Page 6

I splashed into the lake, pushing through the sudden resistance of the water to get to the guy.

I reached out and grabbed him, and two things happened at the same time.

First, his eyes flew open, and he screamed, and second, in his sudden panic to get away from me, he tried to sit up, submerging himself instead and dragging me down with him.

My boots slipped, and I crashed into the water on top of him.

We wrestled for a moment in the water before we both came up for air.

I was still holding the guy’s arm because he was having a seizure, and he tried to pull away.

“What the hell?” he shrieked, water plastering his hair to his face. “Let go of me!”

I let go, and he scrabbled backward toward the shore. “Are you okay?”

“What the hell ?” he shrieked again. He made it to the shore and turned over onto his hands and knees. He tried to push himself up onto his feet, but it was slippery at the edge of the lake, and his legs went out from under him, and he landed with a loud splat. “I don’t have any money!”

“What?”

Gasping for breath, he sat and faced me. “I don’t have any money, but you can take my phone! It’s on the bank!”

“ What? ” My jaw dropped. I took a step toward him, and he flinched back, so I stopped and showed him my palms. “I’m not robbing you. I thought you were drowning !”

“What?” He squinted at me and then lifted a dripping hand and wiped the tendrils of wet hair off his forehead. “I wasn’t drowning!”

“What the hell were you doing then?”

“I was being murdered!”

It was my turn to stare.

I stood in the lake and dripped, and he sat in the lake and dripped, and a couple of ducks coasted past us.

The guy shuffled backward on his ass, his jeans crunching against the grit of the lakeshore. “I was choreographing a murder.” He held up a hand. “I write books! I’m not actually a murderer!”

That honestly didn’t sound much less unhinged. “You did that on purpose?”

“Yes.” He was bright red in the face, either from exertion or embarrassment.

Now that my adrenaline had worn off, I noticed he was kind of cute as well.

His wet shirt clung to a frame that was slim with a hint of softness.

He had hair that might have been wheat-blond if it wasn’t plastered to his head, a button nose, and wide blue-gray eyes that looked as though they might change with the weather. “It’s research.”

“ Research? I thought you were having a seizure!” I waded slowly toward the shore, giving the guy plenty of time to scramble to his feet.

“Where the hell did you even come from?” he asked. “I didn’t think anyone was around.”

I pointed at the trees. “Through there.”

“Oh! You must be Rebecca’s brother. She said you lived right next door.”

“And you must be the paying guest,” I said, squelching onto the shore. I stuck my hand out. “Ryan Devlin.”

“Adam,” he said, and we shook. “Adam Nelson. Thanks for the attempted rescue, and sorry I thought you were robbing me.”

I couldn’t help my snort of laughter. Even if I wanted to be angry, which I didn’t, it would have been impossible in the face of such a ridiculous situation and its equally ridiculous apology. “I’d say I’d guess this kind of thing sometimes happens, but honestly, it never has before.”

Adam laughed too, ruefully, and then jabbed his thumb in the direction of the cabin. “I guess I’d better…”

“Yeah,” I said, thinking wistfully of the hot shower he was about to enjoy. “Me too.”

“It was nice to meet you,” he said, stooping down to pick up the shoes he’d left on the bank. Then, shaking his head when he presumably realized what a dumbass thing that was to say given the way we’d met, he headed off toward the cabin.

Choreographing a murder. I’d never heard anything as dumb—unless you counted the guy who leapt into the lake to stop it. My friends would think it was hilarious, which was why they could never find out. Although who was I kidding? I’d tell them myself it was so funny.

I followed the old cement track back to the workshop.

In the days when it had been a boatbuilder’s shed, the cement track had been a way to tow boats in and out of the lake.

It was mostly overgrown these days, hardly visible unless you already knew it was there.

I’d been meaning to hire a jackhammer and break it up at some point, to give the loosestrife and the blue vervain the chance to reclaim the space, but the job wasn’t urgent enough that I’d got around to it yet.

I’d left the roller door to the workshop open, and the cat was waiting for me when I squelched inside. I hoped she hadn’t helped herself to the open packet of dill pickle chips on the counter. Those were mine.

“Yeah,” I said when she blinked at me. “Well, you should see the other guy.”

I went to the sink and crouched to unlace my boots.

The laces were wet and difficult to untie, and I had no idea how long it would take for the boots themselves to dry out.

They were leather boots with steel caps; I had a spare pair, but I didn’t like them quite as much.

I set my boots in front of the open roller door, hoping the breeze would work some magic on them, and then returned to the sink and began to strip my clothes off.

I could rinse them off in the sink and leave them hanging, but tomorrow I’d have to go to Rebecca’s apartment and use her washing machine.

I dropped my shirt into the sink with a wet squelch, and then awkwardly leaned down to pull my socks off. They were soaked and trying their hardest to stick to my skin. I dropped them into the sink. Then I peeled my jeans and underwear down.

“Hey,” I said to the cat when I caught a flash of movement in my periphery, “You’re—”

It wasn’t the cat.

“Oh my god,” said Adam Nelson. He was standing in the open doorway, holding a plate of cookies. And I was waving my dick in the breeze. “Oh my god .”

I wrenched my wet tangle of underwear and jeans back up. “What are you doing here?”

He held up a hand to shield his eyes, even though it was way too late for that. “I brought cookies to say thank you for rescuing me! Why are you naked? And why do you live in a shed?”

“I’m not naked now.” I was burning with embarrassment though.

Adam cautiously lowered his hand and then moved forward to set the plate of cookies on the chair in the doorway. “Oh.” He picked up my half-made alien. “This is just like the ones—” His gaze fell on the camp bed and the mini fridge. He narrowed his eyes at me. “Ryan, am I staying in your house?”

“Uh, yeah.” I thought about putting my wet shirt on again but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I folded my arms over my chest instead.

“You’re washing in a sink ,” he said, eyes widening.

“Yeah,” I said, deciding not to tell him that I actually washed using the hose outside.

“Oh my god,” he said again. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you living in this shed?”

“It’s my workshop,” I corrected him. “And Rebecca asked me to, because the cottage you originally booked got flooded, and she didn’t want to mess up your stay, so she asked if you could use my cabin instead.”

“You’re sleeping on a camp bed .” He jabbed a finger toward it, as if I didn’t already know.

He sounded so horrified that I looked at the camp bed to make sure it hadn’t suddenly grown spikes. It hadn’t. “It’s fine.”

“Oh my god,” he said, which seemed to have made up most of our conversation so far. “Okay, well, enjoy the cookies.” He waved at them and then hustled out of view.

I watched the doorway for a while, unsure what to make of both Adam’s sudden, humiliating arrival and his equally sudden, awkward departure.

Then, just when I was certain I wasn’t going to be interrupted again and I could take my wet jeans off at last, he reappeared, one hand in front of his eyes, and one waving my alien around.

“I forgot—” He lowered his hand. “Okay, good. I forgot to put your alien back.” He set it on the chair with the cookies. “Thank you for rescuing me, and sorry I saw your dick. Not that it’s a bad dick, it’s very nice, I just—” He made a choking sound. “Okay, sorry. Bye.”

And he vanished again.

I stood watching for a long time and then, because I might have been a slow learner but I at least got there in the end, I went and closed the roller door. And vowed to never, ever tell anyone what had happened.