Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“Liar.”
“Could have been worse. First time I did it I didn’t even make it into the lake.” He crouches again, selects another stone, and this time positions himself beside me. His arm brushes mine as he demonstrates the motion again. The proximity is maddening—in a good way.
“Again?” he asks.
I nod, determined. “Again.”
We fall into an easy rhythm. He selects stones, and I attempt (and mostly fail) to skip them. But I’m laughing now, the kind that starts in your belly and takes over until your cheeks ache. The stress of the past days melts beneath each throw.
“You’re getting better,” he says, after my fourth attempt actually skips twice.
“Two skips. We’re practically Olympic material.”
“Gold medal, obviously.” He smirks. “For enthusiasm.”
I glance at him, catching the rare softness in his eyes. Not just the hyper-alert protector now, but a man who can laugh by a lake, who can enjoy something simple.
The breeze stirs the surface of the water, and for a beat I forget why we’re even here. It’s just me, Asher, and this perfect morning that feels startlingly real despite how fake everything else has been.
I hug my arms around myself and look out over the lake. “This almost makes me forget everything else.”
He watches me for a moment. “Good. You deserve that.”
The sincerity in his voice sends a different kind of ripple through me. I meet his gaze, finding something steady there. Something I don’t want to analyze too hard right now.
Instead, I smile and nudge his arm. “Next time, you’re bringing two coffees and a thermos of hot cocoa.”
His mouth curves. “Noted. Mission priority: caffeine and cocoa.”
I laugh. “Now you’re learning.”
We linger by the water a while longer, tossing the last of the stones and soaking in the sun. Eventually, he checks his watch and nods toward the trail.
“Time to head back. You’ve got to look convincingly in love for later, remember?”
I groan, rolling my eyes. “Ah yes, the performance of a lifetime.”
“You’re doing better than you think,” he says quietly.
I glance at him, caught again by the sincerity in his tone. Maybe I am. Or maybe, for a moment by this lake, it hadn’t felt like a performance at all.
As we start back toward the resort, I catch myself smiling again—for real this time—and wonder if skipping rocks should be a mandatory first date.
Even if it’s all pretend. Right?
15
Asher
We leave the lake behind, the trail narrowing beneath our feet. The hush of the water fades into birdsong and wind through the trees. Charlotte walks beside me, her hair caught by the occasional breeze, sunlight dancing across her cheekbones. There’s a softness to her now—less guarded than I’ve seen her all week. I file that away.
I keep my hands loose in my pockets, forcing myself to not look at her every damn second. The mission still stands—protect, observe, report—but out here, in this pocket of quiet, it’s easy to forget about strategy. About why we’re here at all.
“You know,” she says, voice light, “that was a good idea.”
I glance her way, and damn if it doesn’t hit me again—how natural she looks here, out of the designer clothes, away from the careful angles of her family’s expectations. Just Charlotte. And she’s beautiful.
“Sometimes the simplest things help the most,” I say, meaning every word.
She bumps my arm with her elbow, teasing. “You sound like a wise old mountain man.”
I huff a laugh. “Old? I’ll take wise. You can keep the old.”
She grins, eyes sparkling. “Fine. Rugged and worldly, then.”
“Better.” I let my gaze linger on her mouth for just a second too long. Idiot. Control yourself. But she catches it—her breath hitches. Subtle, but I’m trained to read everything.
I refocus, scanning the trail ahead. Old habits.
“You always this good at skipping rocks?” she asks.
“Had a lot of practice.” I keep my tone easy, but part of me’s already down a rabbit hole—deployments, downtime, men killing time any way they could. “Sometimes keeping your hands busy is all that keeps your head on straight.”
She looks at me then—really looks. There’s warmth in her eyes, understanding. It hits harder than it should.
But before it sinks too deep, I tip my head toward her and say lightly, “You weren’t bad. We’ll make a pro out of you yet.”
She lifts her chin. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“Good,” I murmur. I want her to hold me to more than that, and that thought shouldn’t even be in my head.
We round a bend and the resort comes into view, rooftops gleaming against the sky. Reality creeps back in. Family. Watchful eyes. An engagement we’re pretending to live.
“You forget it’s pretend sometimes,” I find myself saying. The words slip out before I can stop them.
She halts mid-step, looking up at me. “Yeah.” Her voice is soft. “Sometimes.”
It takes everything I have to look away first, to shove those words down deep where they belong. “Let’s go,” I say, voice rougher than intended. “Can’t have your fiancé showing up late.”