Page 47 of Protected By the Grumpy Single Dad
He nods. I manage a smile that feels like it’s made of brittle glass. He holds the look a breath too long, and my stomach does a slow, traitorous roll.
“Really, Jasmine.” Riley groans. “Just march over there and throw your lips at him.”
I choke. “What is wrong with you?”
“How about we stop with the faux-oblivious act? It’s not playing well.”
I flop back, shades pitched at the sky—the endless blue broken by a circling osprey and a single white cloud like a scoop of whipped cream. I try to let the brightness burn awayAsher Thoughts. It doesn’t work.
Do I like him?No. Absolutely not. He’s smug and stubborn and thinks the law is a blanket he can throw over nuance. I could say he’s passive—but then I remember him squaring off with two thieves in my diner. The last thing he is, is passive.
A scream rips through the lake air.
“Sabrina!” a woman shrieks. Heads snap up. Half the people on the sand surge toward the waterline, eyes wide, hands cupped to block the glare.
“What is—” I start, already standing.
“Someone’s kid!” Riley is up too, scanning. “There’s no lifeguard—this is exactly what I was worried about—”
“Somebody help!” the woman wails, voice shredding with panic. Out past the swim buoys, a small pair of hands slap at thesurface, then vanish. A moment later they pop up again—little mouth, big gasps, the lake’s chop smacking her face.
“Can anyone swim?” a man shouts uselessly, as if that’s the problem.
A figure breaks from the crowd and sprints for the shallows. He dives clean, slicing under the whitecaps from a passing pontoon, and arrowing straight for the girl.
Asher.
My lungs forget their job as he closes the distance with sharp, efficient strokes. He reaches her, turns her, gets his arm under her chin the way you’re taught—heknowsthis—and starts for shore. He keeps her face tipped out of the water when another wake rolls through. A kid in a kayak turns away from the buoys so fast he nearly flips.
Asher hits knee-deep water and stands, hefting the girl into his arms as the lake slides off them in glittering sheets. He lays her on the sand just past the wet line and checks for breathing. Her chest is still. He seals her nose, tilts her chin, and gives a breath. One, two compressions—calm, steady. The girl’s mother drops to the sand, hands fisted under her chin like prayer.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs, which I can hear because I’ve drifted closer without realizing it. “Come on. Breathe.”
She sputters. Coughs. A thin stream of lake water spills from the corner of her mouth. She coughs again, harder this time, and the entire cove exhales at once. Applause breaks everywhere—ragged, relieved, ridiculous—and then immediately stops because her mother is crying and clutching and kissing every inch of her face.
“She still needs to get checked out,” Asher says, voice firm but gentle, his breath sawing. “Take her to Urgent Care or page the park ranger—they’ll radio Lake Patrol.”
I don’t realize I’ve moved to the front of the crowd until he rises and we’re practically toe-to-toe. Sand clings to his knees, to his forearms, to the sharp V of his hips. His eyes lift to mine.
Everything else bleaches out. The noise, the people, the lake.
Riley was right. (Man, I hate saying that.)
I’m in love with Asher Vaughn.
How the hell did I get here?
“What a day,” Riley mutters later, collapsing back onto the mat like a puppet with cut strings. She’s just finished ferrying Sabrina and her mom to the ranger cart, which whisked them toward the parking lot. “I owe Lake Patrol a fruit basket. And Asher a… medal? Cookie? What do you give a man who casually saves lives before lunch?”
“Sunblock?” I say, because my mouth thinks it’s funny. My hands won’t stop shaking.
Riley levels me a look. “You’re rattled.”
“I’m fine.” I’m not. “It’s just—he—” I break off, because Asher is across the cove with Brick again, talking low, ruffling his hair. He’s back in his T-shirt. He looks ordinary. He is not ordinary.
“Just go say thank you like a normal person,” Riley says. “Maybe don’t lead with your usual ‘the law is a hammer’ speech.”
“I don’t give that speech,” I lie.
