Page 19 of Get Over It, April Evans

“Settle what?”

“Whatever your problem is with me.” Daphne started pulling her toward the wooden stairs that led down to the dock.

“Are you going to throw me into the lake?” April asked, letting Daphne tug her along. Honestly, she was curious if this Tennessee waif had it in her.

“If only,” Daphne said as they stepped off the last stair and onto the dock. Several canoes bobbed in the water, and Daphne approached the closest one, a deep green vessel with a bright yellow paddle. She released April, then motioned toward the boat. “Get in.”

April lifted her brows. “Get in? Just like that? You could be planning to murder me.”

“You’d deserve it.”

April flinched. “I’ddeserve it?”

“Have you been here for the way you’ve treated me the last two days?” Daphne’s voice was nearly a screech. “For no reason.”

“I have reasons,” April said. “Many.”

Daphne literally stomped her foot. If April wasn’t such adizzying mix of frustrated and intrigued right now, she’d smile and comment on how cute it was.

But no. Goddammit, Daphne Love was anything butcute.

“Getin,” Daphne said. “We figure this out now, because I’ve had the worst spring of my life, I need this job, and I cannot spend the summer terrified my partner is casting spells to bring about my demise while I sleep.”

“You said I was Goth, not a witch.”

Daphne just pointed to the boat.

April blew out a breath, too tired to fight her on this anymore. And she had a point—they did have to work together. April understood that she was still in a bit of shock from meeting Daphne, a person she’d never expected to lay eyes on in real life.

Ever.

But this was the reality of the situation, and maybe a bit of exposure therapy would help her lower that scorpion stinger a little.

Plus, she had the Devon to think about now, and it was just too fucking exhausting feeling poised to attack all the time.

“Fine,” she said, holding on to the post next to the boat, and stepping into the canoe. “But you’re paddling.”

Daphne made a noise behind her, but April was too busy scrambling to sit down on the bench on one end, wobbling as she did so, to pay her much mind. Daphne, for her part, glided into the canoe as though she’d lived on one half her life. She untied the vessel, then picked up the yellow paddle and closed her fingers around the T-grip, using the blade to push them away from the dock.

“Done much canoein’ in yer day down South?” April said, putting on an admittedly horrible Southern accent.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Daphne said calmly, except she sounded more like Emily Gilmore at the moment. April did hearthe hint of a Southern twang in her voice at times, though, cutting off final consonants and using a few elongated vowels here and there.

“Have you?” Daphne asked. “Didn’t you grow up here?”

April lifted a brow. “And who told you that?”

Daphne sighed. “Why is every inquiry into your life taken as a knife in your back?”

April had no answer for her, really. At least, not one she wanted to get into at this moment. So she simply sighed dramatically, lifting her shoulders with the inhalation and jutting out her chin on the exhale.

Daphne dug the paddle into the water, moving them quickly away from the dock. Cloverwild grew smaller and smaller, and Clover Lake spread out before them, trees nothing but dark shapes against the blue-black sky.

“Yes, I grew up here,” April said finally. “Since I was nine. And I love the water. I just have horrible balance.”

Daphne smirked. “Was that so hard?”

“Excruciating.”