"Does she live around here?" I ask.
Brooks shakes his head. "No. She's in town visiting family. And Jasper, I guess."
I open my mouth to respond, but then realization slams into me like a truck going sixty on the highway. My spine stiffens.
"Wait…" I pause, dread creeping in. "Does this mean we’re fishing…" I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. "Alone together?"
Brooks slides on a pair of blacked-out sunglasses, then waggles his stupid,stupideyebrows. "Yep."
Before I can protest, Brooks shifts into reverse, backing out of the driveway like I’ve already agreed to this ridiculous plan.
And somehow…
The urge to fight him fades as I sink into the seat, staring out the window. Between Mom refusing to leave the house and Dad’s precarious condition, maybe an afternoon at the lake—fresh air, open water,space—won’t be the worst thing in the world.
Wait.
What am Isaying?
***
"How’s it going over there?" Brooks calls from the dock.
I crack one eye open from where I’m sprawled in a swinging chair, my fishing line bobbing lazily about thirty feet off the shore. The sun beats down, warming my skin, while the lake laps gently against the pebbled shoreline. A cool thermos of water rests against my thigh. It’s peaceful. Perfect, even.
Until heopened his mouth.
"You’re scaring the fish," I warn, not bothering to move. "Be quiet."
Brooks chuckles, the sound deep and unbothered.
"You haven’t caught a single thing all afternoon," he points out. "Are you sure it’s not you scaring them away?"
I groan, finally glancing over at him just in time to regret it.
He’s shirtless, muscles shifting as he reels in a cast. I snap my gaze back to the water before I do something stupid.
This? This is dangerous.
I force myself to focus—to breathe—to not think about Brooks' stupid back muscles.
But then my heart does a little flip.
And I hate that it does a little flip.
"Ellie!" Brooks shouts. "Your line!"
My head jerks up just in time to realize my red and white bobber is gone.
Panic surges through me as I grab my fishing pole and scramble to my feet. "Brooks!" I holler, but he’s already moving.
"Reel it in!" he yells, sprinting toward me.
I yank up on the rod, my grip unsteady as I start to crank the reel. It’s pulling back. Hard. I dig my heels into the pebbled shore, my arms straining as I fight against the weight on the other end of the line.
Brooks is suddenly rightthere, his presence grounding me. "Don’t yank too hard," he warns, his voice gentler now. "Just take it slow. Steady. Keep reeling it in."
I nod, biting my lip as I concentrate. Slowly, carefully, I reel until—
