Page 33 of Summer Showdown
My warning came too late. Our kayak scraped against the shallow bottom, tilting precariously. I overcorrected with my paddle, and in an instant, we were capsizing, tumbling into the knee-deep water with an undignified splash.
The shock of cold water momentarily silenced our argument. We scrambled to right ourselves, soaked and disoriented. A collective gasp rose from the spectators, followed by muffled laughter as we emerged dripping from the lake.
But our troubles weren't over. In our ungraceful exit, we'd veered directly into the wedding area. Our momentum had carried us straight into the flower-draped arch, sending it tilting dangerously to one side. As we watched in horror, the carefully constructed arbor collapsed with a soft crunch of breaking wood and crushed blooms.
"Oh God," I whispered, staring at the destruction we'd caused. The meticulously arranged flowers—lilies and roses in soft whites and creams—lay scattered across the wet sand. The wooden arch that had taken someone hours to build and decorate now lay in broken pieces.
In the distance, Zoe Blake was already snapping photos, her camera clicking rapidly to capture the chaos. This wasn't the kind of publicity any of us had wanted.
Wade stood ankle-deep in water, looking from the broken decor to me with an expression I couldn't quite read—somewhere between frustration and resignation.
"I'm sorry," I said, the words entirely inadequate for the mess we'd created, both literally and figuratively.
He didn't respond immediately, just waded to shore and began gathering the fallen flowers, attempting to salvage what he could. His silence hurt more than any accusation.
Other race participants began arriving, some offering help, others simply staring at the scene of destruction. I spotted Theodore and Edna's cat-themed kayak hastily beaching nearby, the mayor nearly tumbling out in his rush to reach the damaged wedding setup. They'd abandoned the race entirely after seeing what had happened, their competitive spirits forgotten in the face of potential wedding disaster. I braced myself for their anger as they hurried toward us.
But when they reached us, Edna surprised me by bursting into laughter.
"Well, this is certainly memorable!" she exclaimed, her cat-ear headband slightly askew after their rushed paddling. "I suppose it wouldn't be a proper Wintervale event without a little excitement!"
Theodore looked less amused but managed a tight smile. "We can rebuild it. There's still time before the ceremony."
Wade nodded grimly. "I'll take care of it, sir. I promise we'll have it better than new before your wedding."
"I'll help," I offered quickly, though I knew my woodworking skills were nonexistent.
"That won't be necessary," Wade said, not meeting my eyes. "You should probably get back to the inn. Pack for Chicago."
The dismissal stung like a slap. Around us, festival-goers were watching our exchange with undisguised interest, and I realized with humiliation that our real drama was now providing even better entertainment than our fake romance had.
"Wade—"
"It's fine, Lark," he said, his voice softening slightly despite his obvious frustration. "Go do what you need to do. That's how it's always been, right? Your career comes first. I get it."
But he didn't understand—not really. And I wasn't sure I did either. All I knew was that standing there in soaked clothes, watching the man I’d fallen head-over-heels for despite my own intentions gathering pieces of something once beautiful, now broken.
I turned and walked away, water squishing in my shoes with each step, feeling the weight of eyes on my back as I retreated. Behind me, I could hear Zoe's voice asking Wadequestions, the mayor making an announcement about a slight delay in the wedding ceremony, the regatta continuing.
By the time I reached the path leading back to the Evergreen Inn, my clothes had begun to dry in patches, stiff with lake water. I'd left my phone and wallet in the small waterproof pouch attached to our kayak, which meant I'd have to return eventually. But not now. Not while the humiliation was still fresh.
Bramble met me halfway up the path, his small black form bounding toward me with obvious delight. He circled my legs, unconcerned by my damp state, offering unconditional affection when I needed it most.
"At least someone's still happy to see me," I murmured, bending to scratch behind his ears.
As we walked together up the path, I found myself wondering how I'd managed to cause so much damage in such a short time. I'd arrived in Wintervale seeking refuge from one disaster, only to create an entirely new one.
The Chicago Lark—precise, controlled, strategic—would already be packing, compartmentalizing emotions, focusing on the next professional challenge.
But I wasn't entirely that person anymore.
And as I climbed the stairs to the Larkspur Suite with Bramble at my heels, I realized I didn't want to be.
Chapter Eight
Wade
I worked alone on the lakeshore, carefully collecting the scattered pieces of the wedding arch. The white lilies were crushed, their sweet scent still lingering despite the damage. My shirt had dried in patches, stiff with lake water and sweat as I methodically sorted salvageable decorations from the ruined ones.
