And Grady Tripp asked me to dinner! At his place! Eep! Every time I think about it, I feel butterfly wings in my stomach and tingles everywhere else—all those lovely things I thought were over for me. I’m flushed and flustered with excitement. To be there. To see how he lives. To meet his dogs. To eat his food. To be with him on his dock as the sun goes down on the lake. And maybe…

Nope, I can’t think about that now.

His hand brushes against mine as we stand there, watching our little boats teeter. Mine starts to tip, drifting against Grady’s. Wren’s boat seems magically pulled into the tunnel of bald cypress trees and waving moss. It’s so serene, the quiet.

A gator suddenly breaks the surface, snapping its impressive jaws over Roy’s boat, taking it and capsizing the others.

I scream, grabbing onto Grady’s shoulder. Christie and Roy jump and curse. Even Wren takes a startled step back.

“Holy fuck. Bessie’s back,” Wade says, completely still and mildly amused. “You frightened us, honey.”

“Guess she likes chicken wings,” Roy decides.

“You okay?” Grady asks.

I nod, even more flushed. “Yeah, wow, she’s a big girl.”

“Twelve feet as the day is long,” Wade says. “Comes here to have her babies. Ain’t nothing like gator watching in the spring.”

My brain fires with new ideas as Bessie chomps on the paper-covered chicken wing and disappears into the algae, taking our meager boats with her. “That’s it.”

“What’s what?” Roy asks.

“Our hook to bring in tourists,” I say. “Local products, hot dogs, and gator spotting. We’ll need signs and a new observation deck with a railing. I’ll call Peter Pike. What adventurous family on vacation wouldn’t detour a few miles for a chance to see gators? It’s perfect.”

“They’re so misunderstood,” Christie nods. “It’d be nice to give them some positive attention.”

“Oh, I could give gator talks,” Roy offers, “tell ‘em stories about playing keep-away with the babies and that time Bessie nearly killed Wade.”

He shrugs sheepishly. “We were still getting to know each other then.”

“Well, let’s keep the near kills on the down low,” I say, “but the rest, yes. We’ll win the locals with lower prices and our new, family-friendly look. But now, we’ll win the tourists, too.”

“We could sell gator gear,” Roy chimes in, “like little stuffies and toys. Kids love that shit.”

“Hell, you love that shit,” Wade laughs.

“There’s a kid in all of us, Wade,” Roy says.

I flip my notebook open and start jotting down ideas.

Grady’s hand circles my waist again as he whispers in my ear. “I’ll leave you to it. See you at six?”