Page 320 of Wild Card 13

His eyes were warm and unguarded. “My girlfriend kissed me first.”

I lifted my coffee. “Your girlfriend has a hot beverage and excellent aim.”

“Understood, Shortcake.”

By the time we got to the truck, I had finished half my coffee and made a bargain with myself that I would not overthinkarriving together. I lasted until Ty opened the passenger door for me.

“This is suspicious,” I said.

He looked over the top of the door. “Us arriving in the same vehicle?”

“With our dog.”

His mouth twitched.

I caught it too late. “I did not mean?—”

“You did.” He leaned in, one hand braced on the roof, and kissed me once, quick and warm. “You said our dog.”

“I was under duress.”

“You were standing in a parking lot.” He looked so happy that it made my ribs ache.

Ty shut my door before I could say anything that would make us both too soft for a team lake day.

The Frosthawksrental lodge sat on a private lake across town, tucked back through a long gravel drive lined with pines and birch trees. It was old-school Minnesota in a way that felt almost staged, all weathered cedar siding, green trim, screen doors, and a wide back lawn sloping down to a dock and a narrow strip of sand someone was generously calling a beach.

By the time we arrived, the place was already alive.

Kids ran barefoot through the grass with pool noodles. Someone had music playing low from a speaker near the lodge. Paddleboards were stacked along the mini beach. Two of the younger players were engaged in what appeared to be a deeply serious cornhole dispute. North Line staff moved between folding tables loaded with covered trays, coolers, and enough food to feed a professional hockey team, their families, and possibly an invading army.

Ezra stood near the grill in linen shorts and a Frosthawks cap, laughing at something Lo had said while Lo pointed a plastic fork at him like she was conducting a trial. Bea sat in the shade beneath a striped umbrella, one hand resting on the curve of her belly, dark hair pinned up, sunglasses on, looking too polished for someone who was thirty-nine weeks pregnant and sitting in ninety-degree heat. Alois stood behind her chair with a bottle of water in one handand the posture of a man prepared to physically intimidate the weather if necessary.

Arlo was near the food tables, sleeves rolled to his elbows, giving instructions to two staff members while pretending he had not personally checked every container twice.

Ty put the truck in park.

Every head within a thirty-foot radius turned.

Zee saw us first from the dock and narrowed his eyes. Marco followed his gaze and grinned so broadly I considered putting the truck in reverse myself. Bea lowered her sunglasses. Lo’s fork paused midair. Ezra looked at Ty, looked at me, then looked at Dottie in the back seat like the dog might confirm his suspicions under oath.

Dottie chose that moment to bark with the full authority of someone who had arrived at her own party.

Ty cut the engine.

I stared through the windshield. “We could still say you kidnapped me.”

“With your dog?”

“She is an unreliable witness.”

“She loves me.”

“She loves cheese and whipped cream.”

He reached across the console, palm up. He did not grab. He just waited. I looked at his hand. Then I put mine in it. The pressure of his fingers closing around mine was steady enough to make my whole body settle.

“Ready?” he asked.