Chapter 14
Charlotte
After breakfast, the air is crisp and inviting, the kind of morning that practically begs you to go outside. Asher looks up from his phone and catches me staring out the window.
“Want to take a walk?” he asks, his voice casual but with that ever-present undertone of authority.
I hesitate for half a second, then nod. “Sure.”
We step outside and start down one of the resort’s winding trails.
The path is lined with tall pines and soft moss, and the morning sunlight filters through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground.
It’s beautiful, peaceful even, but my mind is anything but quiet.
Being around Asher tends to have that effect.
For a while, we walk in comfortable silence.
His strides are steady and confident, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.
I steal a glance at him, noticing the sharp cut of his jawline and the way the sunlight catches the flecks of gold in his gray eyes.
It’s infuriating how effortlessly good-looking he is.
“So,” I say, breaking the silence, “tell me something about yourself.”
“Like what?” he asks, glancing at me.
“I don’t know. Start with where you grew up.”
He smirks faintly, like he’s humoring me. “I grew up in a small town in Colorado. Not much to say about it. Quiet, lots of open space, not a whole lot of people.”
“Sounds... peaceful,” I say, trying to picture him as a kid, running through wide fields or climbing trees. “Were you always the strong, silent type?”
He chuckles softly. “Not always. But growing up in a small town, you learn to keep your head down and your mouth shut. Especially when your dad’s the sheriff.”
“Your dad was the sheriff?” I ask, genuinely intrigued.
“Yeah,” he says, his tone a mix of fondness and something heavier. “He was a good man. Tough, but fair. Taught me a lot about right and wrong.”
“And your mom?” I ask gently.
“She passed when I was young,” he says simply, his gaze fixed on the trail ahead. “It was just me, my dad, and baby sister after that.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my heart aching a little for him. “That must’ve been hard.”
He shrugs, but I can tell the memory is still there, just beneath the surface. “It was a long time ago. But yeah, it shaped me.”
I don’t press further, sensing he’s not ready to go deeper. “What about the military?” I ask instead. “What made you decide to join?”
He’s quiet for a moment, as if weighing how much to share. “I wanted to get out of Colorado, see more of the world. And I guess I wanted to make a difference, in whatever way I could.”
“Did you?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Sometimes,” he says with a small smile. “Sometimes not. But I learned a lot. About people, about myself. It wasn’t easy, but I don’t regret it.”
I nod, filing that away. Asher is like a puzzle, each piece giving me a little more insight into the man he is. And the more I learn, the more I... like him. Which is dangerous.
“What about you?” he asks, breaking into my thoughts. “What was growing up Charlotte Lane like?”
I laugh softly, kicking at a loose pebble on the trail. “Not as exciting as Colorado or the military, that’s for sure. I grew up in a house where appearances were everything. My parents were always throwing parties, attending galas, making sure the Lane name stayed sparkling and untouchable.”
He looks at me, his expression unreadable. “Did you like it?”
“Not really,” I admit. “It always felt... fake. Like we were putting on a show for everyone else while ignoring what was really happening.” And I want to tell him this is the first time in my life where it feels real. This fake engagement is the most real thing that has happened to me.
“What was really happening?” he asks, his voice soft.
I hesitate, then shrug. “Just... the usual family stuff. However, my grandmother always wanted us to portray the perfect family. I feel like it made my parents cold. I think it’s why they’re trying to save me now from a marriage I don’t want.
It’s like they’ve finally realized Wade was all wrong for me. ”
He nods, and for a moment, there’s an understanding between us that doesn’t need words.
As we continue walking, the conversation flows more easily.
He tells me about his first deployment, how he almost missed his sister’s wedding because of a storm, and how he once got chased by a bull on a dare.
I tell him about sneaking out of fancy parties as a teenager, my embarrassing attempt to join the debate team, and how I used to dream of running away to the mountains.
Somewhere along the way, the distance between us shrinks. And then, without warning, I feel his hand brush against mine. It’s brief, just a light touch, but it sends a jolt of awareness through me.
Before I can react, his fingers close around mine, his grip warm and steady. I glance up at him, surprised, but he’s looking straight ahead, his expression calm, like this is the most natural thing in the world.
I don’t pull away. Instead, I let my hand stay in his, marveling at how right it feels. For once, I don’t overthink it. I just walk, my heart beating a little faster with every step.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I don’t have to pretend.
We decide to explore the resort to see everything it has to offer.
I glance at Asher as we step off the main path of the resort, winding our way along a smaller trail lined with wildflowers and moss-covered stones.
“You sure you want to do this?” I ask, stepping carefully over a gnarled root. “Aren’t you supposed to be shadowing me like a proper bodyguard?”
He gives me a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest smile. “I’m still shadowing you. You’re just leading me into the wilderness now.”
I laugh. “I suppose I should be flattered by your dedication.”
“You should,” he deadpans, though there’s a playful gleam in his eyes.
The path curves, and sunlight flashes through the trees ahead. We emerge into a clearing where a wide, glassy lake stretches out before us, framed by tall pines and crowned with wisps of mist. The water is still except for the occasional ripple of fish just beneath the surface.
“Oh,” I breathe. “It’s beautiful.”
“Not bad,” Asher agrees, scanning the treeline automatically—still in protection mode, always.
I walk closer to the shore, pebbles crunching beneath my boots.
The sun warms my back, and for the first time in days, I feel the tightness in my chest ease.
There’s no Nancy Sinclair watching from across the room here, no Wade lurking with fake charm.
Just this lake, these trees, and Asher’s steady presence beside me.
He crouches, picking up a flat stone and testing its weight in his palm.
“What are you doing?” I ask, watching curiously.
“Skipping rocks,” he says simply. “You’ve never done it?”
I shake my head. “I’m more of a beach chair and cocktail kind of girl.”
He stands, tossing the stone in one smooth, practiced motion. It skips—one, two, three, four times before sinking.
I raise my brows. “Okay, that was impressive.”
“It’s all about angle and spin,” he says, already crouching for another. “Here.”
He hands me a small, flat stone. His fingers brush mine and my pulse ticks up in response. Stop it, Charlotte. It’s just a rock.
I turn toward the water. “Angle and spin,” I repeat, narrowing my eyes at the lake like it’s a worthy opponent.
“Hold it between your thumb and forefinger.” His voice is closer now, low and calm. I feel him step behind me, not touching but near enough that the warmth of his body seeps through the space between us.
I adjust my grip.
“Good. Now, low stance.” He chuckles softly. “Like you’re doing a half squat.”
“Great,” I say wryly. “My first fake fiancé date and I’m squatting at a lake.”
“Trust me.” There’s humor in his tone, but it’s gentle.
I lower myself a bit.
“Now flick your wrist when you release. Don’t just throw—spin it.”
I exhale and let the stone fly. It plunks unceremoniously into the water.
I groan. “That was pathetic.”
He laughs, the sound rich and unguarded. “Not bad for a first try.”
“Liar.”
“Could have been worse. First time I did it I didn’t even make it into the lake.” He crouches again, selects another stone, and this time positions himself beside me. His arm brushes mine as he demonstrates the motion again. The proximity is maddening—in a good way.
“Again?” he asks.
I nod, determined. “Again.”
We fall into an easy rhythm. He selects stones, and I attempt (and mostly fail) to skip them. But I’m laughing now, the kind that starts in your belly and takes over until your cheeks ache. The stress of the past days melts beneath each throw.
“You’re getting better,” he says, after my fourth attempt actually skips twice.
“Two skips. We’re practically Olympic material.”
“Gold medal, obviously.” He smirks. “For enthusiasm.”
I glance at him, catching the rare softness in his eyes. Not just the hyper-alert protector now, but a man who can laugh by a lake, who can enjoy something simple.
The breeze stirs the surface of the water, and for a beat I forget why we’re even here. It’s just me, Asher, and this perfect morning that feels startlingly real despite how fake everything else has been.
I hug my arms around myself and look out over the lake. “This almost makes me forget everything else.”
He watches me for a moment. “Good. You deserve that.”
The sincerity in his voice sends a different kind of ripple through me. I meet his gaze, finding something steady there. Something I don’t want to analyze too hard right now.
Instead, I smile and nudge his arm. “Next time, you’re bringing two coffees and a thermos of hot cocoa.”
His mouth curves. “Noted. Mission priority: caffeine and cocoa.”
I laugh. “Now you’re learning.”
We linger by the water a while longer, tossing the last of the stones and soaking in the sun. Eventually, he checks his watch and nods toward the trail.
“Time to head back. You’ve got to look convincingly in love for later, remember?”
I groan, rolling my eyes. “Ah yes, the performance of a lifetime.”
“You’re doing better than you think,” he says quietly.
I glance at him, caught again by the sincerity in his tone. Maybe I am. Or maybe, for a moment by this lake, it hadn’t felt like a performance at all.
As we start back toward the resort, I catch myself smiling again—for real this time—and wonder if skipping rocks should be a mandatory first date.
Even if it’s all pretend. Right?