“How did you know this was here?”
“I told you, I don’t sleep much at night.”
Oak steps out of the truck and hurries around to open my door.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, walking toward the water, drawn by its still, mirrorlike surface. The moon sparks off the lake, making it feel like the sky has dipped into the water.
Oak bends down and begins taking off his shoes.
“What are you doing?”
“Going swimming,” he answers, pulling his shirt over his head and then unbuttoning his jeans.
“No,” I answer out of reflex.
“Why not? You took me swimming in the pond.”
“That water was warm…. This water, I’m sure… is not.”
He backsteps away from me, in only his boxers, smiling.
“I’m not going in,” I add, defiant, shaking my head.
He sticks out his bottom lip, as if I’ve broken his heart, then wades in up to his knees. He cringes slightly, the cold unmistakable on his face, but he keeps going. “You’re going to love it in here,” he calls. “I promise.”
“No way.”
He turns, dives forward beneath the water, and when he emerges a few yards away, he lets out a whoop, brushing his hair back from his face, his skin dripping with cold lake water.
I can’t help but laugh.
“It feels incredible!” he shouts.
“I didn’t bring a swimsuit!”
“You didn’t have a swimsuit at the pond,” he counters. “And that didn’t stop you.”
I clamp my mouth shut, feeling chilled just watching him.
“Lark Goode…,” he says, his tone serious now. “Get in this water!”
I shake my head.
“You won’t regret it.”
I exhale, dropping my eyes. I take a few cautious steps forward, slipping free from my flip-flops and touching the water with my foot. It’s frigidly cold, and I yank my foot back. “Nope!” I tell him. “Not happening.”
He is the one who laughs now, and he starts wading closer to the shore.
“Don’t you dare!” I say.
He lifts his hands in the air. “I’m not going to pull you in,” hepromises. Instead he holds a hand out to me, eyes bright and treacherous. His mouth curved into a persuasive grin.
I shake my head, but my resolve melts away, the fear dissolving on my tongue.
I strip out of my clothes, down to my underwear, shocked that I’m really doing this. Slowly I wade in up to my ankles, my knees, but the water gets colder the deeper I go, and I stop.
Oak reaches me and holds out his hand once again. I take it. “I trust you,” I say, raising my eyebrows at him, hoping he won’t try to throw me in.
