A soft breeze rustles Chloe’s hair, and I reach out, not even thinking, and tuck her hair behind her ear. I get zapped with an electric shock when my fingers grace over her flesh, and Chloe jumps slightly.

“Maybe you’re a merman.” She reaches up and puts her hand over mine.

“What?” I ask with a chuckle.

“It’s something from a made-for-TV movie I used to watch when I was a kid. He shocked people when touched them.”

“I think I remember that one.” I flip her hand over and lace our fingers together. Stepping in close, my heart is in my throat. I could tell her now, put it all out on the line, and see what happens from here. There’s a chance it could all crash and burn around me, but there’s a chance it won’t.

And I need to take it.

“Should we get going?” She pulls her hand out of mine. Is that an unspoken answer to my question?

“Yeah. It’s, uh, getting late.” I bring my hand back and run it through my hair, needing to calm my heart and my dick down. Chloe holds my gaze for a second and then turns, opening the door and getting in the car.

“Fuck,” I mumble to myself as I go around the car. No one has ever made me unnerved like Chloe does. When it comes to women, I’m always calm, collected, and never strikeout.

But I’ve never cared like this before. Chloe has always been everything to me, even if I didn’t see it. Losing Chloe once hurt bad enough. Losing her again, knowing that she never wants to be anything more than what we are now…it will fucking destroy me.

“Do you mind if I roll my window down?” she asks as we pull out of the driveway.

“Not at all. We can open the sunroof too.”

“I’d like that.” She turns, smiling, and reaches up to push the button to open the sunroof at the same time I do. Her fingers slide over my wrist and—dammit—just that little bit of feeling her skin against mine sends a jolt through me. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I press the button and the glass slides back. “I don’t get to use this all that often.”

“In California, you would.” She gathers her hair in her hand and moves it behind her back, keeping it from blowing in the wind.

“For sure. You don’t get much rain there, do you?”

“No, we go through drought seasons, and it seems like every year gets worse. The wildfires came really close to my house two years ago. It was terrifying.”

“I can’t even imagine.”

“I was more worried about Spartan. I camped out at the barn for four nights, too scared to leave him and the other horses. We kept a really close eye on everything, of course, and had emergency plans to load up the horses and drive to another barn miles away. Thankfully, it didn’t come to it.”

“I think I’d rather take the snow and cold over fires.”

“It’s a trade-off, but it’s not like fires happen regularly, like snow here in the winter.”

“True, but snow doesn’t burn your house down or risk killing you from smoke inhalation.”

She gives me a pointed stare. “Thanks. As if the thought of another fire didn’t scare me enough already. Want to remind me about earthquakes too?”

“I was going to save that one until right before you fall asleep. That way you can lay in bed wide awake worrying about being buried alive in rubble.”

“You’re late to the party. I’ve already had that nightmare over a dozen times.”

“Then I’ll remind you how you’re more likely to be robbed after a natural disaster.”

“I need to find my own island to live on—and don’t even talk to me about tidal waves,” she says, and I laugh. I turn off the rural road my parents live on and get on the main road that runs through downtown Silver Ridge. We have to go around the lake to get to Chloe’s dad’s house, which adds a bit of time to our drive.

The actual town of Silver Ridge looks big on a map because of the lake, but population-wise, it’s a small town. I felt claustrophobic here in my youth, which is almost humorous now considering I live on the sixth floor of my apartment building in downtown Chicago.

Chloe sticks her hand out the window, feeling the air as we speed down the road. She lets go of her hair, letting it wildly fly around her face for a few minutes, a smile on her face the whole time. When I slow to go through the few blocks of Silver Ridge’s downtown, she closes her window halfway and combs her hair with her fingers.

“Are you cold?” I ask, seeing the goosebumps on her arm.

“I get chilled easily.”

“It’s like eighty degrees out.”

“It’s seventy-six,” she corrects, pointing to the temperature displayed on screen. “You’re off by a whole four degrees. And I thought you were supposed to be good at math since you’re calculating how much medication to give someone.”

I laugh. “You mean you don’t want a rough estimate next time you’re put under?”

“Next time?” She shakes her head. “I’ve never had surgery.”

“You’re lucky then.”

“I’ve been tempted to get cosmetic procedures done, but I’m more scared of being put to sleep than anything else,” she admits.

“You don’t need anything cosmetic changed on you,” I tell her. “And that’s actually pretty common. A lot of patients are more nervous about going under anesthesia than whatever surgical procedure they’re having done. Their concerns are valid, but as long as you’re going to a credible and accredited hospital, you’ll be fine.”

“I’ll ask you for recommendations when I’m old and needing a lift.” She brings her hands to her chest, giving her breasts a squeeze. I grip the steering wheel tight, fighting to keep my focus on the road.

“I’ll happily help.” Chloe closes her window the rest of the way, and I turn the music on. We’re nearing her dad’s house now, and I need to mentally prep myself to man the fuck up and tell Chloe how I feel.

Or show her. I’ve always been better at show than tell.

“Do you still want to sit by the lake?” she asks almost timidly.

“If you want me to.” I lock the car and shove my phone and key fob in my pocket.

“I do. Come in with me first. I need to get a sweater.”

“But it’s seventy-six degrees,” I tease.

“Seventy-five now.” She gets the house keys from her purse. “It’s sweater weather for me now. Also, the mosquitos are pretty bad out there at night. I should get us a blanket instead. Something lightweight but that will keep the bugs away.”

“That’s a good idea.”

She takes her shoes off, uses the bathroom, and then motions for me to follow her outside, grabbing a blanket from the living room on the way. We leave through the screened-in porch and walk down a little cobblestone path that leads to the wooden dock.

“Does your dad do much fishing?” I ask, seeing the boat tied up. A jet ski is on the other side, neatly covered to keep safe from the weather.

“I think he and Wendy mostly drift around the lake with Balloon, their dog.”

“Balloon?”

“He came with the name and my dad couldn’t bear to change it.” She sits on the dock, slowly dangling her feet over the edge.