Page 23 of The Love Clause

"The trail is rated 'easy to moderate,'" he says, some of the tension leaving his expression. "Though I suppose I could carry you if necessary."

The image of Elliot carrying me up a mountain path—his arms secure around me, his face close to mine—sends an unwelcome heat through my body. "I'll manage," I say quickly. "Though you might need to help Barney. His little legs weren't made for mountain climbing."

"I draw the line at carrying the dog."

"We'll see," I tease, falling into step beside him as we head inside. "He can be very persuasive when he wants to be."

As we walk through the lodge toward our suite, I'm acutely aware of Elliot beside me—his measured stride, the lingering warmth of his hand on my back, the way other guests smile knowingly at us as we pass. We're playing our parts well, perhaps too well. The line between pretense and reality feels increasingly blurry.

Blake's business card sits in my pocket like a talisman—a reminder that there's a real world waiting beyond this weekend, beyond this strange bubble where I'm temporarily someone else. Someone who belongs on the arm of a man like Elliot Carrington.

The problem is, I'm starting to forget that it's all pretend. Worse still, I'm starting to wish it wasn’t.

NINE

Elliot

There are approximatelysix hundred and forty-three activities I would prefer to a "couples' canoe experience." Root canal without anesthesia. Audit by the IRS. Dinner with my father. Yet here I stand at the edge of a disgustingly picturesque lake, life vest secure over my now-casual attire (no tie, slacks exchanged for what Claire assured me were "appropriate outdoor pants"), watching Josie bounce on her toes with inexplicable enthusiasm. The woman who complained about a moderate hiking trail is somehow excited about an unstable watercraft requiring coordination we've repeatedly proven we lack.

"Have you ever been in a canoe before?" I ask, eyeing the fiberglass vessels lined up on the shore with profound suspicion.

"Nope!" Josie's cheerfulness about this fact is concerning. "But how hard can it be? You paddle, it moves. Basic physics."

"Basic physics also dictates that objects with high centers of gravity in narrow boats tend to capsize."

"Someone's a grumpy paddler," she teases, adjusting her life vest. She's wearing shorts that reveal legs I've been trying not to notice and a fitted t-shirt under her safety gear. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, tendrils already escaping around her face. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I left it in my other pants, along with my desire to get hypothermia in a mountain lake."

"The water's not that cold." She bends down to touch the surface, then jerks her hand back. "Okay, it's pretty cold. But refreshing! Probably!"

Mr. Harrison approaches, clipboard in hand like this is a military operation rather than forced recreation. "Ah, the Carringtons! Ready for some quality bonding time?"

"We're not—" I begin automatically, before catching myself. "We're not actually married yet, sir."

"Semantics, my boy!" Harrison claps my shoulder with unnecessary force. "You're in the blue canoe, third from the left. The activities director will give everyone basic instructions before launch."

"I requested that Barney remain in our suite," I tell Josie as Harrison moves on to the next couple. "I didn't think he'd appreciate water sports."

"Probably for the best," she agrees. "He hates baths—a lake would blow his little doggy mind. Did you leave him enough toys?"

"I left him with everything in your 'emergency Barney kit' plus the hotel catering service has been instructed to deliver a suitable lunch for him." I pause, realizing how this sounds. "It seemed efficient."

Her smile grows impossibly wider. "You ordered room service for my dog?"

"It was simpler than trying to explain why we had a dog in our room when pets aren't technically?—"

"You like him," she interrupts, delight evident in her voice. "You're totally bonding with Barney!"

"I'm being practical," I insist, though the truth is more complicated. The small creature had looked at me with such mournful eyes when I prepared to leave that I found myself outlining his afternoon schedule in soothing tones, as if he could understand English.

"Whatever you say, dog dad." She pats my arm condescendingly. "Now let's go tip over a canoe."

"That's not the objective," I remind her, but she's already skipping toward our assigned vessel.

The activities director—a relentlessly enthusiastic young man named Chad—gives a brief tutorial on proper paddling technique, canoe safety, and what to do if we capsize. I listen with appropriate attention. Josie appears to be watching a butterfly.

"The person in the back steers," Chad explains. "The person in front sets the pace. Communication is key!"

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