Page 15 of Summer Showdown
"Are you gonna be at the water safety class tomorrow?" Logan asked me. "I've been practicing the rescue technique you showed me."
"I'll be there," I promised, ruffling his hair the way I had since he was small. "Wouldn't miss it."
Logan beamed, then glanced at his watch. "I better get back before Mom freaks. See you tomorrow!" He waved and jogged off in the direction of town.
"He really looks up to you," Lark observed once Logan was out of earshot.
My throat tightened slightly. "He's a good kid. His mom—my mom's twin sister—had him after several miscarriages. He's her miracle child."
"That explains the protective vibe I sense from you," Lark said softly.
I shrugged, not wanting to go into further detail. We continued walking in comfortable silence until we spottedtwo familiar figures approaching—the mayor and Edna again, apparently enjoying their own evening stroll.
"Well, well," Theodore called out as they neared. "Great minds think alike, it seems."
"Just showing Lark the lake at sunset," I explained.
As they continued on their way, I noticed Zoe Blake in the distance, camera raised. Without thinking, I reached for Lark's hand, interlacing our fingers.
"Paparazzo at three o'clock," I murmured.
Lark's hand tensed momentarily in mine, then relaxed. "Is she always lurking around corners?"
"Pretty much," I admitted. "Small town, remember? Not much happens that Zoe doesn't document."
We stood there, hand in hand, until Zoe disappeared down the path. But even after she was gone, neither of us immediately let go. Lark's hand fit perfectly in mine, her skin warm and soft, making me hope my calloused fingers weren’t a complete turn-off. When she finally pulled away, the absence of her touch left an unexpected emptiness.
The sun had nearly set, the sky deepening from orange to purple. "I should get you back to the inn," I said. "It's getting late."
We walked back to my truck in silence, both lost in our own thoughts. The drive to the Evergreen Inn was equally quiet, but not uncomfortably so. When I pulled up to the entrance, I shut off the engine and came around to open her door.
"Thank you for tonight," Lark said as she stepped down. "It was... nicer than I expected."
"High praise," I teased. "We aim to please here in Wintervale."
She smiled—a genuine smile that reached her eyes. "Goodnight, Wade."
"Goodnight, Lark. I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon for that kayak lesson?"
"I'll be ready," she promised.
I watched as she climbed the steps to the inn's front porch, disappearing through the ornate wooden doors. Starting the truck again, I sat there for a moment, trying to sort through my confusing thoughts.
This was supposed to be simple—a mutually beneficial arrangement with clearly defined boundaries. So why did I find myself genuinely looking forward to seeing her tomorrow? Why did the sweet smell of her lingering scent cause my chest to tighten? And why, despite all my reservations and the knowledge that she'd be leaving in two weeks, was I already dreading saying goodbye to Lark Hayes?
I drove home slowly, the stars emerging in the clear night sky above Wintervale. My mind wandered back to Vanessa—how she'd looked at me with disdain when she'd ended things, explaining that she needed someone more "ambitious," someone who could give her the life she deserved beyond Wintervale. The memory still stung, a reminder that I wasn't enough for someone who wanted more than this town could offer. And Lark—successful, beautiful, sophisticated Lark—would surely want more too.
As I pulled into my driveway, I couldn't shake the feeling that, despite my best intentions, I was already breaking the first rule we'd established.
Keep it professional. Don't get personally involved.
Too late, a voice in my head whispered. Too late by far.
Chapter Five
Lark
I awoke to sunlight streaming through the lace curtains of the Larkspur Suite, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. No blaring alarm, no immediate rush of adrenaline pushing me toward the day's obligations. Just... quiet. The distant sound of birdsong and the gentle rustling of tree branches against the window.
