Page 38 of Chasing Sunrise

“What if we don’t catch any fish?”

The husky’s head turned back and forth as they talked as if he didn’t want to miss any detail of what they were saying.

“Don’t jinx us.” He walked to the chaise chair he’d been sleeping on and turned it to face east, overlooking the lake. “Here’s the best part.” He held the chair for her to sit. Edward hopped up and lounged at the foot of the long seat. Once Amanda settled, Kasey grabbed a regular lawn chair from beside the tent, picked up his breakfast, and sat beside her. “Sunrise.”

Since it was so close to dawn, the sky lightened moment by moment while a soft lapping of water came from the lake, and the coo of a dove echoed in the breeze.

Kasey opened the bag and pulled out a kolache, then he held the bag out to her. “You want the other one?”

“Those are both for you. I ate one on the drive.” She took a deep breath. “Have you been here before?”

“We used to camp here when I was a kid.”

What a nice profile she had. Her features were soft and pretty. Not wanting her to catch him watching her, he turned his attention to the sun’s rays streaking across the sky.

He ate both of the sausage kolaches and finished his soda. He got up and threw the trash into a garbage bag, Edward at his heels. Then he snatched two of the fishing poles and the tacklebox he’d brought and sat next to Amanda again. He worked on the lures while Amanda’s attention never wavered from the horizon. She held silent and still. He paused when the sun crested and the lake mirrored the image of the sun like molten orange lava.

“This is beautiful,” she finally broke her silence. “I’ve been wanting to go to Galveston for sunrise or sunset and haven’t made it yet.”

“My parents have a beach house in Galveston.”

She spun her head his way. “Why didn’t you invite me there?”

“I wanted to go camping.”

“I might’ve preferred the beach cabin.”

“You would’ve preferred a hotel.”

“I can’t deny that. But I am more a beach girl. I’m hoping to flip my house and buy a place in Galveston.” She lifted the can of insect repellent from the tacklebox and sprayed it over her body. “Forgive me. It isn’t bad out here. I’ll just drive back to town when I need a restroom.”

“There’s plenty of privacy around—”

“Private or not,” she interrupted him. “I’m not going to bare my essentials to a bug or an insect or an animal when I can drive twenty minutes and use a restroom.”

He grinned. “You’re essentials?”

“Yes. My essentials are important. As are yours.”

Holding in a laugh, he agreed. “For certain.”

“And unlike you, I’m not willing to haphazardly expose them to the elements and hope for the best. When your family camped here you never had a bathroom?”

“No.”

“Did you use toilet paper when—” She raised a hand midsentence. “Forget it.”

He raised his brows, taking a bit too much joy in her discomfort.

“I don’t need to know. I just hope you don’t get bit by something someday.”

“Already happened.”

She flinched.

“It didn’t happen here. We were shooting in Utah.”

“How bad was it?”

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