Page 52 of It Started at the Lake

He smiles brightly at Evie, then me. “I am. You’re Millie?”

“Yes. I’ve heard a lot about you, Eric. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Eric laughs. “Same. I was starting to think Evie was making you up.”

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” Cam says under his breath.

Evie tucks herself closer to Eric’s side. “Ignore my brother.” She glares at Cam. “Knock it off.”

Cam holds his hands out defensively, but doesn’t say anything else.

“Okay.” I clap, getting everyone’s attention on me. “What are the boundaries for the game?”

“Everyone playing has a Hales family member on their team,” Emerson says. “We know the property lines. You have to stay within those boundaries. Understood?”

I step back over to Bennett. “We’re not going to get eaten in the woods, are we?” He may think I’m joking, but my concern is legitimate.

His lips tug into a playful smile. “Nah. I’ll keep you safe.”

My heart patters like rain pelting against a window. “I’m trusting you.”

My words somehow jolt Bennett. The smile slips off his lips, and he stares at me. “Are you sure?”

I was. Until now. Why shouldn’t I trust him? “Yes?”

“Everyone, close your eyes,” Evie announces. “Emerson and Cam are hiding first. We’ll count to fifty.”

Clamping a hand over my eyes, I join in the counting. We get louder and louder the closer we get to fifty. “Ready or not, here we come!” shouts Evie.

I snag Bennett’s hand—ignoring the tingles skipping up my arm—and take off running in the direction I heard Cam and Emerson go. Bennett’s legs are longer than mine and he quickly takes the lead, but doesn’t break the connection of our palms.

We go past the side of the house, past the massive garage, until we get to the trees on the northern side of the property. Bennett slows until he comes to a complete stop. Pulling me close to him, he leans down to my ear and whispers, “There’s a ditch we used to play in when we were little up here. They might be hiding there. I don’t want to let anyone else know where we are, so try to walk softly and be quiet.”

Little does Bennett know that every whispered word, every puff of breath that hits my ear and neck, sends a wave of goosebumps across my skin. My tongue is stuck in my mouth, like I shoved a giant bite of peanut butter in it. Unable to form words, I nod, hoping Bennett thinks my silence is because he said to be quiet and not because I’m incapable of doing anything else right now.

He tugs me, and I follow. I’m sweeping the area, looking for two huddled figures. We’ve walked quite a distance, but still haven’t come across our targets. My mind wanders as we search. Is Bennett okay with us holding hands? Is he only doing it because of the game?

A twig snaps, and Bennett freezes, squeezing my palm. My heart jumps into my throat. I halt. Please don’t be a bear.

Cocking his head, Bennett listens, but no other sound (besides crickets) comes. “This way,” Bennett says, leading us in another direction.

I’m utterly useless except for straining to see two people dressed in black in the woods in the middle of the night. An owl hoots, and I flinch, unprepared for the animal to be close by. I’m really happy we’re in pairs right now. Bennett is the only thing calming me.

“Did you guys play night games a lot growing up?” I whisper, needing to get out of my head.

“We did. My earliest memory was about first or second grade. My parents let us stay up late to play hide and seek in the dark. We had to stay in the backyard though. It wasn’t until we were older that the game area broadened. What about you? Did you play games with your friends in your neighborhood?”

Our childhoods were vastly different, but I’m glad this is one tradition I can say I experienced. “Yeah. Kick the Can was what we played most often. Until middle school. Then we played sardines with the boys we liked. We were super upset if someone found our crush before we did.”

“How dare they steal your opportunity to be alone with a boy,” he teases.

“Exactly! What if my first kiss got ruined because someone else was better at searching than me?”

“Did that actually happen?”

I blurt out a laugh. Slapping a hand over my mouth, I talk through my fingers. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to be so loud. Anyway, uh, no. My first kiss was terrible and happened at a park.”

The kiss itself was okay, but what happened after was mortifying. My streak of choosing the wrong guy started at thirteen. Go figure.

---