Chase
Meg’s carrolls down the hill, leaving me and Cubby alone in front of the store. He’s standing there with a funny smile on his face, a little mischievous, and his hands are folded behind his back. His purple shirt is tucked into shorts that ride up his thick thighs, and he’s sporting a backpack and hiking shoes that look decently worn by use.
My eyes get stuck on the details. He’s wearing gray socks with little yellow suns on them, pulled up his calves, and a bunch of silver rings on one hand. The top of Cubby’s shirt is unbuttoned enough that my eyes catch on the broadness of his chest, and his hair is all tossed to one side, striking in the way it frames his handsome features.
I stare at his lips, drawn in by that smile, then catch myself and clear my throat. “Dock’s this way,” I say with a nod.
“You’re really just going to leave your shop unattended? I mean, I know it’s a small town and all.”
“Oh, right.” I put two fingers between my lips and whistle, loud and clear. “Uncle Ray!”
Cubby crosses his arms over his chest, amused.
A second later, my uncle sticks his head out the window of his ramshackle two-story house, which is right across the street. He remodeled the downstairs into his art gallery about twenty years ago and has lived happily above it ever since.
“Keep an eye on the shop, yeah?” I holler.
Uncle Ray gives me a thumbs-up out the window. “Roger daisy!” he yells, then yanks his head back in.
Cubby laughs. “Roger daisy?”
I shrug, then flip the shop sign to theBack in Five!side. “He’s an artist,” I say, like it’s an explanation.
I don’t look Cubby straight in the eye because I don’t know what would happen if I did. He keeps beaming up at me with this flirty, wide-open smile, and I’m afraid I’ll start grinning like a fool or talking funny if I meet his gaze.
“You must know everyone in this town,” Cubby says as we head down the path. “Is that right?”
“Everyone in this town knows everyone in this town.”
“Even the bears.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I suppose so.”
There are wooden stairs leading down to the water, and when we approach them, I risk a glance. Cubby skips down the first step, then hop-steps to the second, where he lays his hand on the rail and takes in a deep gulp of lake air. He lets out a satisfiedhum, a rewarding sound.
Fuck. There’s nothing I like more than the fresh air. Funny how nice it is to see Cubby appreciating it the way I do.
He turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “Must be intense, though, right?”
“Excuse me?”
We start down the steps again. “Everyone knowing everyone. I’ve lived in cities all my life.” He stops at the water, which laps gently at the dock and the shore, and turns to me. “I like my anonymity.”
“Oh. Guess I haven’t thought of it that way.” I nod toward the gravel shore, where our boats are all pulled up and stored. This stretch of lakeside is as much of a downtown as Lake Steamy really has, and I see a scattering of people out, dining on the restaurant deck and boating around the water.
“You like it?” Cubby prompts me. “Living here?”
The way he’s talking to me, it’s familiar. Like we’re friends or something.
It’s nice, but it’s throwing me off, and I find myself searching for words I don’t have while he disarms me with that damn smile.
“This town is my family,” I finally manage, then walk over to the boat. “And yeah, I guess it would seem uncomfortable to me, living somewhere with a bunch of strangers.” I slap the boat. “Here you go.”
Cubby stares at it, then erupts in laughter. “Oh my god, pink dream!”
I look at it, suddenly embarrassed. It’s a big hunk of plastic, with two bucket seats side by side and the pedals out front. The whole thing is bright pink, although faded a little from years of sun.
Was it wrong to think he’d want a pink boat? There’s this sparkly thread in his shirt, and his nails are painted, so I just figured he’d like it.
