Chapter One
Joel
There’snowhereelseI’drather be than Mercury Ridge in the middle of summer.
Most people dream about getting away from small towns like this. Me? I built my whole life around Lake Mercury. Around these mountains. Around the kind of place where everybody knows your name and half the town waves when you pass by in a boat.
By the time I glance across the lake, the sun’s climbing higher and the water’s already alive with weekend chaos. Boats cut slow paths across the water, and kids shriek from the swimming platform near the far cove. A man in a bright orange life vestis trying and failing to start a pontoon while his wife gives directions from the dock like she’s conducting an orchestra.
Summer in Mercury Ridge. Loud. Hot. Busy.Exactly the way I like it.
I ease my boat toward the dock at Mercury Slice and cut the engine. The lake location is newer than the main pizzeria in town, but it already feels like it’s been here forever. I smile as I take in the red umbrellas, weathered tables, and the dock-side pickup window where boaters can grab food without ever putting on shoes. Then I search the outside tables for the faces of my closest friends. Ace, Liam, Trent, and Forrest are already at our usual table.
Ace lifts his chin when he sees me. “Look who decided to show,” he shouts.
“I had a call,” I yell back.
“You always have a call,” Trent says.
That’s true enough. Boats break. Docks rot. Overconfident tourists quickly figure out they are in over their heads. Around here, if something goes wrong on the water, I’m the guy people call.
I park my boat alongside the dock, tie off, and step onto the damp boards.
That’s when I seeher.
She comes out of the pickup window with three pizza boxes balanced against one arm and a drink carrier in the other. Her dark hair is piled on top of her head, loose strands sticking to her neck from the heat. Her black Mercury Slice T-shirt is tucked into denim shorts, showing off every curve as she strides across the dock.
New waitress?I’d know if I’d seen her here before, that’s for sure. A guy doesn’t forget a knockout like her.
“Rayna!” someone calls from inside. “Order for boat slip six is up next.”
“Got it,” she calls back.
Rayna. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.
My eyes follow her as she walks toward a pontoon at the far end of the dock. It’s crowded today, boards damp from swimmers and splashed-up waves, and she’s carrying too much and walking too quickly.
I start moving before I think about it.
Her sneaker hits a wet patch and her foot slips. The drink carrier tilts first, then the pizzas, and her eyes go wide just before she goes down.
I catch her around the waist.
She lands against my chest, soft and warm and startled, while the pizza boxes launch themselves between us. One flips open, smashing the pizza into my chest. My shirt is destroyed, and tomato sauce and melted cheese drip from my arms.
For a second, everything stills. Then my friends burst into laughter.
Rayna stares at my shirt in horror. “Oh my gosh.”
“You hurt?” I ask.
Her gaze snaps to mine. “What?”
“Are you hurt?”
“I… no. I don’t think so.” Her hands are still on my arms, fingers curled like she hasn’t realized she’s holding on. “But you’re…”
She looks down.
