Page 50 of The Last Five Yards

“Yeah,” Maren answers. “It does.”

Reese’s voice lifts again, lighter this time. “And you still walk like you are counting your steps.”

Maren elbows her. “I do not.”

“You absolutely do.” Reese wiggles her eyebrows. “It is adorable.”

Maren turns her face toward the water, so Reese cannot see her blush.

The waves roll in, small and steady, brushing over the sand.

For now, everything stays simple.

Warm.

Stupid.

Familiar.

Like stepping into an old rhythm without thinking about it.

Something shifts in the air between them, light as a tide pulling in.

Not a question yet.

Not an answer.

Just the beginning of something opening.

Behind them, Ava’s voice carries down the sand.

“Hey! You two coming back? They’re breaking out the s’mores!”

Reese laughs, soft and close. Maren feels the sound more than she hears it.

She pulls in a quiet breath, steadying herself, then turns back toward the glow of the fire.

“Guess we should,” she says.

Reese bumps her shoulder again. “Yeah. Come on.”

They start walking together, footprints trailing behind them in the sand, the night settling warm and wide around them.

18

False Dawn

The sound of a seagull calling in the distance pulls Maren awake. Early light presses against her eyes, and for a moment she has no idea where she is. Then it comes back in a slow wash. They really fell asleep on the beach. The fire beside them has burned down to ash and a few stubborn embers.

Images from last night return in pieces. She had walked back to the group after talking with Reese at the shoreline, only to be stopped instantly by Jules asking for her car keys. While she and Reese were gone, everyone else decided they were sleeping out here and tore through each other’s trunks for blankets.

Her mom had always insisted she keep two sleeping bags in her trunk, because she would say, “You never know with this crazy Indiana weather. We can have all four seasons in one day.” Maren had never used them. The tags were still attached. Last night, she was grateful they existed.

She slips out from beneath one of the sleeping bags, careful not to wake Reese or any of the others curled loosely around what remains of the fire. Reese had fallen asleep mid-sentence while trying to convince a couple of the swimmers that diving required more skill than anything they did. They had refused to agree, and Reese had simply run out of energy.

Maren stands and stretches, a long, slow pull through her stiff muscles. Sleeping on sand feels a lot like sleeping on a bed made of cinder blocks, and every part of her protests. She is grateful that she didn’t drink last night. A hangover would finish her.

Down at the water, she lets the lake roll up over her toes. The cold bites instantly, sharp enough to make her inhale.