Wade stopped paddling, letting the canoe drift. “We did. In fact, we built this canoe together. Took us three summers. The old man was a stickler for detail, a real perfectionist. But thirty years later, here we are, out on the lake watching another set of fireworks.”
As if on cue, the first plumes of color erupted overhead, illuminating the night sky with a burst of red-and-white fire. Seconds later, a boom punctured the quiet, the percussion palpable in the heavy night air. Christy-Lynn’s breath caught, then caught again as a single missile arced into the darkness, followed by a profusion of pink, white, and gold that echoed like diamonds in the lake’s mirrorlike skin.
She wanted to tell him he was right, that she’d never seen anything so wonderful, but there wasn’t time. One after another the volleys continued, each explosion bigger and brighter than the last. She barely noticed when Wade’s hand closed over hers, her eyes locked on the sky, reveling in the hypnotic pulses of color and sound, flecks of gold and silver tumbling down around them like falling stars.
Finally, she snuck a glance at Wade, surprised to find his attention on her rather than the sky. “You’re not watching the fireworks.”
“It’s okay. I can see them in your eyes.”
The words threw her off balance, smoky and warm, the way she imagined a shot of whiskey might feel as it snaked its way into the bloodstream. Her pulse ticked up as his fingers twined with hers and the sky continued to explode overhead. And then he was pulling her toward him. Something fluttered in her belly, like a pair of soft wings lifting off. He was going to kiss her, and she was going to let him. Because suddenly she wanted him to very badly.
His mouth opened against hers with maddening slowness, a velvety assault on her long-starved senses. She stiffened briefly as his arms came around her, startled by her body’s sharp and visceral response. She had nearly forgotten this part—the urgent mingling of breaths, the blending of bodies, the languid, bone-deep sense of surrender. How easy it would be to let this—whatever this was—happen, to sweep caution aside and yield to this startling new ache. It was a heady thought. And a dangerous one.
She pulled back abruptly, causing the canoe to skitter. “We can’t,” she blurted. “I can’t.”
“I thought—”
Christy-Lynn’s fingers felt bloodless as she gripped the sides of the canoe, thankful for the darkness. “I know what you thought. I must have thought it too. But I’m not . . . I can’t.”
“Did I read it wrong?”
“No. I did.”
“You felt it too, then?”
Yes, she’d felt it. And for a moment, she’d nearly let it consume her. She glanced at the sky, empty now but for a scatter of stars. The fireworks had ended, and the quiet felt unsettling, as if all of a sudden there was nowhere to hide. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t . . . thinking.”
“Apparently, neither was I. I don’t want to be the guy who makes a move on a friend when she’s vulnerable.”
His words brought her up short. “You think I’m vulnerable?”
Even in the dark, she could sense his astonishment. “You don’t?”
Vulnerable. It wasn’t a word she liked the sound of. It was a weak word. A needy word. And she didn’t want to need anyone. But now there was Wade. Strong, kind, and more than willing to be a shoulder in her time of need. How had she not seen it coming? She had gotten caught up in the moment, foolishly opening a door she wasn’t remotely ready to walk through. And had nearly ruined a friendship in the bargain.
“I honestly don’t know what I am,” she answered finally. “A mess, I suspect. But you’re not that guy, Wade. This was my fault. You’ve been a friend. A good friend, and that’s where we need to leave it.”
He said nothing as he reached for the paddle and turned them about. Christy-Lynn was quiet too, studying the angular set of his shoulders as he maneuvered the canoe back toward shore. She had hurt him. Or at the very least confused him. She should have been more careful—for both their sakes. Instead, she had chosen to ignore the danger signs that had apparently been smoldering for some time. It was Wade she had turned to for help, after all, Wade she’d wept her heart out to when she learned about Iris, Wade she felt drawn to whenever she found herself needing a shoulder. But that had to do with his connection to Stephen—didn’t it?
Wade wasted no time climbing out of the canoe when they reached shore, offering a brief hand as she followed clumsily. He took the deck steps two at a time, not bothering to look back as he disappeared through the open sliding glass doors. Christy-Lynn was happy to lag behind, relieved to have time to rein in her emotions.
The kitchen was empty when she finally stepped back into the cabin. Wade’s manuscript was lying on the counter beside their empty ice-cream bowls. She picked it up along with her purse, wishing she knew what else to say.
She found Wade in the living room, busily reshelving a stack of CDs. He looked up when she entered the room, his expression dark but unreadable. “Why?”
She stared at him, baffled. “Why what?”
“Why do we have to leave it there?”
She sighed, wishing she could make him understand. “Because we do. Because I do. I’m just getting my feet back under me, Wade. I’m not ready for complications. And that’s what you’d be. I know that sounds harsh, but I’ve basically had one adult relationship in my life, and it didn’t end well. I don’t need another failure on my record.”
He stood with his legs braced wide apart, his arms stiff at his sides. “My feet aren’t exactly firmly planted either, Christy-Lynn, but there’s something here, something we both felt tonight. Maybe it’s just physical—and maybe it isn’t—but our paths keep crossing. Maybe that means something.”
Christy-Lynn clutched the manuscript to her chest, as if to shield herself from the pull of his words. “You’re right. There is a connection. It’s there, and it’s real—but it’s Stephen. It’s all the damage he’s done, all the ways he cheated and lied and screwed us both over. That’s what we have in common. My dead husband. But that’s a therapy session not a romance. I can’t afford to get the two confused.”
Wade folded his arms, his face suddenly closed. “So where does that leave us?”
She would have touched him then, if she thought she could trust herself. Instead, she reached for a smile or what she hoped passed for one. “Where we’ve always been, I hope—friends.”
“Does that ever work? Going back to being friends?”
“It was a kiss, Wade. We don’t have to let it get weird.”
“Right,” he said, though his nod was less than convincing. “No weirdness.”
“Exactly. Look, I’m going to go.” She held up the manuscript. “I’ve got reading to do.”
He followed her to the door, hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets. “For the record, when I asked you over tonight, I wasn’t planning some big seduction scene.”
“I know you weren’t. And it might be better if we just pretend the whole thing never happened.”
Wade held her gaze as he pulled back the door. “I’m not sure that’s going to be possible for me.”
Christy-Lynn said nothing as she stepped onto the porch, the memory of Wade’s lips on hers still much too fresh. She wasn’t sure it was going to be possible for her either.
THIRTY-SIX
Sweetwater, Virginia
July 12, 2017
Christy-Lynn flipped her pillow over, giving it another sharp punch. She’d been lying awake for nearly an hour, though this time her insomnia had nothing to do with bad dreams. Her thoughts kept returning to her upcoming trip to Riddlesville, rehearsing ways to convince Rhetta to accept her help. If a check for $10,000 had spooked her, she was really going to slam on the brakes when she found out what kind of money they were talking about now.