She gave him a look of outrage.

“It’s too early to think about college,” he repeated.

“It’s exactly the right time—”

“Too early,” he said stubbornly.

“In that case, let’s at least talk more about fields of study and possible career paths.”

“Yawn. C’mon. Feed me the ball one last time, then I’m gonna go.”

“And do what?”

His face said, duh. “Check my phone.”

“Yes, because why would you want to experience this lake in Maine when you can stare at your phone?”

“I’ve experienced this lake in Maine enough. C’mon.”

They volleyed the ball.

They’d stay here another two nights, then point the Airstream south and begin the three-day journey home. She was simultaneously sorry that their trip was drawing to a close and ready to return to a space larger than twenty-three by eight feet, her shower, her home’s valley views, the cinnamon rolls at Sugar Maple Kitchen. And, of course, in Misty River, she’d be closer to Sebastian—

Confound it.

Look where she was! New England! With the person who was closest to her in the world. Who cared about proximity to Sebastian Grant?

Oddly . . . she did.

“I’m done,” Dylan declared when she once again failed to control the trajectory of her strike. He handed her his paddle and headed to their trailer.

Leah drifted to the lake’s edge and sat. Placing the paddles and ball to the side, she leaned against her wrists. Large rocks the color of pewter descended to the mirror-like surface of the lake, which reflected the clouds. Trees crowded the shoreline. Someone rowed a distant boat in her direction.

She imagined that it was Sebastian rowing. He’d moor the boat, then stride toward her. . . .

She’d have been more successful at avoiding daydreams of Sebastian while on this trip had she not had so many night dreams of him.

Sleeping in the bedroom of the Airstream that smelled of barbecue smoke and orange-scented Pledge, her customary anxiety dreams about Dylan had given way to dreams about Sebastian. Burnished, marvelous dreams, rippling with sensations. In them, Sebastian had slow danced with her. He’d sat next to her and looked across his shoulder into her eyes, laughing. He’d run a fingertip down the inside of her arm.

She’d entirely forgotten how wonderful dreams could be. So wonderful that the instant her conscious mind interrupted one of her dreams of him—even before she was fully awake—she started regretting the dream’s end.

Physical attraction was, it turned out, quite a delightful thing to undergo. Like eating an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie. Or calculating partitions of a number.

Physical attraction was also a perplexing thing to undergo, seeing as how she had informed Sebastian that she was missing the attraction gene.