Page 69 of Main Event

“Yeah,” I say. “We are.”

The cove is still there. I almost don’t believe it until I see it.

The road down is narrower than I remember, with gravel and red dirt, weeds brushing the sides of the truck. At the end, there’s a small clearing tucked away from the main lake traffic, shaded by a massive oak that leans toward the water like it has spent a hundred years keeping watch.

No dock now. Or rather, what remains of one. A few old posts. Weathered boards near the shore. Enough to confirm I didn’t invent it.

The water is clear all the way down to the stones. Andi gets out slowly, taking it in.

“This is beautiful.”

“Yeah.”

“No, Luke.” She looks at me. “This is really beautiful.”

I grab the blanket from behind the seat, the cooler I packed badly and without enough ice, and the paper bag of peaches. We spread everything beneath the oak where the shade is deep and cool compared to the blazing afternoon beyond it.

The storm we left behind has not touched this place. Here, the sun sits bright on the lake. Cicadas buzz from the trees. Somewhere far across the water, a boat engine hums and fades. The mountains hold the horizon in both hands.

Andi slips off her shoes and walks to the edge. I watch her put one foot into the water. She inhales sharply. “You said this wasn’t cold.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“I implied nothing.”

She turns to glare at me over her shoulder. “This lake is practicing deception.”

“It’s mountain water.”

“It’s attempted murder.”

I laugh and walk beside her. The water closes around my feet, cool enough to bite, clean enough to make the heat seem less personal.

She looks down through it. “You can see everything.”

“That’s why I liked it.”

“As opposed to Lake Lanier, where the water looks like it’s hiding crimes.”

I grin. “Exactly.”

She takes another careful step in. The water reaches her ankles. I crouch, pick up a flat stone, and skim it across the surface. It skips twice and sinks.

Andi’s eyebrows rise. “I was promised improvement.”

“That was a warm-up.”

“That was a confession.”

I hand her a stone. “Your turn.”

She studies the water like it has become a strategic opponent. Then she throws. Five skips. Maybe six. I stare at the spot where it disappears.

She brushes her hands together. “Interesting.”

“That was luck.”