“Oh yeah?”
“I had heard about your wine gig,” Rory admits with a sly grin. “You know. People talk. Seattle’s not that big.”
“So you’re stalking me?” I titter, twisting my wine key into the cork.
“You wish I was.”
“Okay, cocky,” I prod, taking a sip straight from the bottle and instantly feeling it heat my insides.
“Give me some of that,” he says, nodding at the wine—still using both arms to row.
“You want some?” I bait.
“Yeah. Get over here,” he demands, his smile practically glowing in the dark.
The gap between us is wide, so I shift into a crouch. But the boat rocks, and I fumble into his lap, nowhere else to go in the narrow vessel.
“Jeez, Imogen. So forward of you.”
I laugh a little too loud and sink onto my knees in front of him. “I think you did that on purpose.”
He winks, lips pursed, gesturing for me to tip the bottle into his mouth so he can continue rowing. With his eyes never leaving mine, I spill it against his lips. A long drop slips down his stubbled chin, lightly showcasing a shadow of dark hair.
“Excuse me, bartender,” he murmurs, tilting his head skyward. “Do you pour wine on all your customers?”
I swipe my fingers across his jaw. “Only the ones who deserve it.”
Right then, we reach the center of the lake, and Rory rests the oars into their cradles. I turn my body and gently fall into him, my head against his hard stomach. Doing so is disarmingly easy, dropping into youth; the sneaky boat kisses, the stargazing, the thrill of being close to someone for the first time. We didn’t know what to do with any of it then.
It’s translated into something natural, yet nerve-racking. A clear tension pulling like a taut string between us that makes me second-guess every word out of my mouth.
He drops his arms around my neck, locking me against his chest, and we stay like that for a while, admiring the vast navy sky, stars scattering among the clouds. The perfect viewpoint, far enough away from the trees to see everything. The breeze brushes my face, mingling with the warmth of his body and the wine. I’m hypnotized by it, the softbloop bloop glugof water against the boat, the distant chirp of crickets, the cinematic rumblings of Lake Blair spilling off the edge of the dam.
Soon, a sharp ache presses against my back from the wooden seat behind me, forcing me to shift. And although I’m careful, the boat rocks, a sinking twist in my stomach making my head swim. I glance down at the water and shiver, a pang of regret hitting me.
What the hell am I doing out here?
Rory steadies us, pulling me tighter. His lips brush my hair as he whispers, “I got you. I got you.”
Goosebumps rise on every inch of skin I have.
I turn more gracefully this time, sliding down to sit on the other seat while taking a pronounced swig from the bottle. His eyes never leave my lips. Slowly, deliberately, he leans forward. Before I can think, his mouth finds mine as he yanks me into him. His handsslide down my back, my thighs, holding me in place. I’m so lost in him I forget the bottle in my hands and drop it inside the rowboat. Wine splatters everywhere.
I pull away with a laugh. “Oh fuck.”
I shrug off my sweater, wine-slick now—tossing it in a messy ball to the other side of the boat. I’m left in a thin white baby tee, dotted with red wine.
A faint crease at the corner of Rory’s mouth suggests amusement as he takes a sip from the near-empty bottle. As he does, my gaze drifts past him, landing on a glowing rectangle across the lake. Tim’s house. The silhouette of a figure is framed in the floor-to-ceiling window—motionless, as if watching us. The telescope beside them gleams faintly, almost accusingly.
Rory follows my line of sight. “Nothing to see here,” he calls, with a tone that screamsplayful. I can’t shake the way his voice echoes across the water, every ripple amplifying the knot of nerves in my stomach.
The figure steps away from the window, and the lantern overhead clicks off, swallowing the house in darkness. The silence that follows feels unnatural, like being in an old black-and-white episode ofThe Twilight Zone—where every shadow might hide something. Where you can be a doll in someone else’s meticulously controlled world.
With their home now encased in that shadow, I can’t help but wonder if they’re still watching.
9
AMELIA
