Feels like Rain (Lake Fisher 3)

“But I could rethink my plans, if I had the right reason.”

“I can try to come up with a good reason,” I say. I walk beside her all the way back to her cabin, where she leaves me standing at the foot of the steps. She stops under the porch light, and she’s never been more beautiful to me, even all wet with her curls flying all over the place.

“You do that,” she replies. “Good night, Ethan.”

“’Night, Abigail.”

And I walk back to my tent, my duck waddling quietly by my side. When we get in the tent, and I get zipped in, I look over at my duck.

“I’m in like.”

The duck settles down and burrows into his blanket bed.

“And apparently, I’m a dumbass.” I swipe a hand down my face in frustration, but for the first time in a very long time, I feel hopeful abo

ut the future. It’s both fearsome and awesome, all at the very same time.

14

Abigail

It has been a really long time since I’ve been on a date. But this is a date. Or at least I hope it’s a date. This afternoon, I went and found Ethan where he was working on the plumbing at one of the cabins. I’d knocked on the door and found him under the sink, after he’d told me to come on in.

He’d lifted his head so he could look at me, but he didn’t scoot out from under the sink. Instead, he’d grinned and said, “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” I said, as I squatted down next to him. “You busy?”

“I’m never too busy for you.” He scooted out from under the sink and grinned at me.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I just like looking at you.”

I shoved his shoulder. “You’re such a weirdo.

He said nothing more as he searched through his tool bag.

“Do you have plans tonight?” I asked.

“Depends,” he said. He closed one eye and stared at me the way he always does when he’s concentrating.

“On what?”

“On what you’re doing tonight. Because whatever it is, I’d love to do it with you.” He winked at me and then slid back under the sink.

“Dinner?”

“What time?”

“Seven-ish?”

“I’ll bring the duck.” Then he chuckled.

Right that moment, the duck was sitting next to his leg on the floor by where he was working, so I didn’t think he had much choice about bringing the duck. “I’ll cook,” I said.

“As long as it’s not duck,” he’d replied.

And now it’s almost seven o’clock, and the food is out of the oven and waiting on the table, and he’s not here yet. I go and check my hair in the mirror. It’s as flyaway as it ever has been, and I tuck a lock of it behind my ear. Ethan has never minded my curls. In fact, I think he likes them. Charles had always asked me to straighten my hair if we were going out. And I usually did, but I like my curls, and I love that Ethan likes them too.