“Nice.” Nate nods down to the throttle. “So, what kind of engine you working with?”
“It’s a stern-mounted V-8 through a V-drive with an extra-long shaft to the propeller.”
“And how long would you say the shaft is?” Nate asks.
“One hundred sixty-four centimeters,” Cooper replies.
I clear my throat. Bonding with my brothers is one thing. Discussing shaft lengths is quite another. “Who wants to get on the tube first?”
Nate volunteers.
“Anyone want to go with me? It’s been a while since I tubed. Might need some help.”
He raises an eyebrow at me, but before I can say anything, William chimes in.
“I could help you!” He’s clearly enamored with Nate—an impressive feat, when you consider he’s already got three uncles who love to dote on him. “I’ve been doing it since I was six.”
“Whoa, a veteran,” Nate says, giving him a fist bump. “Love it.”
Linney makes sure William’s life jacket is secure, then turns to Cooper.
“Not too fast,” she warns.
Nate hops over the side of the boat as Cooper uncoils the waterski rope. William carefully climbs down the back ladder, and Nate helps him onto the tube. They both lie on their stomachs, arms stretched in front of them to grasp the handles. Once they’re ready, Nate flashes Cooper a quick thumbs-up.
We cruise down the lake at a moderate speed. The tube skips across the wake, bouncing Nate and William like popcorn kernels in hot oil. William’s shrieks of laughter carry across the water. Nate digs his toes in behind him, muscles flexing as he fights to keep them balanced.
Cooper adjusts the throttle, keeping the speed steady. “This okay?” he calls back to Linney.
“Perfect!” she shouts. She’s got Anna Carol on her lap, one handshading her eyes as she watches her son. Her smile is proud—and only a little nervous.
Cara sits beside her on the bench, fingers digging into the vinyl. Every time the tube hits a higher bump, she winces like she’s physically absorbing the impact. I can see the stupid anchor tattoo on her shoulder poking out from beneath her life jacket.
I’m sitting on the bow, legs outstretched on the V-shaped banquet, facing the back of the boat. Even from here, Nate looks stupidly good. Wet hair plastered back. Broad shoulders braced. Easy, confident grin tossed toward William every time the kid whoops.
After a while, Cooper eases off the throttle, and Linney pulls the tube rope in. William is still laughing breathlessly when Nate helps him climb the ladder. I try not to stare at the droplets running in rivulets down his toned, golden arms. Never before has a farmer’s tan looked so sexy. Nate pulls himself aboard, dripping and flushed, chest rising and falling.
He looks wildly, unfairly hot.
“I wanna go again!” William pants, grinning ear to ear.
“You were awesome out there, man,” Nate says, ruffling his hair.
The sight of them—William’s hero worship, Nate’s easy warmth, the water sliding over every damn inch of him—hits something low in my stomach.
“I—uh—I’ll take a turn next,” I announce, a little too quickly. Anything to get off this boat before my face gives me away.
AFTER MY TURN, WEidle in the middle of the lake for a bit, eating turkey sandwiches Mom packed for us, the adults cracking open ice-cold Coronas.
“Damn it, I forgot the limes,” Cooper says. “Sorry, babe.”
“No worries,” Cara says. She looks infinitely more at ease now that the boat is just gently bobbing in the center of the lake.
The water stretches out around us, ringed with old wooden docks and weathered boathouses. Kids’ laughter echoes from somewhere across the lake, carried by the breeze. The water itself has that clean, earthy smell that always reminds me of July. I love watching it sparkle—the sunlight breaking into a hundred glittering shards every time the boat rocks.
I take a bite of my sandwich. It’s a Joan Bennet classic: thick slices of roasted turkey, crisp lettuce, juicy tomatoes from her vegetable garden, and homemade herb mayo, all on soft sourdough. It tastes like something a café would charge seventeen dollars for.
Halfway through my sandwich, I feel it—that soft prickle at the back of my neck. When I look up, Nate’s watching me with easy, amused warmth that makes my pulse skip.
