Page 78 of The Wild Card

The water is cool against my skin as I wade in, and Emmie swims toward me, her smile bright.

“Finally.” She splashes me lightly. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to have fun.”

“I know how to have fun.”

“Do you? Name one fun thing you’ve done in the last year that wasn’t work-related.”

I think about it but come up blank.

“Exactly.” She’s treading water in front of me now, close enough that I could reach out and touch her. “Lucky for you, I’m an excellent fun coach.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.” She drifts closer, her hand finding my shoulder to steady herself. Her touch burns even in the cool water. “Lesson one: stop thinking so much.”

“I don’t think that much.”

“You think constantly. I can see it happening behind your eyes.” She taps my temple with a wet finger. “Right now, you’re thinking about six different things. Am I wrong?”

She’s not wrong. I’m thinking about her hand on my shoulder, her mouth, whether Foster is watching, the way her eyelashes clump together when they’re wet, and how easy it would be to pull her against me right now.

“See?” She grins. “Busy brain. Let it go for one afternoon. Just… be here.”

Be here.

I don’t know how to do that. I’ve never known how to do that. My brain doesn’t turn off; it runs threat assessments, contingency plans, and worst-case scenarios on a continuous loop.

But Emmie’s looking at me like she believes I can learn.

“Okay,” I hear myself say. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” She pushes off my shoulder and floats backward, still smiling. “Lesson two: splash fights are mandatory.”

“I don’t do splash fights.”

“You do now.”

She sends a wave of water directly at my face.

I sputter, blinking, and she’s already swimming away, laughing. Foster cheers from somewhere to my left. Before I can overthink it, I’m chasing her, launching water at her back and hearing her shriek when it hits.

We’re splashing like children. It’s ridiculous. Undignified.

Somewhere between catching her around the waist and dunking her under while she clings to my arms, laughing, I realize I’m having fun.

Actual, genuine fun.

With people who want to be around me. In a pool I’ve paid for but never used. On a lazy Saturday afternoon.

Later, we’re all back on the lounge chairs, dripping dry in the sun. Her friend Sadie showed up at some point—I barely noticed when—and she and Emmie are flipping through magazines, debating something about celebrity outfits. Foster’s half-asleep, a beer balanced on his stomach.

Emmie catches my eye and smiles—a small, private smile.

I smile back.

And for one perfect afternoon, I let myself pretend this could be my life. Not just an arrangement. Not just a contract.

Something real.