Page 48 of Protected By the Grumpy Single Dad
She snorts. Then she sobers, glancing at the lake, then at me. “Look, I know you want to protect this town from everything—oil rigs, carpetbaggers, bad zoning, evil squirrels—”
“Those squirrelsareorganized.”
“—but today someone needed protecting from water. He did it. That’s allowed to matter.”
It does. It matters in a way that shoves at other, harder truths: Harold Swanson threatening my livelihood; H.S. Incorporated waving fat checks at every small business on Brime Street; the way Asher said “more than you know” before he swallowed it. Iwrap my towel tighter, like I can keep all of that out. It flutters anyway.
Across the sand, Brick and Asher build a lopsided moat at the edge of the shore. Every time a pontoon plows by, a new wake sloshes in, wrecks their walls, and Asher laughs like destruction is a game you’re invited to play. Brick laughs too.
“I hate this,” I whisper.
“What?” Riley asks.
“That I like him.”
She leans her shoulder into mine. “Welcome to the worst best club. We have punch.”
“Spiked?” I ask.
“With feelings.”
I groan into my towel. The afternoon slides forward: gulls wheeling overhead, sunscreen and grilled corn on the air, the marina loudspeaker making polite threats about “no glass past the rope line.” The cove groans with families packing up. At some point Brick trots over and holds out a small plastic shovel like a medal.
“For the cookies,” he says solemnly.
I blink. “What cookies?”
“The scones,” he corrects, like I should know better, then looks to Asher, who’s caught up to him. He gives me that half-smile again, the one I’m starting to suspect is more dangerous than his badge.
“Thank you,” I say, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near breathless. “For—today.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Couldn’t exactly let Lake Day end with a council meeting and a memorial.”
“Careful,” I say. “You’re starting to sound like a community person.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he says, then tips his head toward Brick. “We’re grabbing shaved ice at the marina. Want one?”
Riley materializes like a genie. “We absolutely do.”
He orders first—cherry for Brick, tiger’s blood for himself—and when I ask for lemon-lime, the teenager in the booth gives me extra on the house because “Scotty’s cinnamon rolls are life.” Asher and I stand there, plastic domes sweating in our hands, not looking at each other and very much looking at each other.
“Hey,” he says finally, low enough that only I hear. “I meant what I didn’t quite say the other day.”
“That’s maddeningly unhelpful.”
He huffs a laugh. “I care about you. That’s all.”
The words land like a small, bright stone in my chest, sinking to someplace deep and certain. We both look away at the same time, like that will keep the moment from getting bigger than it already is.
“See you around the cove, Officer Vaughn,” I say, because my mouth still needs to win something.
“Count on it, Ms. Wallace,” he says.
And I do.
Chapter fifteen
Asher
