Actually… I wouldn’t put it past him.
I wander over to pick up the box. It depicts a lake scene at night, with a huge moon reflected in the black water and a family of swans congregating beneath a willow tree with dark, dangling branches that look like skeleton fingers. Other than the red canoe in the center of the lake, the puzzle is an obnoxious expanse of black and white in different gradients.
Wyatt is scowling at a piece like it murdered his family in a past life, but I’m too busy ogling his bare chest and wondering how he could make an activity this nerdy look pornographic. My eyes rest on the V of his hips. I love man vees. They’re so lickable.
I wonder what he’d do if I dropped to my knees and licked his man vee.
The thought makes me snort out loud.
Wyatt glances at me. “Can I help you?” he says politely.
I snap out of it. “Are you doing a puzzle?”
“No, I’m just putting these pieces in place for no reason. They don’t form an image at all.”
“Wyatt Graham is doing a puzzle.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Fuckboys don’t puzzle.”
“I’m not a boy. I’m a man.”
“Got it. So you’re a fuckman.”
