Liv: U should start growing ur beard out now. No self-respecting recluse would walk around w/ just scruff.
Finn: I’ll work on it
Liv: Sorry if I woke u. I thought u’d have ur phone off & would get the message in the morning.
Finn: I was working late too.
Liv: Ur not supposed 2 B doing that. Clearly, u need me there to keep u in check.
Finn glanced at his laptop. Imagined it was Liv sitting there instead. Didn’t hate the idea.
Finn: Ur right. I can’t be trusted.
Liv: No more work. Go get some sleep. I’ll see u Saturday & I’ll bring the beer.
Finn: Deal.
They ended the chat, and something restless settled inside Finn, like a sleepy dog that had been turning in circles and had finally lain down. It was done. She would be here this weekend. Now he just had to figure out how not to fuck it up.
* * *
On Saturday morning, Liv flexed her fingers against the steering wheel and tried to will away the impulse to turn the car around and head back the other way. She’d never gotten a chance to talk to her boss, but late Thursday night after listening to Mrs. Gill wax on about all the changes she wanted, Liv had hit a wall. She needed a break. She deserved one. And she decided she wasn’t going to let the fear keep her chained to her desk for another weeken
d when Finn, the lake, and her camera were waiting for her.
So she’d worked a long day on Friday and had let Preston’s assistant know she wouldn’t be in this weekend and was taking a vacation day on Monday. Then, she’d bailed without waiting for official approval. She had a glut of vacation days. She should be able to use them. But breaking the rules had dumped an edgy dose of adrenaline into her blood. It was something old Liv would have done. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.
Either way, she was really doing this. Taking a risk. Not just staying with Finn, but all of it—taking her camera out, exposing herself to memories she’d locked away in her past, putting her job stuff aside when she really should be working all weekend.
Go, me.
Liv rolled her shoulders and took in the passing scenery, watching the land swell and ebb in the rolling terrain of the Hill Country. Long Acre had gotten its name because it occupied a flat piece of land tucked into an otherwise hilly part of Texas. That kept the tourists out for the most part: Yawn, flat land. But it gave the residents the option of affordable housing still within commuting distance of Austin, albeit an inconvenient hour commute. And it gave the more well-off folk access to lake houses in nearby Wilder for the weekends and summer. It had been a best-kept secret. Until it was national news. Then no one wanted to move there at all. Like the town had caught the tragedy disease and was now bound to have another, so must be avoided.
Stupid.
Signs for Wilder Lake appeared, and Liv took the exit. The businesses switched from national chains to the more eclectic—an odd mix of rustic home-style restaurants, gas stations advertising Fresh Kolaches, and hipster joints (Vegan! Farm-to-Table! Tapas!) that proved the Austin weekend getaway crowd still rolled through here on their way to the sexier tourist stops. Mixed in were the essentials—a small grocery store, a bait-and-tackle shop, and a liquor store.
This was the area the wealthier kids used to head off to on weekends. Parties at parents’ lake houses. Bonfires on the shores. Skinny-dipping. Getting drunk and camping under the stars. Far enough out that you felt like you’d escaped town, but really only a short car ride away. Liv had visited Wilder a lot growing up but had only been to one lake party in high school. Her sophomore year, she’d tagged along with a girl from her art class and had promptly regretted the decision when the girl had disappeared with her boyfriend and left Liv on her own with nothing to do and easy access to Jell-O shots.
Liv had gone on a drunken walk to get away from the heat of the bonfire and had stumbled upon one of the Let’s go find someplace more quiet spots. That’d been the first time she’d seen Finn outside of school. He’d been laid out on a couple of beach towels, a senior girl draped on top of him. The girl’s hands were up Finn’s shirt, and Finn’s fingers were in her hair. Making out like the other person owed them their air.
Liv’s head had been swimming already, but seeing that, she’d just stopped and stared. She hadn’t gotten past the awkward-kiss stage with any guy by that point, so the whole scene had seemed scandalous—but oddly fascinating. She’d had the urge to photograph it, all those angles and curves and hands. Until the girl caught Liv watching and called her a freak. Liv had apologized and had fallen down while trying to hurry away. Even in her drunken state, she’d known she’d broken some major social rule.
She’d hoped to escape unscathed. Everyone was drinking. No one would remember. But it wasn’t meant to be. Finn had come after her, asking if she was all right. He’d found her bent over, vomiting in the bushes. Fun times.
But he’d held her hair. Like they were friends. Like he cared.
She hadn’t been able to say a damn thing to him beyond a mumbled thanks, but she’d never forgotten the kindness.
Liv shook off the memory, ignoring the pang it caused in her gut, and turned on her blinker to take the exit that would lead to the lake. The main drag of shops and restaurants disappeared in the rearview. Next stop: Finn’s. A knot of tension gathered between her shoulders as the road narrowed and trees tangled above.
When she rounded a curve, the lake came into view, glittering like cut glass from the late-afternoon sun. A few birds were diving into it to find their dinner. But the bucolic scene did nothing to calm Liv’s nerves.
When she saw the address on the mailbox, she turned into the driveway of an impressive house of cedar and hand-cut stone and parked next to Finn’s black Expedition. Blue and yellow wildflowers lined the path to the door, and the address numbers were carved directly into a fat rock at the end of the path, along with the name of the house—Stillwater. Because apparently rich people liked to name their homes. This was to be her humble abode for her summer weekends.
“Okay, maybe I am crazy,” she muttered.
She had a moment where she considered turning around and canceling it all, but then the door opened. Finn stepped onto the porch in jeans and an army-green T-shirt, damp-haired and a little dirty, as if he’d be working on something. He leaned against the post, arms crossed and an unreadable expression on his face. Liv’s belly did a flip, and she tried to tamp down her body’s automatic response to the man.