Page 119 of Charlotte

“It held.”

“I saw.”

He dipped his fingers into the water, then winced at the cold.

Lottie wanted to kneel beside him, but she stayed where she stood.

“Samuel will keep his arm,” she said.

“Aye.”

“Jeb knew what to do.”

“Your sister brought Jeb back.”

The words settled between them. Lottie looked toward the part of the beach where Delly and Jeb had stood together, their confession still seeming to warm the surrounding air.

“She did not save him by standing in front of him,” Lottie said.

“No.”

“She stood near enough for him to remember himself.”

Cecil looked down at his hand in the water. “You make it sound simple.”

“It did not look simple.”

His mouth drew tight.

Lottie stepped closer. “I understand something now,” she said.

He wouldn’t look at her. “What?”

“I cannot drag you into courage.”

His gaze lifted then. The pain in it was immediate.

“I cannot argue you into choosing me,” she said. “There are not enough times I can kiss your hand to make you believe it is beautiful. I cannot stand in front of your fear and command it to step aside.”

“Lottie.”

She held up her hand. “Let me finish. I can stand near and tell the truth. I refuse to call fear by prettier names, and, Cecil Peterson, I cannot do your choosing for you.” She looked at his disfigured hand in the lake water, then back to his face. “I will not try anymore.”

“You are done with me, then,” he said.

“No.” His breath caught. “I am done chasing you.”

Cecil stood slowly.

He was very close now. Too close for a conversation that was supposed to be sensible. His wet hand hung between them, dripping lake water into the sand. His left hand lifted, almost to her cheek, then stopped halfway.

Lottie did not move.

The air between them tightened as Cecil’s gaze dropped to her mouth.

Her foolish heart rose to meet him, though she had told it not to. He did not kiss her. Instead, he closed his eyes and lowered his hand.

“I do not know how to be the man who walks forward,” he said.