Natalie cackles and I laugh. He turns toward me, fake frustration on his face. “Oh? You think it’s funny I’m wet?”
He begins heading toward me and I see where this is going, so I say, frantically, “No! I don’t think it’s funny! It’s terribly tragic. The indignity of it all!”
“That’s it,” he announces. “I know fake sympathy when I see it.”
Before I can paddle out of reach, Stone scoops me up and dunks me into the water. The shock of the cold steals my breath. He lifts me as quickly as I’m put under, and I come up sputtering, clutching his shirt.
“It’s freezing!”
“I know! That’s what I’ve been dealing with!”
Our gazes lock and we laugh. I tip my head back, reveling in the sun’s warm rays and how luxurious it feels to be held by him.
He kisses me, and all is right in the world.
“Get a room, you two!” A splash yanks us apart, and I look up to see Natalie striding toward us. “You can’t leave me out!”
“You want to be dunked?” Stone asks.
“Yes!”
He gently places me back in the tube before he picks up Natalie and submerges her in the water. My heart swells as she shrieks, and we all laugh as we continue down the river.
We finish tubing about an hour later, and true to his word, Stone walks the rest of the way, retrieving Natalie’s stick whenever she needs it.
By the time we reach the tubing station, he’s shivering, Natalie’s laughing, and I’m soaked and blissfully happy.
The unicorn waffles are delicious, and we spend an hour walking among the tourists downtown. All the shops are open, selling everything from hand-carved wax candles to key chains with unicorns on them, to novelty socks and hot sauce. Mystic Meadows is almost like a tiny Gatlinburg, except in Georgia instead of Tennessee.
We take pictures of Natalie standing in front of the unicorn statue, and then Stone pulls me into a selfie—his arm around my waist, my cheek pressed to his shoulder as the sun catches our grins.
Behind us, the bridge crosses over the river. Stone looks down, spots a couple of other people floating, and shouts, “Don’t lose your sticks!”
I bite back a laugh at the good-natured bitterness lacing his voice.
I nudge his arm. “Admit it. You had a great time.”
He side-eyes me. “If by ‘a great time,’ you mean slowly freezing my balls off in the name of sibling love ...”
“That’s literally my definition of romance.”
Stone snaps his fingers. “I knew it.”
Natalie skips over, dragging her fingers across the dozens of tiny padlocks fastened to the chain fence. As they hit the steel, they tinkle and clink. “Why are these here?”
I crouch beside her, pointing to a rusty lock near the bottom. “Couples write their initials on one, then fasten it to the fence and toss the key in the river. It’s a promise. Unbreakable love. Forever and ever.”
She wrinkles her nose like the locks just confessed to being into autumn-themed Hallmark movies instead of piggycorn cartoons. “Is that supposed to be romantic?”
“Supposedto be?” Stone echoes, stepping up behind us. “Itisromantic, Nat.” He reaches into his back pocket. “I brought my own.”
I blink. “You did not.”
He holds up a small heart-shaped lock. It’s incredibly cringe, terribly cliché, and hopelessly romantic.
“Oh my gosh.” I grin despite the tightening in my throat. “You’ve done this.”
He shrugs, a little sheepish. “You said you just were tagging along for the morning. I was hoping you’d want to stay.”
