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“This is incredible,” she says, stepping forward, her eyes wide with awe.
Something inside me aches as I watch her relax, her expression unguarded for the first time since this morning.
I unfold the blanket, spreading it on the grass by the water’s edge. Harper watches me, a faint smile playing on her lips, but neither of us speaks. Words don’t seem necessary, not here, not now.
Slowly, deliberately, I pick up a smooth stone from the ground and weigh it in my palm. Harper eyes me, raising an eyebrow in question. My mouth curves, just enough to acknowledge her curiosity.
“How about a game?” I ask, nodding toward the pond. “We take turns skipping rocks. Whoever’s stone goes farther wins the round.”
She tilts her head, eyes dancing with challenge. “And the loser?”
I lift the tequila bottle slightly, sunlight catching the glass and amber liquid. “Gotta take a shot.”
Her lips turn into a playful smile, sending my pulse into overdrive. Without breaking eye contact, she leans down to pick up a rock.
“Guess I’m getting trashed,” she says. “I’ve never done this.”
I raise an eyebrow, my mouth twitching into a smirk. “Already admitting defeat? Didn’t peg you for a chicken.”
Her eyes widen slightly, like she’s offended. Harper straightens her spine as her competitive fire sparks to life. “Oh, you’re on, Calloway. But just think how embarrassing it’ll be when you lose to someone who’sneverskipped a rock in her entire life.”
I take a casual step closer, lowering my voice into a warning. “I won’t go easy on you, Harp.”
She leans in, and a mischievous smile curls at the corner of her lips as she whispers playfully, “Oh, I know. And that’sexactlyhow I like it.”
Heat rushes through me at the challenge in her voice. Harper steps toward the edge of the water, looking at the stone in her hand with exaggerated concentration. Her lips press into a firm line, eyes narrowing at the pond like it’s personally offended her.
I hold back a grin, amused by the intensity she puts into every small thing she does.
With a quick flick of her wrist, she tosses it. It arcs awkwardly, hits the water with a dull splash, and sinks immediately without a bounce. Harper stares at the ripples with exaggerated betrayal, then spins toward me, her cheeks flushed and eyes narrowed accusingly.
“Was that even a skippable rock?” she asks.
I try to keep my expression neutral, shrugging innocently as I move beside her. “It looked perfectly skippable to me.”
She groans and holds out her hand. Chuckling under my breath, I twist open the tequila and hand her the bottle. Her fingers brush mine and our eyes briefly locking as she takes two big gulps. Any time we touch, my pulse kicks up a notch, heat pooling low in my gut. I look away quickly, focusing instead on picking up a rock from the ground.
“Watch closely,” I say, stepping forward. “It’s all in the wrist.”
I skim the stone over the water, watching it skip smoothly several times before finally sinking far beyond Harper’s attempt. Glancing back, I raise an eyebrow. Her mouth falls open in playful disbelief.
“Are you a professional?” she asks.
I shake my head. “You’ll never know.”
“Right,” she says, more determined than before to beat me.
She grabs another rock—this one is much bigger—and she tests the weight in her palm. She tries another toss, mimicking my earlier motion, but the stone sinks quickly once again.
She glares at me, gulping another shot of tequila. “You might have to carry me back to the cabin at this rate.”
I chuckle. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
I grab another rock, and it skids over the water with such a practiced ease that she gasps.
“How are you doing that? What the hell?!”
“Here,” I say, plucking a stone from the ground. I step behind her and place my hand on her wrist, showing her the motion. “It’s all about the angle of attack.” My voice is steady and casual, but inside, my heart hammers against my ribs.