He finally glanced at her, and his eyebrows shot up. Perhaps she should have evaluated her fishing attire more carefully before settling on the green bikini top and cut-off shorts. His eyes flamed. The way he stared did not bode well—like she was the catch of the day, and he had her on his hook.
“This one’s yours.” He held up one of the fishing poles and handed it to her. His hand brushed hers briefly when she took it. One tiny brush of his fingertips and her body went wired. This had to stop.
“Nervous about the boat?” he asked.
“Maybe.” She inspected the pole and turned the reel thing. Then she clicked a button to release the tension. Easy enough.
“How nervous?”
She glanced up at him. “A little.”
“How much is a little?” he asked as though she meant more to him than only a producer.
“Less than a lot,” she replied.
“Lucy.” His expression turned serious. “We’ll catch some fish. You’ll conquer your fear.”
Uncertain, she nodded. “I haven’t been on a boat in over a decade.”
The anxiety she was experiencing at the moment didn’t paralyze her, so she had definitely made progress. Yes, a fishing trip to the lake was a step toward her future, a move she found herself ready to make.
“We don’t have to do this.”
Why did he have to be so nice? Couldn’t he be a little bit of a jerk so it’d be easier to stay away?
“I want to.” She did. Really, she did. This whole excursion illustrated her commitment to forward momentum. She smiled tentatively.
He reached out to her and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear before the damn dimples dented into his cheeks.
Chapter Fourteen
Cameras set, cabin secured, Lucy and William evacuated to the lake like the normal honeymooners they were not.
The fish weren’t biting at Twin Lakes, but Lucy had gotten into a boat and hadn’t had a panic attack. That was huge.
The last time she’d been on a boat was at her tenth birthday party. Her father had rented a large yacht for the day. It would be a year before her parents started the on-again, off-again nonsense that had punctuated her adolescence.
Lucy was a fourth grader wearing the clothes of a middle schooler. The other kids were cruel. They called her “Fat Caterpillar” because, to start, she was large. More than that, though, her thick eyebrows looked a little like caterpillars. Her mother refused to let her tweeze them into submission. Brooke Shields and Audrey Hepburn had eyebrows like Lucy’s—that’s what her mother insisted. Lucy would bet a tub of hot wax that Brooke and Audrey never got called Caterpillar because of them.
Lucy hated everything. The eyebrows. Her size. The nickname.
But nothing could mar her birthday because she wore a gorgeous dress and, for once, the world revolved aroundher. As the children arrived with armloads of gifts, she could feel, absolutely feel, her luck change.
The birthday song was sung, cake distributed, and Lucy sat at the head of the table with Italian buttercream icing smudged on her lips, her feet swinging. The chaperones disappeared to do whatever it was adults did. To her left sat Robbie McFarland with freckles and light brown hair.
He scarfed his own slice of cake.
Then he ruined everything.
“Caterpillar, don’t you think you’ve had enough? You’ll be evenbiggerif you keep eating,” he taunted.
Her cheeks heated with embarrassment. Tears stung her eyes.
At the end of the day, as the kids disembarked on the pier, her parents packed up all the party things. Robbie and his crew of boys waited for their parents. Her mother insisted Lucy stay with them, as a good hostess should.
“Caterpillar, climb down that ladder. Betcha can’t touch the water.” Mischief clouded Evan Powell’s eyes when he spoke.
“Can, too,” she replied.
