18. Neesha
NEESHA
T he drive away from the bookstore takes us out of town limits, along winding country roads that I haven’t been on in ages. “So are you going to tell me where we’re going, or keep me in suspense?”
“Telling you would ruin everything,” he says, glancing over at me with a mischievous smile. His hand catches mine and he holds it the rest of the trip, letting the slow stroke of his thumb soothe me.
As soon as he turns on a dirt road that leads into a wooded stretch, I know where we’re going. There’s a for-sale sign along the road, and my heart sinks when I think of someone buying this special place.
This is where Mom and I used to escape in her beat-up minivan when I needed cheering up or she needed a break from the world. We knew the owner before he died, but his children must have decided not to keep the land.
We wind through the forest, and when the road opens up to reveal Maple Lake, its surface like glass reflecting the moon, I have to blink back the emotion that feels like it’s going to spill out.
Even in early summer when the water was still shockingly cold, Mom would sit on that dock with her feet dangling in the water, laughing as I jumped in over and over until my lips turned blue and my teeth chattered so hard I could barely speak.
She’d wrap me in a towel that smelled like fabric softener and sunshine, telling me stories while I warmed up enough to jump in again.
“You’re crazy, baby girl,” she’d say with that smile that told me she was just like me. “But don’t ever change.” Those are the memories that make leaving feel impossible, even when staying feels just as hard.
It’s places like this that I know Seattle can’t replace.
“Lucian,” I breathe, “this was our place. Mine and Mom’s. She always said she wanted to buy it someday, but she never had the money.”
He parks near the water’s edge and turns to me. “I know. A little bird told me you loved Maple Lake. Is it okay that I brought you here?” he asks. “Because if it’s not, we can leave.”
I stare at the water for a beat. “I’ve wanted to come for so long,” I admit. “I just couldn’t do it by myself. Couldn’t face the memories.”
Lucian retrieves a large basket and blanket from the truck bed before leading me down the familiar path to the dock, illuminated now only by moonlight.
He spreads the blanket on the dock and begins unpacking his treasures: a thermos of hot apple cider, two mugs, and a small box.
“Who made these?” I ask, smelling a familiar scent of maple syrup and vanilla.
He pulls out two maple-spice cupcakes with cinnamon buttercream—the recipe Mom and I perfected before she went in for her surgery.
“I made them,” he says, and there’s something almost shy in his voice.
“Or tried to, anyway. Mimi shared your mom’s recipe with me.
” The slightly crooked frosting on the two cupcakes somehow makes them even more endearing.
“Emmy mentioned you haven’t been able to make these since she passed.
I thought maybe if someone else made them first, it might be easier. ”
He hands me one, and the familiar scent of cinnamon and maple hits me like a gentle wave.
For a moment, I can’t speak because my throat feels too tight.
This man—this beautiful, thoughtful man—made my mom’s cupcakes because I couldn’t do it.
Every time I tried, I’d end up sobbing over the mixing bowl, overwhelmed by how unfair it all was.
Mom wasn’t supposed to die from routine surgery.
She was supposed to be here with me, laughing as I jumped off this dock well into my thirties.
Knowing her, she’d probably be jumping right off with me, with her shoes on and all.
But sitting here now, holding this imperfect cupcake with its lopsided frosting, that grief feels different somehow. More bittersweet, and less like an open wound, a reminder that the people we lose never really leave us if we carry their recipes, their stories, their laughter with us.
“She would’ve loved that you tried,” I say, my voice wobbling a bit, before I take a small bite. It tastes like autumn and childhood and the way love should feel—warm and safe and a little bit sweet.
“It’s delicious, Lucian. Even with the crooked frosting. Especially with the crooked frosting.”
“Good thing, because I’m pretty sure I used too much cinnamon.”
I laugh despite the tears welling up in my eyes. “Mom always said the best recipes have a little extra love, even if they’re not perfect.”
We sit side by side, sipping hot cider and sharing cupcakes, watching the moon dance on the water.
The night is cool but not too cold, and I shiver just a little.
Lucian moves closer, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, and this time, I don’t fight it.
His warmth feels amazing, making me wish I could stay here with him like this all night.
Lucian’s hand finds mine on the blanket.
The movement pushes up his sleeve slightly, revealing the edge of the maple-leaf tattoo on his forearm.
It’s attractive in a way that has nothing to do with showing off, and everything to do with a man who’s claimed this town as his own.
Like he was made to stay in Maple Falls.
The movement feels far more intimate than anything we’ve done together, as if we’ve always touched in this familiar way.
“She was right, though,” he murmurs. “You are special.”
I turn to look at him, and his expression has changed. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he says hesitating. “About the bachelor auction.”
“The one this weekend?” My stomach drops despite how perfect this moment has been. “What about it?”
He runs his thumb over my knuckles. “I’m contracted to participate.
Team obligation. And I want to help raise enough money so we don’t have to relocate the arena if this MacDonald land claim turns out to be legitimate.
” His voice is apologetic. “But there’s only one person I want to go on a date with, and she probably can’t afford to outbid the women Noreen and her niece are inviting. ”
Jealousy flares in my chest. “The whole town’s already planning who to bid on, aren’t they?”
“Mary-Ellen’s been taking bets,” he admits. “But I’m serious, Neesha. I don’t want to go on a date with anyone else but you. Not when what I really want is sitting right here.”
I think about what we said on the rooftop—about pretending we have all the time in the world. I want to stay right here forever—wrapped in memories of Mom, sharing cupcakes with Lucian, pretending that tomorrow doesn’t exist.
That’s when I decide to do something crazy, something that makes this night ours.
Without thinking, I stand and kick off my shoes. The dock is cool under my bare feet.
“Neesha?” He watches as I peel off my socks, confusion and something else flickering in his eyes. “What are you doing? ”
“Something I haven’t done since Mom died.” I pull my sweater over my head, leaving me in my tank top and skirt. He glances over at me, before looking away, making heat spread across my skin despite the cool air. “Something that used to make me feel alive.”
“It’s October.” I catch him stealing another glance at the way the moonlight catches the thin fabric of my tank top before he forces his gaze back to my face. “You were shivering five minutes ago.”
“I know.” I hold out my hand, thrilled by the way he’s looking at me—like he’s fighting every instinct to pull me back into his arms instead of letting me jump into freezing water. “Come with me? I don’t want to do this alone.”
The way he stares at my outstretched hand, then back at me, I can see the conflict churning behind his eyes. He hesitates briefly before standing, shrugging out of his sweater. In the moonlight, his skin glows silver, the bruises along his side faded, but still there.
We stand at the edge of the dock, the tiny waves lapping the support beam.
“On the count of three,” I say, grabbing his hand. “One…two…three.”
We hit the water together, our hands still intertwined, his grip the only thing tethering me to something real. The water is shockingly cold, but the rush of exhilaration through my veins makes me feel more alive than I have since Mom died.
I break the surface, gasping and laughing, my hair streaming water down my neck and shoulders. Lucian surfaces beside me, running his hand through his wet hair, water droplets clinging to his dark lashes in the moonlight.
In the silvery light, he looks almost otherworldly—all gleaming shoulders and defined lines.
He can touch the bottom of the lake, but I have to tread water to stay afloat. As soon as he notices, he reaches for my waist, pulling me toward him. His arms wrap around me, and suddenly I’m anchored to something solid and warm in the dark water, his body deliciously close.
I know we can’t stay in this freezing water much longer—my teeth are already starting to chatter and I’ve lost feeling in my fingertips—but I never want this moment to end.
Being held by him like this, skin-to-skin under the stars, feels like I’m finally able to make new memories here without erasing the old ones.
Lucian and I can exist in the same space where Mom and I once belonged, creating something beautiful instead of just missing what’s gone.
I tip my chin up to the sky and see the stars sprinkling the black canvas above us, endless diamonds in the night, the perfect backdrop to our date.
“This is crazy,” I whisper, my lips close to his ear.
“The best kind of crazy,” he murmurs back, his breath warm against my temple.
“And perfect.”
“It is,” he says, and when I pull my gaze back to his, I realize he hasn’t been looking at the sky. He’s looking at me.
“So perfect.” He takes his hand and brushes his knuckles over my jaw tenderly, like I’m exquisite to him.
Then he brings his mouth close to my ear. “Maybe this is your next chapter.”
“What do you mean?”
“This. Us. Right now.” He pulls away just enough to look at me. Then his hand cups my face. “The beginning of something new. If you want it too?”
His eyes drop to my mouth and I know what he’s asking before he even says the words.
“If you don’t want this too, just use the escape clause and we can go.” The fact that he asks—even now, giving me an out—makes my stomach free-fall.
“Please,” I breathe.
His lips find mine slowly, reverently, like he’s memorizing the moment.
The kiss starts soft, questioning, his mouth warm against mine despite the cold water around us.
When I begin to kiss him back, threading my fingers through his wet hair, he deepens it slightly, his other arm tightening around my waist.
It’s nothing like the desperate, demanding kisses I’ve known before.
This is patient, thorough, like he has all the time in the world to learn exactly how I like to be kissed.
His lips move against mine with a tenderness that makes me ache inside, and when he pulls back just far enough to look at me, his eyes are soft.
“You taste like cupcakes,” he whispers against my lips, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
I laugh softly. “I hope that’s a good thing.”
“Oh, it’s the best thing. Cupcakes are my favorite,” he says, pulling me back toward him.
This time when he kisses me, I feel it everywhere—warmth spreading through my body, making me forget about the cold water, the uncertain future, everything except the way he holds me like I’m something worth choosing.
When I slip a little in his arms, his hands tighten around my back. “I’ve got you,” he whispers. “As long as you want me.”
I’ve always wanted this man.
I shiver a little and he notices the goose bumps on my arms. “You’re cold. I need to get you dried off.”
When we finally swim back to the dock, both of us shaking from the cold and breathless with laughter, Lucian wraps the thick blanket around me, cocooning us as we make our way back to the truck.
My wet clothes cling uncomfortably to my skin, but I’ve never felt more alive—or more certain about what I want.
He stops at the passenger door, his hands still holding the blanket closed around us, like I’m wrapped up against him. “I had more planned for tonight,” he says, tucking a wet strand of hair behind my ear with gentle fingers. “But I think we’ve had enough adventure for one evening.”
I look up at him, this man who brought me to my most sacred place and somehow made it ours.
“Lucian,” I say softly, “what I said earlier—about pretending we have all the time in the world? I don’t want it to be pretend anymore.”
His eyes search mine. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t want to practice anymore. Any of this.” I look at the lake behind him, the memories I’ve built here. “I want the real thing. With you.”
For a moment, he goes perfectly still, like he’s afraid to breathe and break whatever spell is between us.
Then he lowers his forehead to rest against mine, his eyes closing briefly.
“I’ve been hoping you’d say that,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my lips.
“Because pretending to fall for you was never the hard part, Neesha. The hard part was pretending I wasn’t already yours. ”
Standing there, with the maple trees rustling above us, Lucian kisses me again like he’s been waiting his whole life to do this. Because this was never about practice—this was about falling completely.