Page 26 of The Love Clause

And then she's reaching for me, grabbing the front of my soaking wet shirt, and I think she's going to shake me or push me away. Instead, I find myself pulling her toward me, closing the distance between us in the unstable canoe, driven by an impulse I can't name or control.

Our lips crash together with none of the hesitation or politeness of our "practice" kisses. This is raw, urgent, a release of tension that's been building since that first meeting in her chaotic apartment. Her mouth is warm despite her cold skin, and she tastes faintly of lake water and something sweeter, more distinctly her. My hands find her waist, pulling her closer despite the awkward angle and the very real danger of capsizing again.

She makes a small sound against my mouth—surprise or approval, I can't tell—and then her fingers are in my hair, cold and insistent. The canoe rocks dangerously, but I can't bring myself to care. All that matters is this moment, this connection that burns through the chill of wet clothes and rational thought.

When we finally break apart, breathing hard, the canoe has somehow remained upright. Josie's eyes are wide, her lips slightly parted in what might be shock. I feel similarly destabilized, as if the ground beneath me has shifted without warning.

"That was..." she begins, then stops, apparently at a loss for words for perhaps the first time since I've met her.

"A tactical error," I finish for her, already rebuilding the walls her kiss just shattered. "I apologize. I shouldn't have?—"

"Are you seriously apologizing right now?" She stares at me in disbelief. "After that?"

"It was inappropriate. We're here for a specific purpose, and physical entanglements beyond what's necessary for appearances?—"

"Oh my god." She shakes her head, a mix of frustration and something that might be hurt flashing across her face. "You really are impossible."

"I'm being realistic," I insist, though the taste of her still lingers on my lips, making a mockery of my attempted professionalism. "What happened was…a release of tension. A momentary lapse in judgment exacerbated by the stress of our situation and perhaps mild hypothermia."

"Mild hypothermia," she repeats flatly. "That's your explanation for what just happened?"

"It's the most logical conclusion."

She stares at me for a long moment, then turns away, facing forward in the canoe. "Fine. Hypothermia it is."

"Josie—"

"No, you're right." Her voice is tight, controlled in a way that's more concerning than her usual expressiveness. "This is a business arrangement. We're here for a purpose. Let's just get back to shore before we both die of 'mild hypothermia' and ruin your big deal."

She begins paddling with renewed focus, her back rigid. I follow her lead, settling into a rhythm that propels us steadily toward the shore where the other canoes have already begun to return. The silence between us feels weighted, significant in a way I don't fully understand.

As the shore grows closer, I find myself replaying the kiss in my mind—the softness of her lips, the urgency of her touch, the way something inside me seemed to unlock in that moment. It wasn't like the careful, practiced kisses we'd exchanged for show. It was real. Dangerously real.

We reach the shore in uncharacteristic silence. Chad helps us beach the canoe, commenting cheerfully on our "second baptism" in the lake and how we've already had "the full experience." Josie offers him a tight smile that doesn't reach her eyes, then heads immediately toward the lodge without waiting for me.

Harrison intercepts me as I follow at a more measured pace, my wet clothes heavy and uncomfortable. "Bit of trouble out there, eh?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Just a slight coordination issue," I reply, striving for dignity despite my bedraggled appearance.

"Reminds me of Margaret and me in our early days," he says nostalgically. "We capsized three times on our honeymoon. Ended up being some of our favorite memories."

I make a noncommittal sound, unsure how to respond to this unexpected confidence.

"The best partnerships have friction, Elliot," he continues, patting my soaked shoulder. "It's the ones where everything's too smooth you have to worry about. No heat there, no passion."

Heat and passion are precisely what I'm trying to avoid thinking about at the moment. "We should change before the afternoon activities," I say instead.

"Of course, of course." He nods toward the lodge, where Josie has already disappeared inside. "Better catch up. She looked a bit…stormy."

I find her in our suite, already stripped of her wet outer layers and wrapped in one of the lodge's plush robes. Barney dances around her feet in greeting, then approaches me with similar enthusiasm, apparently not holding a grudge about being left behind.

"I'm going to shower," she announces without looking at me. "Unless you need the bathroom first?"

"Go ahead," I say, watching her move stiffly across the room, gathering dry clothes.

As she closes the bathroom door, I sink onto the edge of the bed, still dripping lake water onto the hardwood floor. Barney hops up beside me, his small body vibrating with excitement at our return.

"It didn't mean anything," I tell him, as if the dog might offer absolution for my lapse in judgment. "It was just…circumstances."

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