Lake I Love You (Dearing Creek #1)

Prologue

Lizzie

T hree months earlier

“Is all of this a dream?”

I repeated the question in almost a whisper as I stood there, staring at my grandmother.

But still, she refused to give me an answer—beyond the usual secretive smile playing across her lips.

It probably wasn’t fair for me to feel frustrated. But really, if anyone knew the answer, it would be her. Because without Grandma Cora in my life, I doubt I would’ve grown up dreaming at all. She’d always been my person, the one who understood me best—even when no one else seemed willing or able.

It was partly the reason she had pushed for those summers at the family lake cabin in Dearing Creek. She knew how important that time—and that place—would become to me, to all of us. And clearly, she knew the day would come when I’d need something to believe in.

For over thirty years, the sprawling blue cabin on the southern shores of Lake Elska had belonged to my grandparents—but when Grandpa Walter retired, they decided to turn it over to my family. Their dream was for the place they’d loved for decades to grow to be just as special for the next generation.

By then, Mariah was fourteen and Ethan and I were twelve, busy with our lives and activities in the suburbs of Minneapolis—a far cry from the sleepy northern Minnesota lake town. Both of our parents were deep into their careers by that point, working long hours and rarely making time in their schedules for anything resembling fun. And we three kids had gotten used to being independent, with things like family traditions or slowing down a foreign concept.

So the odds of the Blake Family feeling gung-ho about driving two hours north to hang out together on purpose—especially in an outdated cabin, with limited technology—was unlikely at best.

Looking back, though, it was clear the five of us had already begun drifting apart. Grandma Cora knew it and urged our mother to make family time a priority. And what better place?

“The cabin’s free to use, and so beautiful… remember how you used to love it there?” I’d overheard her saying to my mother. “Go on, get away from all those distractions and reconnect with your family, Cynthia. You’ll never get these days back again.”

But my mom wasn’t like her mother in most ways. So if it hadn’t been for the final push from my father’s doctor, I still don’t know that we would’ve done it. Dr. Banks had made it clear, though—if our father didn’t find a way to slow down with work, the stress from everything would eventually kill him.

And so our family began committing to a summer schedule that allowed us to spend most of our summer weekends up north. Some weeks, we kids would stay there for longer stretches with our grandparents while our parents headed back to Minneapolis for work.

At first, the three of us grumbled over losing access to our friends and everything we loved about summer in the city. Slowly, though, the magic of Lake Elska won us over. The lazy summer days, floating in the water; the freedom of riding our bikes all around town, ice cream in hand, without a care in the world; exploring in the woods surrounding the town and the lake, pine trees stretching high enough to block out the distractions of real life.

And then there were the evenings spent around a bonfire or laying in the cool grass, gazing up at the millions of stars rarely visible in the city—whispering countless wishes as they were carried off into the great beyond. We’d never known anything like it.

After that first summer, no one could deny that Grandma Cora had been right: this place—this pause—had been what each of us needed, for one reason or another.

But it wasn’t really until the summer I turned thirteen that the true magic of this place revealed itself to me, gifting me with most of my best memories.

Because that’s when I met my Dearie Girls.

That’s what we called ourselves, anyway. Seven girls—some local, others from cabin families like me—named after the small town we’d met in. It was my grandmother who’d coined the name first, calling us her ‘little dearies’ one pivotal weekend—and, well, the name stuck.

It was a miracle, really, that the group of us came together the way we did. Or maybe it was the magic of that place that did it.

By then, I was a gangly, introverted, and awkward girl with blazing auburn hair, spending most days hiding out with my nose in a book—while simultaneously praying that my boobs would finally show up. Back home, I had a couple of good friends—but for the most part, I’d never quite seemed to find where I fit.

My mother, however, had grown tired of me always hanging around the cabin during her “alone time”, while Dad was off fishing—and with my siblings already running around with the local friends they’d made, she was determined to get me out of her hair as well. “Bring a friend along next weekend,” she told me at the start of the season—really more of a command than a loving suggestion.

So that was how my good friend Indigo (or Indi, as she preferred to be called) came to be a regular member of Blake family cabin weekends. Indi was a compassionate free-spirit whose parents—hippie-types turned real estate agents—had divorced when she was little but still ran their business together. To her, the idea of going off with her friend to a lake cabin up north—instead of fending for herself all summer—sounded like a dream. And by the end of that first weekend, Indi had fallen under the spell of Dearing Creek as well.

But it still took a visit from Grandma Cora, luring us away from our books and porch loungers, to change everything. She ran us around to all her favorite places in Dearing Creek, making introductions with some of the locals before inviting a huge group to join our family for a bonfire.

That night, while the adults socialized inside with cocktails and gin rummy, the kids all sat together awkwardly around the fire, armed with marshmallows on roasting sticks, five flavors of Shasta soda, and a few bags of Cool Ranch Doritos.

Bit by bit, the group dispersed, until it was down to just seven of us—-me, Indi, Brooke, Kait, Tess, Jules, and Lena. Normally, I’d also be looking for an escape back to my cozy, introverted cocoon. But something about those girls made me stay, laughing and chatting as if we’d known each other our entire lives.

It’s amazing how a pile of junk food alongside a campfire under the stars can be a great equalizer, bringing together the most unlikely of people—almost like they’d always belonged there.

And that summer, our bond was cemented.

Over the years that followed, we all grew into women—and despite our differing personalities, paths and backgrounds, a strong sisterhood formed between the seven of us, traveling far beyond where we’d started.

All of it was thanks to my grandmother, who knew from the start what we’d need most to carry us through life— love . True, unconditional, intentional, and steadfast love. The kind that not only lifts you up and carries you away but holds you together when everything else is falling apart.

It was the strongest thing I could think of to believe in.

And my grandmother knew how much I’d need it for when the end of our chapter together finally arrived. I just never believed we’d arrive there so soon.

I stood next to her casket now, continuing to stare at the peaceful, smiling face of the woman who’d loved me best.

Please, Grandma… is all of this a dream?

Because it hadn’t seemed real six days earlier, when we’d received the call from her assisted living facility. I’d been with Ethan and Mariah, sitting in vigil next to our dying mother more than a hundred miles away, when my phone rang.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Blake… Cora passed away in her sleep sometime during the night. But it was so peaceful, my dear. No suffering.”

I have no idea if I even responded. I remember nothing beyond gut-wrenching pain.

Mom followed her just a few days later, and I’d felt like I was floating along in a fog of grief and disbelief ever since.

And now, here we stood—alone in a blurry sea of well-wishers, none of whom could do a single thing to bring either of them back.

I reached down now to touch my grandmother’s hand, lifeless and cold, nothing like the woman she’d been. Wishing more than anything that I could feel her warmth again, squeezing my hand in return. That I could hear her reassuring words, reminding me to never give up on my dreams, to hold tight to what I believed in.

“Don’t fret. Nothing is ever truly lost, Lizzie girl…”

But I had lost her, hadn’t I? There was no going back. Not ever.

Feeling the tears start again, I forced myself to step away. Because wishing for things to be different was pointless—and I already knew the answer to my question. None of this was a dream.

I couldn’t have known it then, but Grandma Cora had already been working in the background, writing the outline for my next chapter.

And even I , the writer of the family, couldn’t have written— much less predicted —the plot twists she had waiting ahead for me.