Travis (Pelion Lake) by Mia Sheridan

She laughed. “A swim? In the lake?”

“Well, I think our crew would be mildly scandalized if we took a swim in that old clawfoot tub upstairs.”

She snorted softly. “Probably so.”

“What do you say?”

She glanced behind her at the lake, shimmering under the lowering sun. “It does look tempting,” she said, “except that I don’t know how to swim.”

I brought my head back. “You don’t?”

She shook her head. “No lakes in the inner city.”

I regarded her for a moment. Of course, there had to be pools and other ways city kids learned how to swim, but if her mother didn’t provide food on a regular basis . . . My gut clenched. “I usually only wade in anyway,” I lied. “Mostly for the coolness of the water.”

She glanced at the lake again, bringing her hand up and running it seemingly unconsciously over her shoulder, surely hot from the burn. Out in the distance there was a lone kayak, just a speck on the horizon. All the boats had returned to dock.

For a moment I thought she’d say no, and I realized I was holding my breath. I let it out slowly, as her eyes returned to me. Please say yes. I wasn’t ready to say goodnight. Not yet. This wasn’t me. I didn’t wait for women to say yes. I never had. Yet, here I was . . . waiting. Hoping.

“All right,” she said softly.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN




Travis



It only took moments to change. I hadn’t brought a swimsuit to the B&B, but I’d brought some running shorts that would work just fine. I grabbed a towel and headed back outside to wait on the shore.

The kayaker was still out in the lake, slightly closer than he or she had been before, but still too distant to determine anything specific about who it might be. The breeze was slight, gentle, and the water was still but for the soft lapping of the shore. The sun had burned away into early evening, and the trees to the left of the dock shaded the small portion of private beach so that it felt cool and intimate. The house was far enough away that it was barely visible. A quiet, refreshing reprieve from the noise and heat of the day.

I spread my towel out on a rock and took the few steps toward the sandy shore, staring out at the lake.

“It feels so incredibly peaceful here,” Haven said as she approached.

I turned, swallowing as I took her in. She was wearing a black bikini, a pair of jean shorts over the bottoms, and her gaze was trained on the water. It gave me an opportunity to drink her in without her watching me stare.

Her breasts were small-ish, but high and round, her nipples pebbled under the thin material of the swimsuit as though the slight breeze off the lake had chilled her. She’d taken out her braid and piled her hair on top of her head. And her skin. I already knew her skin was smooth and olive toned, but there was so much of it. Her arms, her shoulders, and her curved waist. And those legs. Long and slim, darker than that of her flat, bared stomach.

“You don’t swim, but you have a swimsuit,” I said inanely, mostly to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth.

She smiled. “I like to sit at the edge of water, I just don’t usually go in.”

“It’ll feel nice,” I said, again inanely.

Her gaze lingered on me. “Yes. It will.”

There was a slightly awkward pause, broken by Haven stepping to the rock where I’d dropped my towel and depositing hers in the same spot. Her hands moved to the button of her shorts and I took in a shallow breath, turning toward the lake to give her a moment of privacy while she undressed.

I waded into the cool water, listening for her approach behind me, my heart thrumming with anticipation. The moment felt . . . new somehow, in a way I couldn’t articulate, as if swimming with a pretty girl in a bikini was something I’d never done, when in actuality, that was far from the truth.

The water was especially clear here, and I could see my feet on the sandy bottom as I moved deeper into the lake, until the water touched my thighs. I turned at the soft splashing sounds of Haven stepping into the lake behind me, and oh God, she was beautiful. With her shorts off, I could see the entire shape of her body, and I visualized what was beneath the small triangles of material, my body growing hot.

“God, this feels nice,” she said, walking in farther and using her hands to swish the water at her sides. I smiled, squinting at her as she joined me.

For a moment we stood together, looking at the lake, Haven’s hands continuing to move serenely. “What a dream this place is,” she sighed.

“Not always,” I said.

She turned her eyes to me, tilting her head at whatever she’d heard in my tone. What a dream. She’d said something similar at the festival about the town, about being lucky to live here, and I’d agreed with her. It was idyllic, the people were warm and friendly. And living beside a lake was picturesque, among other things. But all of that could be deceiving. Who knew that better than the Hale family?

But I didn’t want to talk about that. Not now. Not when the setting sun was beginning to make the water around us shimmer like gold. Not when it had been such a good day, barring the incident with the scam-artist known as Clarice. Not when Haven was beside me wearing practically nothing. “I just mean, no town is perfect.”

She paused in thought before looking away. “No. I don’t imagine it is. People live here after all. But whatever imperfect events take place, a setting like this sure must soften the blow,” she said, attempting lightness. I smiled. True enough.