18. The perfect fit #3
“So, uhh…” I glance at Evan, now stretching to his feet. “Was that an official invitation?”
His eyes flick to mine as I push myself up too. “To skip rocks?”
“Sure. Yes. To skip rocks. And do lake breaths.” I lift one shoulder. “To being your… something.”
The corner of his mouth shifts, but he doesn’t let the joke carry us too far. “I didn’t mean to put words around anything we haven’t talked about.”
My teasing softens before I can stop it. “You didn't.”
“Okay.” His jaw shifts once. “Good.”
I look toward Elle, already crouched by the water with Gus nosing hopefully at her sleeve. “You told her the truth without making it bigger than it needed to be.”
“Wanted to do right by both of you.” His gaze stays on me as he pauses in that careful, steady way that keeps undoing me. “Did you want a word?”
My throat tightens. “Do you?”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do.”
My heart gives one stupid, hopeful kick. “Okay…”
“Girlfriend,” he says. “If that’s okay with you.”
I glance toward Elle to hide the ridiculous smile trying to break free. “I suppose I could tolerate that.”
“So generous of you.”
“I’m known for my charity.”
His thumb brushes over my wrist. “My girlfriend’s very kind.”
A warmth spreads through me that has nothing to do with the weak afternoon sun, and Evan nods toward Elle.
“Come on, we better get down there before she starts asking any more pointed questions.”
I grin as we make our way to the shoreline, which is scattered with smooth stones in varying sizes. Elle is already attempting to throw them into the water with absolutely no technique whatsoever.
“It skipped,” she announces, right after her pebble drops straight down with a kerplunk.
“Incredible form,” I tell her.
Evan crouches down to pick up a stone and turns it over in his fingers.
“You ever skipped one?” he asks me.
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“C’mere.”
I hesitate for half a second, then step closer. He moves behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him at my back before he even touches me. His hand comes around mine, placing the pebble in my fingers and adjusting the way I’m holding it, while his other hand settles lightly at my elbow.
“Like this,” he says, voice low.
I feel every inch of where he’s touching me, the pressure of his fingers guiding mine. The way he angles my arm just slightly, his chest brushing my shoulder as he leans in.
“Flick your wrist,” he breathes, hot by my ear.
I try, and the stone hits the water and sinks immediately.
Elle groans. “That was bad.”
“Thank you,” I say dryly.
“You’re weren’t flicking.”
“I was flicking,” I protest. “I’m a great flicker!”
Evan’s laugh is quiet behind me. “You certainly are.”
I still, turning my head slightly. “Wow. Okay.”
He grins. “We’ll work on it.”
I pull out of his hold before I can think too hard about how easily I could stay there, and pick one up by my feet and try again, but it sinks immediately.
“I think I’m a lost cause,” I say, brushing my hands together.
“Or,” he replies, crouching down, “you’re using the wrong one.”
He doesn’t grab the first pebble within reach, he studies them. Turns one over in his fingers, then sets it down. Picks up another. Rubs his thumb over the surface, testing something I can’t see. Rejects that one, too. It’s subtle, the way he does it. The way he’s choosing.
Eventually, he straightens and walks back over to me, holding one out in his palm.
“This is the one.”
I take it from him. It’s flatter than the others. Smooth along both edges, weighted just right, and fits neatly against my fingers like it was meant to sit there.
“Good pebble?”
“Good pebble.”
There’s a brief moment where our eyes meet, but I turn back to the water before it lingers too long.
“Okay,” I mutter. “Round two.”
He steps in behind me again, closer this time. His hand glides along my arm, fingers trailing over my wrist and up over my hand, guiding the angle of the stone. His other hand settles at my hip, steadying me, thumb stroking just slightly into the fabric of my jeans.
“Trust it,” he says.
I don’t know if he means the pebble or the motion or him, or something else entirely. But I swallow, then flick my wrist the way he showed me.
The stone skips.
Once. Twice. Three times, before it sinks.
Elle loses it on the spot.
“You did it!” she shrieks, jumping up and down before crashing into my legs to hug me. Evan’s still behind me, his palms running up and down my arms, and I realize I am in a Prince sandwich.
A laugh spills out of me. “It was the perfect pebble.”
Evan’s hands stay warm against my arms.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “It was.”
Elle takes off again, already searching for her own perfect pebble.
“See? You just needed to find the right one! That’s what Dr. Dahlia says—they know when it’s the perfect fit.”
With a soft smile, I look out across the lake, at the water smoothing itself flat again after the ripples. Behind me, Evan’s hands still skate warmly back and forth over my arms.
And for the first time since arriving in Maplewood, I don’t feel like I’m standing on the outside of something looking in.
I feel chosen.