Page 8 of The Family Friend

"Yeah, but less weird than you in this one."

"That's not even logically possible."

They drift away eventually, still debating, disappearing toward the house, all while munching on nachos.

The adults settle back into comfortable conversation, voices mixing with the sound of water lapping at the dock.

The light starts to fade, purple creeping in around the edges of the sky. Gram and Juliet migrate to the porch, still bickering about something—whose fault it is that the mosquitoes are so bad this year. Alvin and Janine start clearing plates, along with the twins' parents, waving off offers of help.

And then it's just Harriet and me and the dying fire.

She's kicked off her flip-flops, that shirt still sliding off her shoulder every time she moves. The firelight catches in her hair, throws shadows across her face that make her look like something from a dream.

"Remember the summer of the great cookie heist?" she says suddenly.

I laugh, the memory hitting me full force. "The tin of sewing supplies."

"We were so careful. Waited until Gram went into town, picked the lock on the pantry⁠—"

"You picked the lock. I just provided moral support and bad advice."

"And we finally got that stupid tin open and it was just spools of thread and needles. Not even good thread."

"The disappointment was crushing. I think I laid on the kitchen floor for ten minutes."

"You were so dramatic." She's grinning now, unselfconscious, the guarded thing from earlier completely gone. "I was the one who had to explain to Gram why her sewing supplies were scattered all over the counter."

"And she made us organize the whole pantry as punishment."

"Worth it, though. We found that stash of chocolate bars behind the flour."

"Which she definitely knew about and was saving for us to find."

The conversation slides into other memories, easy as breathing. The summer I found her the job at the bookstore in town when she wanted to save up for a new computer.

"You've always looked out for me every summer," Harriet says softly.

"Looking out for you was never a chore."

The whole world slides to a stop around us, and my self-control cracks, a rush of deep, intense longing rushing through the gap.

"What about the rain swim?" I ask, and her eyes go wide. "Remember that?

"Oh God, don't."

"Come on. That was legendary."

"That was stupid. We could have been struck by lightning."

"But we weren't. We were eighteen and invincible and it wouldn't stop raining." The memory sits heavy between us—cold water and wet clothes and fabric clinging to every curve. "Gram nearly killed us when we came back soaked."

"'Nearly' is generous. I thought she was going to make us sleep in the garage."

"Would have been worth it."

Her gaze drops to my mouth. Just for a second, a flick of her eyes, but I catch it and everything in me goes taut. My cock strains against my pants. I'm so fucking hard to the point of pain.

This is it. Finally.