Page 170 of We Drank the Dawn

For reasons I didn’t fully understand, my throat squeezed. Yes, the list was a part of us, and I was glad he said it. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well…” He turned his gaze to the darkness beyond the driveway. “If my memory serves me well, there should be a pond somewhere over there.”

My eyes followed his until they landed on the glistening body of water beside the driveway.

A surprised cackle lifted from my lips. “There’s no way my germaphobic husband will jump in that pond.”

Jump in a pond had been a longstanding list item that we’d never crossed off because as city folks, we didn’t know of many ponds. And up in the mountains were bodies of water like lakes and reservoirs and rivers. But not many ponds.

“I will. I’ll do it.” His voice was resolute. “Meadowbrook might be our only chance.”

“But it’s cold out here.”

“Good. Less algae.”

“We’ll have to walk all the way back—we’ll be freezing.”

He shrugged as his hands slid up, one of them slipping beneath the band of my bra between my shoulder blades. His voice purred over my ear, “Nothing a steamy shower can’t fix.”

His insinuation was crystal clear—a steamy shower together. Want zipped through my body with such ferocity, I struggled to draw my next breath. I could definitely get on board with a cold pond jump and subsequent steamy shower with my husband. That was a splendid itinerary.

Still, I played hard to get.

I screwed up my nose, hemming and hawing. “I don’t know, Peter…I’ll have to think about it.”

He tilted his head, laughter brimming in his expression, because he knew my game.

“I’d hate to catch a cold.”

“It’s not the arctic, Sarah—it’s Texas.”

“We might get muddy.”

“You’ve never been afraid of mud.”

“Plus, I think I’m wearing the wrong clothes.”

Leaning forward, he whispered, “Then don’t wear any.” Driving his point, he kissed my neck, forcing a light gasp out of me. His lips moved against my neck as he whispered, “Just take it all off.”

“Will anyone see me?”

“Nope.” He gave one puff of laughter. “Not even me.”

“Peter!” I smacked his shoulder as a wild laugh shot from my throat.

He stood straight, letting me go and finding my hand. With a gentle tug, he led me off the driveway, through the grass, and towards a rickety dock that looked like the oldest thing on the ranch. When he felt us getting close, he slowed.

“You first,” I said. “I’m not convinced that thing can hold us.”

“Alright. Don’t let me walk off the side.”

“I won’t.”

He lifted a foot, testing it, and we slowly inched down until we stood on the very edge, overlooking the black pond. A soft trickling sound lifted over the quiet, indicating where the creek fed in. A sudden swish of fabric cut the moment as Peter yanked his hoodie over his head, kicked off his shoes, and tugged his pants until he stood on the dock in nothing but underwear.

My eyes trailed over him, my breath going shallow.

As much as I loved a spontaneous adventure, I wanted to skip straight to the good part.