The case had been the reason to text each other. Tonight the last broker was clear. The only reason to keep texting was because they belonged together. Axel's inner wolf huffed. It was time for him to start being honest about it all.
He sent.Thursday's your day off, right?
Her answer came back fast.Yeah. Why?
I'd like to take you boating on Fate Lake.
The dots came up. Stopped. Came up again and stopped again.
Is this a date?she wrote.
He looked at the question. She'd considered it before responding.
Yes.
This time the reply came fast.Okay. Thursday. Should I bring anything?
Just prepare for a summer day on the water.
He stood in his kitchen with the record running out, the wolf settled and content in him for the first time since they'd been matched.
On Thursday morning,he pulled one of the firm's black Suburbans to her curb across the street from her apartment building and sent her a text. A moment later, she came out with her purse slung over her shoulder and a large water bottle in her hand.
She was wearing jeans, a soft gray flannel over a loose T-shirt, a ball cap, and sunglasses. She waved from the sidewalk, crossed the street, and climbed into the passenger seat of the car.
"Hi," she said, buckling in.
"You have everything you need?"
"Water, hat, sunscreen." She put the bottle in the cupholder between them. "I can't wait."
"Good," he said, smiling.
They drove up to Fate Mountain Lodge and parked near the dock that rented rowboats. Axel rented a boat, bought some live bait, and carried the cooler down the ramp to their boat. Reese carried the two rods up the dock behind him. Axel placed everything into the boat and then helped her step in and take a seat at the front of the boat.
He pushed the boat away from the dock, set the oars in place, and started rowing. The lake opened up around them, flat and bright, the island with its little gazebo standing off to the south, the lodge shrinking on its ridge. The oarlocks knocked in rhythm. She sat facing him with her water bottle in her hands, watching the shore go by.
He rested the oars in the calm behind the island and set up the rods. She picked up a rod, baited the hook, and cast. The lure dropped at the edge of the weeds like it had an appointment there.
"I love being on the water," she said. "I haven't done this in years."
"Your profile photo was at a lake," he said. "I figured you'd like a day out here."
"That was taken at Priest Lake," she said, reeling slowly. "My college roommate's family had a cabin up there, and they took me along a few times."
He cast off the other side and let the silence sit between them. After about a dozen casts, Reese reeled in a trout about the length of her hand. She pulled it into the boat and slipped the hook free in seconds.
"Too little," she said. She held the fish in the water until it kicked off her hand. "Now it gets to go make better choices."
They fished through the late morning, and they both caught a few more lake trout that were too small to keep. He asked her about the trips to Priest Lake.
She told him her roommate's family had an aluminum boat and a collection of fishing poles. She shared a memory of eatingpeaches from a nearby orchard and seeing who could throw the pits the furthest into the water.
She cast along the weeds, and her rod bent hard and didn't spring back. "That's not a little one," she said, and braced into it.
He reached for the net. "You've got it," he said.
She let the line out, then reeled it back in, steady and focused on the rod. He moved off the seat and crouched beside her, lowering the net to the water. They were shoulder to shoulder now, watching the fish come toward them in the dark water.
