Page 20 of Summer Showdown
The mention of his father's departure triggered a memory of my own father's emotional absence despite his physical presence in our home. Always working, always distant, a shadow at the dinner table rather than a participant in our lives.
"My grandmother practically raised me," I found myself saying. "My parents were... present but preoccupied. Dad was a federal judge, Mom ran her charitable foundation. I spent more time with my grandmother than either of them."
Wade nodded, not offering platitudes or pity, just quiet understanding. "She must have been quite a woman."
"She was." I twisted her sapphire ring absently. "Tough as nails but incredibly loving. She always said excellence was non-negotiable for women like us." I smiled faintly at the memory. "According to her, mediocrity was a luxury we couldn't afford."
"Sounds like she shaped who you became," Wade observed, his gaze dropping to the ring. "That hers?"
I nodded. "She gave it to me when I graduated law school. Said to wear it whenever I needed to remember who I was."
A timer dinged in the kitchen, breaking the moment. "That's the pasta," Wade said. "Hope you're hungry."
Dinner was served on the back porch, the setting sun casting long shadows across the yard as we ate Wade's surprisingly excellent pasta primavera. The conversation flowed naturally, topics ranging from favorite books to worst childhood mishaps (his involving a disastrous attempt to build a tree house at age nine, mine concerning an ill-fated debate tournament where I'd fainted mid-rebuttal).
As twilight deepened, Wade brought out a second bottle of wine and refilled our glasses. The soft chirping of crickets provided a gentle soundtrack to our conversation as he described his vision for an indoor aquatic facility in Wintervale.
"The lake is beautiful, but it's only usable a few months of the year," he explained, leaning forward with obvious passion. "An indoor facility would mean year-round swimming lessons, water safety courses for all ages, therapeutic swimming for seniors. The possibilities are endless."
"That's why you agreed to our charade," I realized aloud. "If the festival brings in more tourism dollars..."
"Exactly. More visibility for the town means more funding for community projects." He took a sip of wine, his gaze turning contemplative. "After what happened with Logan, I realized how many kids in the county don't have basic water safety skills."
"What happened with Logan?" I asked gently, sensing we were approaching something significant.
Wade was quiet for a moment, swirling the wine in his glass. "Three years ago, Logan nearly drowned in the lake," he finally said, his voice tight with emotion. "I was at a teaching conference in Bozeman, two hours away. By the time I got the call, a passing kayaker had already performed CPR, and they were rushing him to the hospital."
My heart constricted at the pain in his voice. "That must have been terrifying."
"The worst day of my life," he admitted quietly. "Sitting in that hospital waiting room, not knowing if he'd make it... I've never felt so helpless. It changed everything for me."
"Is that when you moved back to Wintervale?" I asked, remembering Tyler mentioning Wade had returned from somewhere.
He nodded. "I was teaching shop in Bozeman then. After the accident, I realized that home isn't about a place—it's about people. My people were here in Wintervale, and they needed me." His expression turned rueful. "My girlfriend however feltdifferently. She wanted the bigger city, the career opportunities. I couldn't blame her for that."
The revelation of this past relationship sent an unexpected pang through me. I pushed it aside, focusing instead on the deeper meaning of his story. "So you came back and started the water safety program."
"Seemed like the only thing that made sense," he said simply. "If I could prevent even one family from going through what we did with Logan... well, that would be worth everything."
In that moment, I saw Wade Foster with complete clarity—not as the charming small-town lifeguard playing along with a publicity stunt, but as a man of profound integrity who had built his life around what truly mattered to him. The contrast with the calculated career ambitions that had driven my own choices was stark and unsettling.
The quiet between us stretched, comfortable yet charged with something unnamed. Wade's gaze met mine across the table, the intensity in his blue eyes making my breath catch. Slowly, deliberately, he reached across and took my hand, his thumb tracing small circles against my palm.
I should have pulled away. Our agreement had been clear—no intimate moments when cameras weren't present. Yet I found myself leaning toward him, drawn by a force I couldn't name and didn't want to resist.
His lips met mine gently at first, a question more than a demand. When I responded, the kiss deepened, becoming something neither of us had planned but both seemingly wanted with unexpected urgency. His hand cradled my face with surprising tenderness, and I found myself melting into the contact, all thoughts of professional boundaries evaporating like morning mist.
When we finally broke apart, reality crashed back with sobering force. This wasn't part of our arrangement. This wasn't for Zoe's camera or the Mayor's festival or anyone else's benefit. This was real—and that made it dangerous.
I stood abruptly, nearly knocking over my wine glass. "I should go," I said, hating how breathless I sounded. "It's getting late."
Wade rose too, confusion and something like hurt flashing across his features. "Lark—"
"Thank you for dinner," I continued, gathering my purse with trembling fingers. "And the kayak lesson. I'll... I'll see you at the Artisan Market tomorrow as planned."
"At least let me drive you back to the inn," he offered, his voice carefully neutral now.
"No need. It's close, and the walk will do me good. Give me time to think." I couldn't meet his eyes, afraid of what I might see there—or what he might see in mine.
