OKAY. FINE. She could admit it.

Grace was in love with Maxwell Sharpe. She’d probably fallen for him on the airplane ride over the ocean, when he’d practically helped hold her barf bag. Definitely when he shoved his foot into her door and forced her to escape from her hotel room and raised her meager expectations of this trip. But it had only been cemented when he’d helped her believe she was capable of more than she’d ever dreamed.

Like snorkeling. Parasailing. Surfing.

Being a finalist in Honolulu Chop.

When Palani had uncovered the Twinkies’ plate during today’s main course round, leaving only the hippies and Max and Grace to compete in the dessert finale, Grace simply had no words.

No words except I love you, Max.

She wanted to grab his beautiful face with both hands, look him straight in those hypnotizing brown eyes, and blurt it out.

Maybe even kiss him. Oh, she’d thought about it —a lot, in fact. What it might feel like to be in his arms —really be there, not just by chance, but because he wanted her.

Sometimes she thought she saw it in his eyes too. A flicker of desire that broke free from wherever he tamped down his emotions. That was about when he turned away, cracked a joke, or announced they would do something adventurous.

It made her wonder if his words at Pearl Harbor weren’t hypothetical, but rather a sort of cryptic message. Which felt weird because what did he mean, if you knew someone was going to die? Max wasn’t dying —one look at the man shouted the contrary.

She leaned back on her hands on the cushion of her towel in the sand, watching as he paddled hard with a wave, caught it, and stood, riding the angle to the shore. Water glistened off his hard-packed body, the ripples in his stomach, his sculpted shoulders. He wore sky-blue trunks, and against the twilight blue of the sky and the ocean, he looked like a man made for the sea.

Hard to believe he spent nine months of the year on ice.

She couldn’t think about that —about leaving. Four days until her vacation was over, and how did anyone expect her to return to her mundane, pizza-tossing life after the exhilaration of Hawaii? Of Honolulu Chop? Of Max?

Maybe she didn’t have to. Maybe . . . maybe if she told him how she felt, it would unlock whatever trapped him, whatever kept him from unleashing his own feelings. After all, he carried the deep pain of losing his father. Maybe he was simply afraid of losing again.

If she let go of her heart, handed him a piece of it, maybe that would be enough for him to give her a piece back.

Then what? They continued their relationship in Minnesota?

She watched him tumble into the surf, emerge, grab his board, and paddle out again. She’d begged out of today’s surfing, wanting to give him time to surf on his own. Not that he’d complained, but after today’s competition, Keoni had come up to her while Max was completing his set of interviews for tomorrow’s taping and mentioned that Max hadn’t joined any of the locals this year.

Oops.

Still, she’d practically had to force Max to leave her on the beach while he joined Keoni and a school of other surfers fighting for waves.

After all, she had that unread book.

Right. Her mind kept wheeling back to the photo session today, the one featuring her and Max dressed in their chef’s attire, posing with knives and lobsters and other island treasures. Once he’d picked her up, thrown her over his shoulder. She banged on his back until he released her. He’d been laughing too, the sound of it infectious.

The cameras caught the entire thing, but she didn’t care. After all, who would see it? Honolulu Chop didn’t exactly garner a national audience.

It was that moment, laughing in his arms, when she’d realized she didn’t care if he didn’t say the words back. She loved him. And somehow she’d figure out a way to tell him before tomorrow’s competition.

In her bag, she heard her cell phone sing, and she reached for it, fumbling to answer, glancing first at the caller ID. “Mom?”

“Grace! I’m so glad to hear your voice. How are you?”

She sank into her mother’s welcome voice. Oh, where to start? “I’m great, Mom. Absolutely great. I love . . . Hawaii.”

“Wow.” Her mother laughed on the other end, and Grace imagined her sitting at the family picnic table, listening to the loons as the sun set —or maybe it was later, with the moon rising over the shaggy pines to the west. “Is this the same woman who looked white as a sheet at the thought of getting on a plane?”

“Nope. That woman is long gone. I’m tan and I’m surfing and I’m . . . I’m not coming home.”

Silence.

“I’m kidding, Mom.” But she stared into the surf, where Max and Keoni fought for the same wave. Her words contained some truth.

She didn’t want to leave this magical place where she’d learned to dive into life and live large.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to visit Hawaii. If you decided to stay —”

“Seriously, Mom. No.” Grace laughed the idea away, despite the lingering tingle of desire. “But I am learning lots about cooking for Eden’s wedding. I’m even in a cooking contest!”

“I know.”

“How —?”

“Your sister told me, and I looked it up online. There are pictures of you and Maxwell Sharpe, with comments about the food you’re making. Even videos of you two, and I downloaded the last episode. I saw that you made my curry potato soup!”

“Yeah. Except with plantains and tofu. And today —you should have seen it, Mom. Our ingredients were a pig knuckle, mangoes, and arborio rice.”

“What kind of rice?”

“It’s risotto rice. We made a mock roaster pig knuckle with mango risotto. You should have seen Max. He seared the knuckle in a cast-iron pan, then roasted it in butter and fresh rosemary in the oven. I was worried it wouldn’t get done, but it was juicy and just a little rare and absolutely succulent. While he worked on the meat, I made the mango risotto.”

“Risotto. I’ve never even tried to make that.”

“It can be tricky. I sautéed some onion with the risotto in coconut oil, then added white wine, coconut milk, and some water and kept stirring until the rice absorbed the liquid. I grated in some fresh nutmeg, and then after the liquid absorbed, I added the mango. We served it on top of the pork with a little rocket arugula, and it was so pretty. The judges loved it.”

“You amaze me, Grace.”

“It was all Max. He came up with the idea —”

“It sounds like you two are a great team. You seem to be having a lot of fun.”

A great team. Grace watched as Max lost his footing on the board and fell into the surf. “I think I’m in love with him, Mom.”

Silence, and Grace quickly followed with, “Oh, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I . . .” But she had to tell someone or she might burst.

“Does he love you?”

“I don’t know. I sometimes think so, but he hasn’t said anything. Maybe I’m just reading into all this. Wishing for something I can’t have. I don’t want to do something that I’ll regret.”

Max popped up from his tumble into the sea and grabbed his board, this time climbing on and riding it to shore.

“You always told me that you were only going to fall in love once. And when you did, you’d give your heart away completely. I’m so glad you like him. But you need to take a breath. Does he love Jesus like you do? Is he going to be the husband who leads you closer to God?”

“I . . . Oh, I hope so, Mom. He says he’s a Christian, and I see it in him. He’s so kind and patient, and he believes in me, even pushes me to believe in myself. He makes me want to . . . to do the things I’ve always wanted to do but been too afraid to try.”

“Like fall in love.”

She dragged her finger through the hot sand, made a heart. “Yeah. Like fall in love. I’ve never really felt this way about a guy before . . . or even wanted to.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“I don’t know. We have one day left of competition and then a couple more days until we fly home Sunday afternoon. I keep wondering . . . or hoping . . .”

“You’re hoping to see him when you get back to Minnesota.”

“He does play for the Blue Ox. And Eden lives in Minneapolis. What if I moved to Minneapolis and . . . ?”

Again, silence.

“Or not. I don’t know. Maybe that’s a terrible idea. It could backfire and then what?”

“Then you get back up and you keep following God’s open doors. Just like this trip. You trusted God, and see what’s happened? More than you could have asked for or expected. Look at you. Surfing. A cooking star —”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Yes. You’re brilliant, Grace. And how would you have known that unless you trusted God to show you what He would do with an open heart?”

She wouldn’t really qualify her heart as open when she got on the plane. But maybe . . . maybe God had done something with her fledgling hopes. Her longings for more.

Max came to shore now, glistening under the sun and smiling at her.

“I gotta go, Mom.”

“Eden will pick you up from the airport on Monday. You might want to stay with her a couple days, just to talk about the wedding.”

Max grabbed his towel, covered his head.

“Go for it, Grace. More than you can ask or imagine. Believe in God’s plan for you.”

“I love you, Mom,” she said and hung up.

Max hunkered down next to her. “Your mom, huh?”

She put the phone away. “I was telling her how spectacular you were today.”

“As were you. Want to know a secret?” He leaned close to her. “I’ve never made risotto well. I was totally at your mercy.”

His eyes skimmed her face, his lips so close she could almost taste them. Water hung from his whiskers, dark and rough after a full day. He smelled like the ocean —salty, mysterious —and the scent of his coconut oil sunblock.

She couldn’t speak, only managed to bite her lip.

His eyes dipped to her mouth; then abruptly, he sat up. “Maybe we should get back to the resort and clean up before dinner. We have a five thirty reservation.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, not moving.

Now. She should tell him now. Before the moment ended. Just open her mouth and say it. I love you, Max. You changed my world.

But her chest tightened, trapping the words inside. “We’re going to win tomorrow,” she said and wrinkled her nose at her cowardice.

He glanced at her and grinned. “Yep.”

She laughed and the knot in her chest eased. Yep. Maybe she didn’t have to say it right now. Maybe she’d wait until tomorrow, after they won.

Then they’d have two full glorious days to savor their victory . . . and figure out how to bring it home to Minnesota.

Tonight Max would have to keep a tight grip on his heart if he had any chance of leaving Hawaii in one piece.

Grace descended the hotel steps and came toward him wearing a green sundress, her hair down, floating like gold around her shoulders. A hint of orchid fragrance lifted from her skin, and he conceded that he hadn’t a hope of getting out of this without pain. His only consolation lay in the fact that the four sweet hours he would escape with her tonight on the catamaran dinner cruise might be the most glorious of his life.

The kind that could sustain a guy during the dark, hollow days ahead of him.

So he gave her his arm and determined to keep his wits about him, to not let his affection take them too far, to keep his heart safely in his chest.

“Where are we going?”

“I have a surprise for you.” He walked her down the boardwalk toward the catamaran tied up to the long dock. The sun hung low over the sea, fading fast, but twinkly lights wound around the mast of the boat, turning it magical. Their captain, a friend of Keoni’s named Lio, sat on the end of the boat, barefoot, his legs dangling down. He wore a Hawaiian-print shirt, a baseball cap over his shaved head.

“Aloha,” he said, jumping up and climbing onto the dock.

“Sorry we’re late,” Max said. He’d retrieved a couple of his messages before hopping in the shower. One from his agent, who called with some interesting celebrity endorsement opportunities. He skipped over the three from Brendon, not willing to let his brother’s aspirations sour his vacation.

Sorry, Bro, but he wasn’t going to tear open the fabric of his dismal future for the world to pity him. For Grace to pity him.

He wanted her untainted admiration for as long as he could have it.

He held his hand out for Grace as she climbed over the edge onto the sailboat. Her blue eyes landed on him, wide, a smile telling him he’d chosen tonight’s dinner correctly.

“This is incredible, Max. Do we have the boat to ourselves?”

“With the exception of our skipper, Lio.”

Lio waved to her from where he was casting off, and Max helped her to the front of the boat. Netting stretched between the two hulls, but he directed her to the deck in front of the cabin. “We’re not going out far, just enough to see the lights and get some dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Lio, along with being a talented skipper, runs a private dinner cruise.” He hunkered down beside her, watching as the boat slipped away from shore. “On the menu tonight: crab cakes with spicy aioli, tropical fruit salsa over macadamia nut–crusted basa fish, and grilled asparagus.”

“Yum.” She shook out her golden mane of hair. “I love boats. We have canoes and a fishing boat, and once my parents rented a houseboat for a couple days on Lake Vermilion. But I’ve always wanted to have my own boat.”

For a second it tripped his lips —the notion that maybe next year they rent a yacht, sail around Hawaii. Instead he leaned back on his hands, breathing in the scenery and the sense of her beside him, not letting his tomorrows steal his today.

“What do you think they’ll throw at us in the competition tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. Maybe star fruit. Or mahimahi. We haven’t had a lot of seafood to deal with yet.”

“How would we ever make a mahimahi dessert?”

“I don’t know. Maybe grind it up and put it in something with dark chocolate? Make a sea-salt caramel to go with it?”

She stared at him. “You’re so brilliant. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

He reached up and caught a strand of her hair when the wind twined it around her face. “I did mention I’ve been going to culinary school during the off-season for a few years now, right?”

“But . . . you have to have some natural ability. Does anyone else in your family cook?”

He hadn’t let her too far into his family, but maybe he could give a little more away, just a couple pieces. “After my dad died, my mom needed a way to provide for us, so she became a private chef. She liked to experiment with cuisine from different cultures, and she’d often try out recipes on us before she made them for her clients. She’d say, ‘Boys, what country should we visit this weekend?’ and then we’d dig up recipes from Thailand or China or even Russia and attempt to make them.” He shook his head, the memories savory. “Attempt is the key word there.”

“If there is one thing this competition has taught me, it’s that you just don’t know what will taste good. You have to throw things together and try,” she said.

Try. He put the word behind him. “My mom could make anything delicious from what she pulled from the cupboard. Not me. I like to follow recipes.”

“I know, Mr. Get It Right the First Time.”

That was him, wasn’t it? But looking at her, he had the sense that letting go of needing it to be perfect might be okay.

“Yeah, well, we wouldn’t be in the final round without you, Grace, and your ability to take a chance.”

Take a chance. His own words were lethal tonight, and he looked away at the darkening shoreline of Honolulu, the buildings quickly turning into spires of light jutting into the velvety sky.

He felt Grace’s gaze on him. “I wouldn’t have entered the contest if it weren’t for you, Max. You . . .” She swallowed. “You made me feel like a winner before we even entered. I don’t care if we win tomorrow. I’m just happy right now. Happy I met you.”

His throat thickened, his chest tight. “What if . . . what if . . . ?” What was he doing? But the words swirled out of him, already beyond his control. “Have you ever seen a Blue Ox game?” Oh, idiot. Of course she had —her brother had played for the Blue Ox. Before Max destroyed his career, before Max took his place.

He should just throw himself overboard right now. Because he saw where this would end, yet he seemed unable to stop himself from barreling toward the catastrophic finale.

“Not live,” she said. “Amelia and Casper went last season, but Eden was always the one with the tickets, so . . .”

“Uh . . . well . . . maybe you could come to one of my games.” Oh, boy, he sounded like a seventh grader asking a girl to the middle school dance.

“I’d like that. But only if you win. Because I’m not driving all the way down from Deep Haven only to sit there and watch you get creamed. That would be horrible. You’d be all grumpy pants and I’d have to make you soup to cheer you up. And fresh pineapple isn’t easy to get in Minneapolis in January.”

Her words tugged out a grin, and he glanced at her. She met his eyes with a smile. Oh, he loved the way she could take any situation and make it . . .

Perfect.

Everything dropped away. All the hesitations, all the reasons swirling in his head why he shouldn’t take her in his arms. Instead, he saw her sitting across from him in the convertible, feet up, with that silly blue toenail polish. He saw her eating shrimp, her chin smeared with butter, and chasing after a turtle, her eyes wide with fear as the ocean reached out to gulp her.

He heard her laughter as she parasailed with him and her determined voice as she fought to learn to surf. And he saw her in chef’s attire, that blonde hair trickling out the back of her hat as she bossed him around in the kitchen, bringing in the win.

He couldn’t stop himself. He cupped her face, ran his thumb down her cheekbone. “Grace . . . I . . .”

Her smile had dimmed, leaving behind so much raw emotion in her eyes, it tugged him right in. He let his gaze drift to her lips, then surrendered a small groan and kissed her.

He didn’t stop to linger, didn’t explore or nudge, just dove in, full-on, tired of holding back, of needing her. He kissed her like he’d dreamed about for a week or longer, with a sort of desperation he could no longer keep locked away.

She tasted of sunshine and sea salt, and he looped his arm around her waist, pulled her against him, his other hand curling behind her neck.

As usual, she fit perfectly into his embrace.

Best part of all, she kissed him back. Surrendering, giving, meeting him with hunger in her own touch.

Finally. Grace.

Oh, Grace.

He could probably devour her whole, but the sound of his own heartbeat thundering against his chest made him break away.

A smile slid up her face. “Took you long enough.”

He wanted to sing. “Sheesh, 9B. If I knew you could kiss like that, I would have flirted with you more on the plane.”

“You did enough flirting, Maximoto. Let’s not talk about the plane.” She leaned in and kissed him again, running her hand against his cheek, her touch so sweet, so right, he could die right now a happy man.

The stars had long since started to fall from the sky when Max returned Grace to her room. Lio had dropped them off at the dock, and Max cajoled her, without too much effort, to walk along the beach, finally pulling her into his arms in the soft, cool sand.

They just sat together, wrapped in an embrace, watching the stars, listening to the ocean cheer. He would have suggested they stay until sunrise, but they had a competition to win.

Although, like she said, he already felt like a winner.

A winner in denial, maybe, but even his future felt . . . Well, she had said that for the right man, she’d surrender her heart, even if she couldn’t have a lifetime. He couldn’t bear the idea that she might be telling the truth.

She simply didn’t know how Huntington’s disease destroyed lives. And not just the victims’.

But he didn’t have to think about that now.

He opened his hotel door to the sound of his cell phone chirruping where he’d left it charging on the nightstand. He crossed the room and picked it up.

Brendon? At this time of night? He answered it, worry sluicing through him. “What’s the matter? Is it Ava?”

“Huh? No, everyone’s fine.”

“Why are you calling me so late?”

“Oh, shoot, right. What time is it there?”

“After midnight.”

“Sorry, dude. I’m heading out for a jog and got the time mixed up. I was thinking you were ahead of us, not behind us.”

Max dropped his key on the nightstand and began to unbutton his shirt. “So what’s so urgent?”

“It’s you, Max! You’re all over the Internet with this cooking thing.”

Max stilled, sank down on the bed. “What?”

“Yeah, I saw you last night on the ESPN around-the-world segment. What’s this about a cooking contest in Hawaii?”

He pulled off his shirt, tossed it onto a chair. “It’s just a local thing.”

“Not anymore. Not when Maxwell Sharpe is involved. It made WGN news in Chicago.”

“How did they find out?”

“Seriously?”

Right. If his face was well-known enough to garner celebrity endorsement requests, then probably people would notice him on a local cable show. He hadn’t really thought about that.

“So, yeah, I’m in this competition. It’s no big deal.”

“You’re in the finale! You and Owen Christiansen’s sister? That’s sort of a big deal.”

“It’s not —I don’t think we’re going to win.”

“Huh? Of course you are. Have you not seen the Facebook page for the contest? You’re the favorites. And that Grace Christiansen, she’s a cutie.”

“Yeah. Are you calling to wish me luck?”

“No. I mean, of course. But if you win, don’t you see? This is our perfect opportunity to raise awareness —”

“Oh no.”

“Stop being so selfish. And narrow-minded. Has it occurred to you that God made you great at hockey so you could do something with it? Something beyond your Hall of Fame aspirations?”

“Brendon, let me figure out what God wants for my life on my own.”

“The world is going to find out someday, Max. Let them see what true courage is.”

He swallowed. “Okay, fine. If I win, I’ll let you write up something about it.” He winced at his words, but the chances of them really emerging the victors . . .

“You’ve got this competition in the bag, Max. The whole family is rooting for you. Thanks, Bro. You’re the champ.”

He smiled at that. “Thanks, Brendon.” Max hung up, resting the phone on the bed.

And again dreaded his tomorrow.

If Casper hadn’t gone into the drink before and learned how to manage his crew, he certainly would have driven them into a pylon with Darek on board. “Look, dude, if you don’t want me helming this, just say so.”

Darek raised his hands, letting his paddle rest on his lap. “No. You have a strategy. Just because it happens to be different from mine . . .”

Every eye in the boat looked at Casper, sizing him up against Darek. Even his parents —his dad sitting in the middle of the boat, his mother in the front.

Nice.

The seagulls onshore rose and began to call, as if adding to the mocking, the jeers. Not that anyone had said anything when Darek showed up for practice today, but they didn’t have to.

One look at Darek and his build, with years of knowledge under his belt, and the choice was clear. If they wanted to win, Darek should captain the boat.

But no one said it, and Casper’s pride wouldn’t let the suggestion leak out. He tamped it down and ignored the voices in his head.

This was his boat to captain.

A slight wind bullied the dragon boat and he reached down to grab the dock, lest it slip away from him and out into the harbor.

A rudderless ship. Darek would have a field day with that.

“I trust you, Bro,” Darek said, but his smile resembled shark teeth.

Casper couldn’t help it —he cast a look at Raina. He needed, for a moment, the confidence she gave him, the belief. Call him a sap, but when she looked at him like that, he became a champion.

She smiled, something soft, kind, and it cut through the clatter inside.

“Let’s take her out for one last paddle.” The team had already gone through their strategy twice, and now he got in the back, letting Kyle and Jensen push them away from the dock.

In the front, Emma kept time, slowly beating the drum as they paddled out to the imaginary starting line.

Eight rows in front of him, Raina, with her long hair in a braid down her back, paddled in beat. He wanted to run his hand down that thick braid, pull her into his arms, see her smile —

“Casper! Are you planning on hitting that sailboat?” Darek turned in his seat, two places in front of him, his expression a growl.

Casper steered them away from the skiff. “Let’s sing a paddling song,” he said to Emma.

She started them in a chant. “Hey, Captain, can you hear it? Listen to our dragon spirit!”

He smiled, hearing Raina’s voice rise above the shouts.

He wasn’t sure how she’d gotten so far into his heart so fast, but he wasn’t arguing.

Still, he had to focus on this race if he wanted to win. As they maneuvered toward the starting line, he raised his voice with the rest of his team. “Gonna set a record pace. Gonna paddle to first place!”

He turned the boat so they were heading back to the docks. Emma slowed the drum until they were floating. “Bring us to a stop,” Casper said, and a few paddlers slowed them in the water.

“Okay, give me twenty-five hard strokes, as fast as you can; then Emma will set the pace. Ready?”

Paddles came up.

In the race, they’d take off to a gun, but he started the stopwatch around his neck and simply shouted, his voice carrying across the water. “Go!”

The boat lurched forward, nearly knocking him backward. They counted off together. “One, two, three —”

He could admit that having Darek back on board made for extra power. They motored through the water, a slick, fierce dragon skimming the surface as they dug in. “Twenty-five!”

They’d started to settle into their standard pace, still as one, a motorized team of paddlers with beautiful form, strong strokes. The water peeled back from the keel, cool and dark, and he angled them toward the finish line.

Onshore, he caught sight of Seb Brewster, the captain of the town team. You’re going down, Mr. Mayor.

They surged over the halfway point. “Keep it strong, team!” He glanced at the watch —they’d shaved sixteen seconds off their previous time.

In front, he saw Annalise Decker start to slow. “Annalise —take your paddle out of the water if you can’t keep up!”

She put it on her lap, and the aft side kept rhythm. He glanced at the clock. Still under their best time.

In the middle of the boat, he heard Nathan, his father, and even his brother groaning.

“Push it!”

They sailed across the imaginary finish line —drawn from the end of the long pier and the corner of the trading post onshore —and he clocked their time. “Fourteen seconds faster than our best time!”

The crew leaned over their paddles, breathing hard, drifting now toward the dock.

“Probably too soon to suggest we go again?”

Kyle Hueston looked back like he might arrest him and Casper grinned. “Just kidding. Great job today. I think we’re ready for competition.”

They floated to the dock and the crew disembarked. He gathered up the paddles, the life jackets. Then he, Darek, Kyle, and Jensen hoisted the boat from the water, together carrying it to the trailer.

“I’ll park it in the shed,” Darek said, and Casper wondered if he just wanted to spend time with his beloved boat.

Casper cast a look at Raina, who was drinking from one of the water bottles Ingrid had passed out. She wore nylon athletic pants and a green sports tunic today, along with her Keens.

He left Darek alone and sidled up to her. “Can I interest you in dinner?”

She looked at him, nodded.

Something had changed for her since he’d caught her talking to his father. She’d seemed to relax. Laugh more easily. Last night she’d even played a game of speed Scrabble with him and his parents. Like it was just another normal Wednesday night at the homestead, one she so easily fit into.

She climbed into the passenger side of his truck. “Do you mind if I run home and change clothes? I’m a little sweaty.”

“No problem. I’ll drop you off, go home and shower, and pick you back up.”

“Where are we going?”

He lifted a shoulder.

“I have an idea,” she said, her eyes twinkling. As they neared her aunt’s house, she turned to him. “And bring the motorcycle.”

The motorcycle? Uh —

But she got out before he had a chance to follow up, and shoot, if he couldn’t see them riding off into the sunset.

His parents had beaten him home, so when he arrived, he found his father in the family room, surfing the Internet for car repair manuals.

“Still can’t get the Chevy running?”

“I’ll figure it out,” John said. He turned and stopped Casper with a hand to his arm.

Casper stilled. “I know I can’t fix her, Dad.”

His dad lowered his hand. “Good. But that’s not what I need to talk to you about.” He took a breath. “I don’t know how to ask you this, but . . . is everything . . . okay with her? And you? I mean, I see you getting closer. You’ve been a gentleman, right?”

Casper stared at him, not sure —“We haven’t even kissed.” It felt weird saying that to his father, but having someone keep his emotions, his desires in check might help. “But yeah, of course. Why?”

John shook his head. “It’s what she said about all us Christiansen men . . .”

“Arrogant. I assumed she was referring to Darek.”

His dad’s mouth tightened to a grim line.

Casper clamped a hand on his shoulder. “I promise, Dad, I’ll be a gentleman.”

But his dad’s expression, his words, dogged him into his room, the shower, out again.

Go away, Owen!

The memory of her voice that day on the road reverberated back to him as he pulled on a T-shirt. He shook his head at the memory. Maybe his ornery kid brother had cut her off on the road or even snuck into the kitchen at the wedding and stolen food.

Or, as he first guessed, hit on her. Which only churned up a strange heat in his chest.

Especially at her word used at the campfire. Arrogant?

What did that mean?

He put it out of his mind, picked up an extra helmet, and headed to town.

Raina sat waiting on the front steps, a backpack over her shoulder, wearing capri-style jeans, a white shirt, and a jean jacket.

She took the helmet, slipped it on, and climbed onto his bike as if it were as natural as a sunrise.

Women confused him.

Then she slipped her arms around his waist and leaned in.

They confused him a lot.

“Where to?” Casper said.

“Paradise Beach.”

She knew about Paradise Beach? He gunned it out of town, heading up the shoreline, the sun lazy as it sank behind them, casting long, shaggy fingers of shadow across the road. The lake had calmed, turned to a whisper on the shore.

He stopped at one of the many inlets to the lake along a stretch of pebbled beach named for its agates and view.

Raina got off, using his shoulders to steady herself, then led him out to the shore. Sitting, she pulled two turkey wraps, a couple bags of chips, and bottles of soda from her backpack. She opened a Tupperware container filled with cookies.

“You just whipped this up?”

“I made the cookies yesterday. But yeah.”

He reached for a wrap. “Impressive.”

She grinned at him, peeled the plastic off the other wrap. “We’re going to win, you know.”

“The other teams are really good.”

“But we’re awesome! And with you as our captain, we are so going to win.”

“Well, I’m no Darek, but we’re getting faster.”

“Casper! You’re an amazing captain, a thousand times better than Darek.”

He took a bite of his wrap. “You didn’t paddle under him. He has three championships under his belt, is legendary around here.”

“You’re next.”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to carve out your own legend when you have brothers like Darek and Owen. One is the town hotshot, the other the hockey hero.”

“And you —what are you?”

Her question stumped him. He’d never exactly known. “I am the brother in the middle. I was always either following in Darek’s shadow or setting up Owen for the win. I guess I’m still trying to figure out where I belong.”

Her voice turned low. “You’re the best brother, in my opinion.”

He didn’t know why, but her words found soft soil and burrowed in, sweet and nourishing.

She smiled at him, the wind teasing her black hair around her face. He fought the urge to catch a strand, press it between his fingers.

His voice fell soft, almost a thought more than words. “What is it about you, Raina? Where did you come from? How is it that you simply appear one day in my life as my champion? You’re so . . . undefeatable. You make me believe we’re going to win.”

Her smile dipped a little, and she looked down as if embarrassed.

“Did I say something wrong?”

She shook her head. “I just . . . You make me feel like I’m a part of the team.”

He frowned. “You are a part of the team.”

“Like you want me on the team.”

He did want her on the team.

And then he got it. It wasn’t about just being a part of a community. It was about being chosen by him. Wanted by him.

His gaze traced from her eyes to her mouth, and his throat suddenly got very dry. He reached for a bottle, uncapped it. Drank a swig of soda.

It ignited his entire body on fire. He looked at her again.

“Can I ask you something . . . silly?” She had caught her lip between her teeth.

Without thinking, he reached up to ease it free, then kept his hand cupped to her face. “Yes, anything.”

“My aunt said . . . well, that you had a lot of girlfriends . . .” She looked away. “I’m sorry. That was stupid —”

“No —it was . . .” He could hardly breathe for the pressure in his chest. “No, Raina. I have a lot of girls who are my friends. I find girls easy to be around, but no . . . I haven’t dated many girls in Deep Haven or beyond.”

He searched for her eyes, and she met his, her bottom lip caught in her teeth once more.

He couldn’t help it. Gently he ran his hand behind her neck and drew her close, searching her gaze a moment for permission before he touched her lips with his.

Her mouth tasted sweet, of her soda and the honey mustard on the wraps. Her response was soft and just eager enough to urge him on, even as she put her hand to his chest. For a second, he thought she might push him away, but she grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer.

Casper scooted in and wrapped his arms around her, deepening his kiss.

Raina. Who knew such happiness could be found hiding in Deep Haven?

She fitted herself to his body and seemed to relax in his embrace. And that’s when he heard his father’s voice, thrumming deep in his head: You’ve been a gentleman, right?

So far, yeah. But he hardly had gentlemanly thoughts sparking in his brain at the moment. In fact, he had her locked in his arms on the beach as the sun began its descent . . .

Casper ran his hand over her cheek and lifted his head.

Her eyes hung on his, the slightest smile at the corners of her mouth.

Maybe he’d sit right here for a while. He wound his fingers through hers. “How did you know about this place? I thought only locals knew about Paradise Beach.”

Just like that, her expression darkened. “Uh . . . I . . . I don’t know. Maybe . . . maybe Aunt Liza?”

Oh yeah, Liza, of course. Still, he sensed a funny shift in their moment, in the way her hand loosened and she started to pull away.

He gripped it, holding on. “So did she tell you that this is the perfect beach for finding agates?”

It seemed to work. “What are agates?”

“Tiny, beautiful rocks that look like mini granite stones. Treasures embedded in the shore.” He wanted to pull her into his arms again. More, he wanted to reach inside to that dark place and pull out her fear. To make her feel safe, wanted.

Yeah, he wanted to fix her. And maybe, just a little, he could.

“Will you help me find one?”

Casper nodded. “I think I can do that.”