Chapter 23: Ask Me Friday

Roxy's POV

On the last Friday of the summer Byron put the final seat into the skiff at four in the afternoon.

He ran his palm along the rail, and then he stood back with his arms folded and did not say anything.

The grain of the cedar shone in the low light through the boathouse door.

"It floats," I said.

"It better."

"You haven't tried it."

"I've tried it in my head for four years."

We carried it down the slip together, Tucker on the bow and Denton on the stern.

It settled on the water with hardly a sound.

I stepped in.

It rocked once and held.

"Everyone else gets the dock," I said. "This one's mine and his."

Denton put his hands up in surrender.

Tucker grinned and went to get the beers.

Byron rowed.

He pulled out past the point where the lake went from green to dark blue.

I sat in the stern with my knees drawn up and watched his shoulders move.

The sun slid down behind the pines on the far shore.

The first stars came out over the water.

He shipped the oars, and the little boat drifted, and it was very quiet.

"Rox."

"Mm."

"Come here."

He did not say it as an order.

It was a question, and I heard the difference.

I crossed the boat on my knees, and the whole skiff tipped and steadied.

I settled in his lap on the middle seat, facing him, with my knees on either side of his hips.

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