I run a palm down the length of my face, groaning. “Finley, you can’t say things like that while licking a spoon and holding eye contact.”
She leans on the counter for support, her chuckle growing louder. “But it’s so fun.”
I fix her with the most serious look I can muster. “You’re trouble.”
She lifts a shoulder in a shrug, her cheeks still pink from laughter, her mouth still stretched wide in a heart-stopping smile. “Never said I wasn’t.”
Forty-five minutes later, we’resitting on my dock, a plate of brownies between us, vanilla bean ice cream melting in the summer heat. Our feet dangle in the water—because it’s the only way it’s cool enough to sit outside—and the sounds of cicadas and owls echo over the lake beyond.
“Don’t tell Mom,” Finley says, scooping another bite of brownie and ice cream onto her spoon, “but I think your brownies might be better than hers.”
I grin at her. “I’m absolutely telling.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she says, holding her spoon upside down in her mouth, eyes narrowing sternly.
“What’ll you give me to keep quiet?”
“You’re blackmailing me?” She sounds incredulous, even as her smile hitches higher.
I hold my fingers an inch apart. “Only a little.”
She bumps her shoulder with mine. “So what’s the secret?”
“I add more salt than she does. One time, I misread the recipe and used a fourth of a tablespoon instead of a fourth of ateaspoon. I thought they came out even better, so that’s what I do now.”
“And you never told Mom?” she asks, quirking her brows.
“Are you kidding? I’m not going to tell her I perfected her recipe.”
A smile breaks across her face, her eyes widening in triumph. “I’mgoing to tell her you said that you perfected her recipe.”
I dip my chin in a nod, holding back a grin. “Well played, Blankenship. Truce?”
She takes my proffered hand, shaking it, and a tingle of awareness shoots up from it, making my whole body feel like a live wire. I don’t know how she has this much of an effect over me, that a simple touch feels better than anything else with anyone else.
“Truce,” she echoes, taking her hand back and glancing out at the darkened lake, the water glistening under the bright moon and stars. “I would never get over this view if I were you.”
“You should see it first thing in the morning.”
Her eyes skate back to me, a grin quirking her lips. “Does that line usually work for you?”
A laugh jumps out of me, erasing the last bit of tension leftover from dinner from my body. She watches me as if she’s reading it, her expression growing more and more carefree with the sound.
A second later, she stands, extending a hand to me. “I want to swim.”
I stare up at her for a long moment. “It’s dark.”
“You know, it’s crazy,” she says, her free hand planting on her hip. “But there is actually still a lake out there even in the dark.”
“Okay, smart-ass.” I grab her hand and pull myself up.
The cocky smile dissolves the second I reach over my head and tug my shirt off. Her eyes trace over the contours of my body, taking me in as I strip off my shorts and stand before her in just a pair of black boxer briefs.
My hand finds her chin, tipping it up until her eyes connect with mine. “Eyes up here, sweetheart.”
And then I jump into the lake, landing with a loud splash, breaking the quietness of the summer night. The water is refreshingly cold, and I savor the way it feels against my overheated skin, swimming around to face the dock. Treading water, I flash Finley my teeth in the darkness. “What’re you waiting for?”
Staring down from the dock, looking decidedly less confident than a moment before, she asks, “Is it cold?”
