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“Gianna’s right. Let’s just have a three amigos night.”
It’s so damn hard to smile while clenching my teeth. “Sounds like a plan.”
Chapter Eight
Grace
I could get used to this view.
It’s hot today. Like, August kind of hot. It’s usually mild in North Carolina this time of year, no need for more than a light sweater at night, but today it’s humid and it’s got to be in the mid-eighties.
Did he strip his shirt off on purpose? Does he want me to suffer, sitting here with nothing to do but watch as his muscles flex and strain with the effort it’s taking to chop wood for the fire pit he just made by digging a hole? No portable grill, so I guess we’ll be cooking pioneer style. Damien means business.
“I can help, you know.”
He glances back and smiles. “Almost done.”
“I thought you were a commander of men. Command me, Sergeant. I want to help.”
He trades the axe for a mallet, using it to reinforce the four corners of the tent, then tosses the tool into the back of the truck before coming to stand before me. Reaching a hand down to pull me up he says, “Time to catch us some dinner, Private Dawson.”
I do my best to imitate the crisp salute I’ve only seen in movies. “Aye, aye, Sarge.”
“It’s aye, aye, Sir,” he corrects, swatting my ass. “And let’s ease up on the lingo. I don’t want any reminders of my other life this weekend. I feel like I’m on borrowed time as it is.”
That shuts me up quick. Borrowed time is right. We only have two weeks left as of this Wednesday.
I guess I’m still sporting a sour face when I look up. He keeps hold of the fishing pole he was about to hand off and comes in closer. “Don’t think about that. We have this beautiful day together,” he says as he raises his chin, gesturing for me to look out over the river, sun-kissed and glistening. “Let’s focus on right now.”
“Don’t borrow sorrow from tomorrow,” I whisper.
“That’s a good one. Words of wisdom from your mother?”
I shake my head and smile. “My mother is a lot of things. She’s smart, fierce, independent…But a philosopher? No.” Taking the pole from his hands, I head towards the water and he follows. “Those words of wisdom are from my Aunt Vivian, my father’s older sister.”
“Did you spend a lot of time around her growing up?”
“Off and on, and then I spent an entire summer with her a couple of years ago. The summer after I gave up dance. My brother was heading to some camp for child prodigies and I didn’t want to do anything but sit home in front of the television and lick my wounds.”
“I’m thinking that wouldn’t be acceptable in your house.”
“You’d be right. But I refused to step foot in the dance studio, and I told my parents I’d run away if they forced me to go on the summer abroad program they were pushing.” He baits my hook and hands the pole back to me. “They didn’t know what to do with the drama queen I was morphing into back then.”
“Pretty standard behavior for a teenager, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know.”
Damien holds me back when I go to cast my line. “Here, do it this way,” he says as he steps behind me and then guides me hand over hand. Moving in close, he lowers his voice. “I have big plans for tonight...Don’t want to spend it in the emergency room with a hook in my face.”
He pecks my cheek when I laugh. “You know I have absolutely no shot at catching us anything suitable to eat, don’t you?”
“I have faith in you, Gracie. And I only found one fishing pole in the Oliveri’s garage, so our fate is in your hands.”
“No pressure.”
“None whatsoever.”
“What’s in this river, anyway?”
