Page 32 of Defending What's Mine

“Great,” I say wryly. “My first fake fiancé date and I’m squatting at a lake.”

“Trust me.” There’s humor in his tone, but it’s gentle.

I lower myself a bit.

“Now flick your wrist when you release. Don’t just throw—spin it.”

I exhale and let the stone fly. It plunks unceremoniously into the water.

I groan. “That was pathetic.”

He laughs, the sound rich and unguarded. “Not bad for a first try.”

“Liar.”

“Could have been worse. First time I did it I didn’t even make it into the lake.” He crouches again, selects another stone, and this time positions himself beside me. His arm brushes mine as he demonstrates the motion again. The proximity is maddening—in a good way.

“Again?” he asks.

I nod, determined. “Again.”

We fall into an easy rhythm. He selects stones, and I attempt (and mostly fail) to skip them. But I’m laughing now, the kind that starts in your belly and takes over until your cheeks ache. The stress of the past days melts beneath each throw.

“You’re getting better,” he says, after my fourth attempt actually skips twice.

“Two skips. We’re practically Olympic material.”

“Gold medal, obviously.” He smirks. “For enthusiasm.”

I glance at him, catching the rare softness in his eyes. Not just the hyper-alert protector now, but a man who can laugh by a lake, who can enjoy something simple.

The breeze stirs the surface of the water, and for a beat I forget why we’re even here. It’s just me, Asher, and this perfect morning that feels startlingly real despite how fake everything else has been.

I hug my arms around myself and look out over the lake. “This almost makes me forget everything else.”

He watches me for a moment. “Good. You deserve that.”

The sincerity in his voice sends a different kind of ripple through me. I meet his gaze, finding something steady there. Something I don’t want to analyze too hard right now.

Instead, I smile and nudge his arm. “Next time, you’re bringing two coffees and a thermos of hot cocoa.”

His mouth curves. “Noted. Mission priority: caffeine and cocoa.”

I laugh. “Now you’re learning.”

We linger by the water a while longer, tossing the last of the stones and soaking in the sun. Eventually, he checks his watch and nods toward the trail.

“Time to head back. You’ve got to look convincingly in love for later, remember?”

I groan, rolling my eyes. “Ah yes, the performance of a lifetime.”

“You’re doing better than you think,” he says quietly.

I glance at him, caught again by the sincerity in his tone. Maybe I am. Or maybe, for a moment by this lake, it hadn’t felt like a performance at all.

As we start back toward the resort, I catch myself smiling again—for real this time—and wonder if skipping rocks should be a mandatory first date.

Even if it’s all pretend. Right?

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