Page 71 of Barefoot Lake

“Time to clean you up.”

In the time it takes me to blink, her expression turns purely mischievous.

“Or it’s time for you to get messy.”

Before I can leap away from my little demon, she swipes paint across my forearm and bolts down the driveway. She’s quick and has a few seconds head start, but I catch up easily enough and grab her around her middle. She squeals when I fling her over my shoulder and band an arm over her legs to hold her in place.

The maneuver gets even more paint on me from her and the brush still clutched in her hand, but I find that I don’t care. She squirms and kicks, but I’ve got a good hold on her. I smack her ass beside my head.

“Behave.”

“Never!” she hisses, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure she begins to paint as much of my butt as she can reach.

This woman.

I hike her further up on my shoulder and head back toward the garage, pulling the door closed and locking it with my free hand before grabbing her keys and bag from the back of my truck.

It’s a bit tricky taking the steps to the front door and unlocking it with a whole-ass human on my shoulder, but Alice’s wisecrack of “You could just put me down if this is too difficult for you,” means I’d rather slip a disk than admit defeat.

As I kick the door closed, she quips again.

“Are you pleased with yourself, caveman?”

I drop her bag and kick off my shoes.

“No, but I will be soon.” And I charge up the stairs to drop her fully clothed into the shower under an icy spray.

I hold Alice across my lap and play with the ends of her damp hair. The wet spot it makes on my shoulder is a nice contrast to the warmth from the fire bowl in front of us and the large blanket wrapped around us. We’re quietly watching the sun disappear behind the mountains on the far side of Barefoot Lake and making s’mores on Alice’s back patio. She holds the skewer for toasting marshmallows. I hold her. It’s a good setup.

“I know you’re a morning person,” Alice whispers against my skin, consistently turning the marshmallow in the flames like a s’mores pro. “But this is my favorite time of day. It’s like the world is telling us that it’s ok to rest, now.”

I hum in agreement against her hair, feeling more relaxed with her than I have in a long, long time.

A breeze lifts some crisping leaves from where they were barely hanging on to a tree, and we watch them float down to the lake’s surface.

“I think I came here at the right time, too,” Alice continues. “I know it was too cold to go in the water, but it’s impossible not to fall in love with Barefoot Lake in the fall. I mean, look at it all.”

The trees have lost some of their foliage, but there are still sizable patches of vibrant yellows, reds, and oranges in the trees and blanketing the ground. In the setting sun, they look like painted fire.

The actual fire before us pops loudly, drawing Alice’s attention back to it. She removes the metal skewer from the flames and sandwiches the charred marshmallow between the graham crackers and chocolate she prepared. She holds it up before me, and I take a bite before she does. Her technique to blacken the outside while keeping the inside gooey was worth it.

“Perfect,” she murmurs as she does her happy food shimmy. She’s right. Everything about this night is perfect.

“So did you? Fall in love with Barefoot Lake, I mean?” I ask tentatively.

“I really think I did.” She sighs sadly, though.

“But you have to go back to Boston?” I know the answer, but I ask anyway. Hopeful.

“I think I do.” Alice opens her mouth to say something else but seems to reconsider. After a pause, she says, “Moving up in the department took a lot of work and sacrifice. I owe it to Mom not to abandon it.”

She sounds sad, but I’m unsure if she’s sad thinking about Rain or her own future.

My bite of s’mores suddenly feels like a rock in my stomach.

Just a few hours ago, we were planning Thanksgiving together. How is it possible that we’re talking about her leaving now?

Would it be temporary? Would she come back? Would we last? Do I even have a right to ask these questions?