She ambles down the front steps, and she’s fucking adorable—wearing a baseball cap and a fishing vest, carrying waders and a pair of wading boots. Since I know Connor didn’t outfit her, I’m guessing she asked for help from Amanda, Hanna, and Lucy. Between the three of them they probably have all the gear, but if not, they know who to ask.

The vest is huge. It might be her dad’s. She’s swimming in its hugeness.

Under the adorable?

She’s fucking sexy. The fishing vest hangs open, and she’s wearing a thin lavender base layer underneath that clings to her curves. It makes me want to bail out on the whole trip right now and just undress her.

She sees me staring at her and raises her eyebrows. “Did I do okay?”

I nod. “You look great. And you make that shit look hot.”

Her smile lights up the early-morning Perez property.

She climbs into the truck.

“Do you want music?” I ask, pulling out of the driveway.

“Um, do you mind if we don’t? Sometimes I just really like it quiet.”

You can’t always know what you crave until it lands in your lap. I don’t think I could have predicted that Rachel’s simple observation would feel like a gift. But here we are, headed out to the upper Mionet River, the windows cracked, the radio silent, the sun still fighting to clear the morning mist, and it’s so goddamn peaceful.

And she’s part of the peace, like she soaks up some of the ambient noise.

I reach out and take her hand, and she squeezes mine back.

I show her how to cast. How the line floats out first, and the fly follows. I tell her that if you do it right, it’s called bending and stroking the rod.

“You’re making that up.”

“I’m not.”

She shakes her head. “Lucy should redo all her marketing campaigns just to focus on all the hotness the Wilder Brothers generate in a normal day. Sex sells, right?”

“I guess it does.” I dip down to kiss her neck, soft as silk. “You’re going to sunburn here.”

“Damn. I forgot sunscreen.”

“It’s OK.” I produce an extra neck gaiter from my pocket.

“Seriously, you just carry gear like this around?”

“Guys who run charters get used to bailing people out. Also, I’m not as good at it as I seem.”

I tell her the story of the first totally inauspicious book club. The missing TP, bug wipes, and sunscreen. The women and their gossip. Chicklet’s unintended swimming lesson. My reviews.

She makes faces and frowns and laughs in all the right places, and it takes the sting out of the memory.

“I wondered why you issued individual portions on the TP. And what accounted for that very intense sign in the head about menstrual products going in the provided trash bag.”