Page 45 of The Summer We Lie

"I do," I insist, sitting up straighter.

"Let's hear it," she challenges, crossing her arms over her chest.

"How about we take the jet skis and show Skye the caves?" I suggest, remembering how Harper always loved exploring them when she was younger, how her eyes would light up at the adventure of it all.

Harper's face transforms with a brilliant smile. When I glance at Skye, I notice her expression has changed too—genuine intrigue replacing her earlier guardedness, a spark of curiosity in those green-gold eyes that I find impossible to look away from.

"What caves?" Skye asks just as Harper exclaims, "Yes, let's go!" grabbing her friend's hand and pulling her toward the dock with infectious enthusiasm.

I follow them at a measured pace, deliberately taking my time to give them space. As I approach the weathered wooden dock, I catch the tail end of what seems like a private conversation, their heads bent close together.

"You mind?" Harper asks, her voice carrying slightly over the sound of water lapping against the pilings.

"No, that's fine," Skye responds, tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear.

"You sure?" Harper whispers, her expression serious for a moment.

"I'm sure," Skye whispers back, with a small nod that sends another droplet cascading down her collarbone.

They both turn to me simultaneously, faces transforming into expressions of exaggerated innocence. "We're ready," they announce in perfect unison, like they aren't keeping secrets right in front of me.

"Uh-huh," I say skeptically, moving toward the jet skis moored at the dock, their glossy surfaces reflecting the morning sun.

"Dad," Harper calls as she approaches the smaller one that's always been her favorite.

"Yeah?" I ask, settling down on mine, the familiar seat conforming to my body.

"Can Skye drive yours?" she asks, her tone casual but her eyes watchful.

I pause, momentarily confused. "Am I staying here, or...?"

"No," Harper clarifies quickly. "Can you teach her to drive it?"

"Oh. Yeah, I can show you," I tell Skye, holding out my hand to help her down onto the dock, trying to ignore the electricity that shoots through me when her fingers wrap around mine.

"Awesome," Harper says with suspicious enthusiasm. "So I'll meet you guys there."

"Sounds good," I reply.

"You good?" Harper checks with Skye one last time, something meaningful passing between them.

Skye smiles at my daughter and nods. "All good."

Harper takes off with practiced ease, the jet ski roaring to life beneath her as she speeds away across the water, leaving us alone. I scoot back to make room for Skye to sit in front of me, and immediately realize I might not have thought this through completely. She straddles the seat with slight hesitation, her body sliding into place, and her ass presses directly against me. The thin material of our swimwear might as well be nonexistent for all the buffer it provides against the sensation of her body against mine.

I draw a sharp breath, my hands hovering uncertainly at my sides as I try to figure out how to handle this situation without making things even more complicated between us. The scent of her skin—salt water mixed with something sweetly feminine—fills my senses, and I know with absolute certainty that this is going to be the longest jet ski ride of my life.

"Hey," I say, my voice low enough that it won't carry across the water. "I'm sorry about last night."

Skye turns her head slightly, just enough that I can see her profile against the sparkling water beyond. The sun catches the gold flecks in her green eyes, making them shimmer like the ocean surface. A slight breeze ruffles the wispy strands of light brown hair that have escaped her messy bun, dancing against her neck.

"Let's just forget about it," she says with a finality that should close the matter. The tension in her shoulders betrays her casual tone.

I give her a look that I hope conveys how genuinely sorry I am—not just empty words to smooth things over. Her shoulders tense slightly under my gaze, the delicate bones shifting beneath her sun-kissed skin.

"I'm serious," she insists, turning further to face me now. "It's fine, and I want to just put it behind us so we can enjoy the summer." Her freckles stand out against her flushed cheeks, a constellation I want to trace with my fingertips.

The words sound rehearsed, like she's been practicing them in her head, deciding exactly how to handle this moment. The careful way she's holding herself, barely breathing, tells me everything her words don't. She's affected by me as much as I am by her.