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When the keel slid onto the muddy bank beneath a canopy of gnarled trees, she stashed the oars, folded her arms over her chest, dipped her chin, and closed her eyes. The hazy buzz of insects and song sparrows flitting about the trees lulled her into a quiet space somewhere between wake and sleep.

Until his voice cut into her peace.

“Knew I’d find you here.”

She cracked her lids in time to see a rowboat pull up beside her. “Go away, Harper.”

Of course, he did no such thing. He merely wedged his boat farther onto the bank, leaned one tanned, sinewy arm on his bare knee, and gave her a half-grin.

A sigh of longing bubbled in her throat, but she caught it between her teeth and choked it down.

Must the golden hour be so unfairly kind to attractive men?

The line of Jim’s jaw was sharpened, his chestnut waves aflame with copper highlights, his hazel eyes turned molten.

Even the dark curling hairs on his thighs glowed!

“Admiring my legs?”

She jerked her gaze to his and sniffed. “Just noting another difference between men’s and women’s rowing. The athletic board would pitch a fit if I paraded around in bare legs.”

“I don’t see any esteemed members here.” He grinned rakishly. “And I wouldn’t mind a little show.”

She let out a peal of laughter. “Aha! I’m finally the recipient of Jim Harper’s famous smooth talk.”

A furrow appeared between his brows. “And here I thought you were the only recipient of my smooth talk.”

“Oh, please. You’re the biggest flirt on campus.”

“I’m friendly to everyone, if that’s what you mean.”

“It isn’t.” By God, she would put an end to that smirk! Ticking her fingers one by one, she rattled off, “You carried Ruby Snyder’s books across the quad, you lent Blanche Thorpe your Varsity sweater, and you gave Irene Hill a ride home on your handlebars.”

“Ruby hurt her elbow at basketball practice,” he replied, ticking off his own fingers with an exaggerated motion. “And Blanche got caught in a downpour and was blue in the lips.”

“And Irene?”

“Well, now.” He grinned. “Never said I was a monk.”

“You obnoxious, womanizing?—”

“But that was months ago,” he cut in. “Long before I decided you were the one for me.”

Her mouth gaped as she scrambled to make sense of the revelation. How could that possibly be true when the devastating news of his most recent exploit had taken up an entire chapter of her journal?

“But you took Pearl Chenoweth to Fusser’s Point last Friday, didn’t you?” Fusser’s Point, the notorious wooded area where couples went to…well, she wouldn't know. She’d never been part of a couple.

“ Peter Chenoweth and I went to Alki Point last week.” He gave her a mystified look. “Now, why would you believe that?”

“I’m not the only one,” she insisted, though rising doubt made her skin prickle and itch.

Had she gotten the gossip wrong? “There’s—” She rifled through the list of oarswomen in her mind, ready to rattle off names.

But when she paused to think, she realized that recently, they’d stopped agreeing with her apt aspersions on his character.

Instead, they just smiled, and sometimes exchanged looks she didn’t quite understand. Almost as if…

Oh no.

Did that mean that Jim Harper wasn’t the worst? That maybe, just this once, anyway, she was?

Her face burned, but she forced herself to meet his eyes. “I…I might be the only one.”

“Imagine that,” he drawled. “You’ve misread my intentions. Again.”

“I’m sorry, Jim. I don’t know how I got things so twisted.”

“I do.” His grin widened. “My flirting. Because I have been flirting with you, Anderson. Mercilessly. Nonstop. For months and months. Are you finally just noticing?”

She buried her face in her hands. Mortification tumbled through her, but it was overshadowed by a dizzying sense of relief.

Excitement. A ridiculous swell of joy she didn’t quite know how to handle.

All this time—all her flustered reactions, the irritation that clung too long, the bothersome throbbing between her thighs—none of it had been in vain.

Because every smirk, every wink, every teasing comment had been meant for her.

“I’d hate you if I didn’t like you so much,” she said, her voice muffled.

“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.”

She snorted, and lifted her head to find him smiling at her.

Fondly. Almost…tenderly. It felt strange to smile back.

Strange, but oh so good. Like that moment when the current changed and she didn’t have to fight it anymore.

He reached over and adjusted the pink waterlily bud still tucked behind her ear.

“You make a fair lily maid, Anderson.” He paused, then spilled the next lines in one long jumble. “You almost really looked dead. Don’t you know play-acting is abominably wicked?”

Recognition clicked into place and her breath caught. “Never say you read Anne of Green Gables. ”

“I did.”

“But…why?”

“Because it’s your favorite. For goodness sake, smile a little,” he added. “You know Elaine lay as though she smiled.”

Her jaw dropped. “Not only did you read my favorite book, but you memorized lines?”

“Only because you laughed and laughed when you read it at?—

“At the Fourth of July barbecue. I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I remember everything about you.” His lips twisted in a rare show of sheepishness. “And I wanted to know how that Gilbert Blythe won you over.”

Her heart gave a quick, queer little beat. Was this what it felt like when dreams crossed the Rubicon into reality? When Jim confessed things to her instead of all the other girls she imagined him with?

She could do it, too. She could tell the truth, even though it scared her and it made her feel silly.

“He’s thoughtful and romantic, even though he doesn’t always get it right.

” She gave Jim a pointed look. “Calling me goddess is tantamount to carrots .” He winced and nodded.

“He’s intelligent and hardworking, like you.

He and Anne are forever competing. Like us,” she added, smiling a little now.

“And he’s very patient. He waited a long time for Anne to come around.

” She wrinkled her nose. “Like how long it’s taken me, I suppose. ”

“That’s because we’re just like Anne and Gilbert. We’re meant to be.”

“They’re only friends by the end of the book!”

“I have every confidence Gilbert will win her in the end.”

“Your lips to Lucy Maud Montgomery’s ears,” she said with a chuckle.

It wasn’t lost on her how good it felt to laugh with Jim.

Not just the usual clever barbs and pointed jabs, but something soft and sweet.

Like she’d grown to want but had never expected to have.

For a heartbeat, she let herself feel it fully, let herself believe it could be this way moving forward.

But almost as soon as the thought surfaced, she felt exposed.

The teasing had always been a buffer, something to hide behind.

Now that it was thinning, she didn’t quite know what to do or how to act.

She cleared her throat, eyes flicking toward the sun-dappled bay. “We should probably head back to the boathouse. I have to lock up.”

Jim studied her for a beat longer than was comfortable. Then he smirked, just enough to make her heart jump. “Fine. But I’m not letting you get there first.”

“Are you challenging me to a race?”

“Unless you’re scared Miss Merrick will find out. What will she say if the girl’s captain is caught racing despite the ban?”

“What our illustrious gymnasium director doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” she scoffed, and was gratified by Jim’s approving nod. “First one to the buoy by the float wins. And I’ll even row for stakes.”

“What sort of stakes?”

She didn’t need long to think. “A copy of Anne of Avonlea once it reaches Seattle.”

“All right. If you win, I’ll buy you the book. But if I win…” A wicked gleam rose to his eyes, and her nerves tingled.

“Spit it out, Harper. You’re making me nervous.”

“If I win, we’ll play by the rules all oarsmen follow on race day.”

“You don’t mean…”

“Yes. I’ll take the shirt off your back.”

“You flirt,” she breathed. “You terrible, unequivocal flirt . ”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Is that a no ?”

“It’s a yes . And good luck beating me with only one oar.” She leaned over, snatched up his oar, and sheltered it between her knees. He made a grab for it, but she shoved off the bank and drifted out of reach.

“Cheater!”

“Chump,” she replied through snorts of laughter.

And then she was off, skimming across the bay with clean and purposeful strokes, the way her father taught her when she was a child, the way Conny drilled into her with each season.

The water parted like silk beneath her, and the buoy—small, white, and bobbing within sight—was hers for the taking.

She wanted to win. She always wanted to win. It was how she was stitched together, why she was a force to be reckoned with on competition day. And yet…

She glanced over her shoulder. Jim wasn’t far behind, which annoyed and impressed her equally.

His strength was astounding. His prowess on the water—even in a more cumbersome rowboat with a single oar—undeniable.

And his wager, that inappropriate, risqué wager?

Irresistible. God help her, she wanted to know what would happen if she surrendered just a little.

She faced forward again, her heart pounding, and eased up on her stroke count.

“You’re not going to make me work for this?” he called from a mere two lengths behind her, and gaining on her with each second.

“I am working.” She rowed hard, but not at the edge. Not where every muscle burned and her lungs screamed. She let him close the gap. One length, and then they were even.

“You’re letting me win.”

“Am not!”

“You are.”