Page 86 of One Wrong Move

I look at the row of boats waiting patiently for new occupants.

“What do you think?” I ask Harper.

She’s already walking to the dock. “I’m in if you are!”

Ten minutes later, sitting at the back of the rowboat, I’m maneuvering us to the middle of the pond. I lift the oars out of the water, and watch her look around with that same dreamy, contemplative look she gets sometimes.

Like she’s truly and completely present in the moment. Enjoying it to the fullest, and not thinking about work, or what to have for dinner, or reaching for her phone.

She just is, and I love watching her just be.

“I think,” she says, “I’ll add this to my thirty list.”

“Add it retroactively?”

“Yes. It’s my list, so my rules.”

I chuckle. “I approve entirely.” The sun is hot, and I reach for the sleeves of my white button-down, rolling them up, and feel sweat beading on my forehead.

“You look just as you should,” she says.

I frown at her. “What does that mean?”

A flush creeps up her cheeks. “Well, in books and movies, the men wear these billowing white shirts. Although yours does have a bit less lace.”

I chuckle. “A bit. Yeah.”

“And you’re not wearing Hessians.”

“Hessian what?”

“Hessian boots. But the rest is pretty accurate.” She looks around at the estate and tourists walking the grounds. “It’s like we’re in the middle of a historical romance or one of Jane Austen’s stories.”

“Mm-hmm. Except we drove a car to get here, paid entry, and we’re not dressed appropriately…”

Harper scoops a handful of water and sends a few drops in my direction. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

I chuckle. “Fine. I’ll be perfectly silent, then, like a gentleman of old.”

“I’m not sure they were very silent. I’m probably supposed to be the silent one if we’re playing by those rules.”

I look at her, at the blush on her cheeks, and her warm eyes. Take the moment to appreciate the voice that I will never tire of hearing. “Then we’re not.”

She smiles at me. “Okay. Then we’re not.”

We’re just floating out on the pond. Happiness fills my chest to the brim. Something I’ve missed for longer than I realized, when I was existing but hardly thriving.

The smile still hangs on Harper’s face. She looks down at the sparkling surface and drags her fingers through the waning waves. “I don’t think I could have handled living in a historical novel,” she says. “As much as they’re my comfort reads, I would miss running wa?—”

Harper

My hand touches something smooth cutting through the water. A snake, swimming gracefully and almost imperceptibly along the surface. I shriek and scramble away from the edge of the boat, making it rock violently in the process.

“Harper!” Nate says.

I scramble to find purchase, which sends us into another rough sway from side to side.

Nate throws himself toward me, but it’s too late. I’m already tipping too far back. His lunge for me obliterated the balance, making the rowboat seesaw worse than a drunken pirate on leave, and we both tumble overboard.

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