This is a far cry from that superyacht in the Virgin Islands.

The wooden rowboat rocks beneath me in rhythm with the rolling waves on the surface of the lake, and for the hundredth time since I got here, I wonder what the hell I thought I’d get out of coming back to Reckless Falls.

So far, I’ve gotten to take a trip on a rickety boat to the center of Ganagua Lake and what feels like a sunburn spreading across my back. Some prize.

It’s not even eleven, but it’s hot, and this isn’t the meditative experience I thought it would be. Things were different back in high school, clearly, since back then I wouldn’t have been caught dead out in the middle of the lake if it wasn’t on some dare. Just thinking about that shit makes my skin tingle with excitement, but surprise, surprise, nobody else is here with me today.

How times have changed.

The oars creak in their holders, resisting my attempt to hoist them back into place. Screw this. Even hanging out in my room at the B&B–the nicest one in Reckless Falls, not that that means much–would be better than sitting in this godforsaken boat, waiting for who knows what to happen.

All at once there’s a flash of white at the corner of my vision.

Dark hair, a blue swimsuit–it’s a woman, gliding across the surface of the water.

She’s heading straight for the middle of the lake. If she keeps this up, she’ll be at my boat in a couple of minutes.

I shade my eyes with my hand, the glare of the sun on the water making her flicker in and out of my sight. My heart speeds up. There’s nothing wrong with the way she’s swimming–at least, I don’t think so. It’s not a tiny lake.

I expect her to keep going, to keep up her even pattern of strokes, but then, before she’s even halfway to me, she stops.

Her head bobs up from the water and she tilts it back, hands going to her face. There’s no sound. If she made a sound, it would carry over the surface to me in an instant, especially with the lake this calm. But there’s no sound.

It’s that silence that sends my heart into overdrive.

Then, like she’s got weights on her feet, she slips underneath the surface, the water closing over her head like a silvery door slamming shut. Only it doesn’t slam. It closes with the barest whisper.

Shit.

I stand up in the boat, causing the rickety excuse for a boat to rock under my feet. I don’t dare move my eyes away from the spot where she disappeared.

One, two, three...

The seconds tick by in my head in time with my heartbeat.

How long has it been?

How long can a person survive under water? I have no idea. All I know is that I didn’t like how it looked. I didn’t like how she appeared to slip so gracefully, effortlessly, under the surface, like something had easily drawn her under. She didn’t fight or resist. She just gave in.

I don’t think for another second. I just launch myself into the water like I’ve spent every day between high school and now practicing for this moment. In fact, it’s been a year since I was in the water. It doesn’t matter. The moment I’m under, it’s second nature, like being home again. I’m only glad I didn’t have my shirt on. The damn thing would drag me down and cost me time, and my mind is screaming at me in warning–you don’t have much time.

I streak through the water toward where I saw her. Powerful kicks propel me swiftly toward where she sank. How long has it been since I dove in?

I have to get to her. Fast.

I open my eyes just in time. Her blue bathing suit is suspended under the surface, and her arms are floating to the sides. Oh, shit.

My hands connect with her first, running straight into her shoulders, and then everything is in motion. A waterlogged shriek bubbles into my ears, and then one of her thrashing hands connects with my face. Her other hand comes toward me, slowed down by the water, and I deflect it, wrapping an arm around her waist and propelling us both to the surface.

“What are you doing?” I shout as soon as we surface. She’s still thrashing, trying to get away from me, but why?

She shoves away from me, getting some distance, and shoves her dark hair away from her face. Hot damn, she is gorgeous. Her dark eyes are practically on fire with confused rage. “What the fuck are you doing?” Her voice echoes over the water.

“Saving your life!” I’m breathing hard, still treading water. Then it hits me. “Wait—”

Suddenly, in a flash, her face comes into focus. Holy shit. Those are the same dark eyes I saw sixteen years ago, when I was twelve and she was ten. I thought she needed saving then, too, that time from the knee scraped bloody on the street outside my family’s house. “Reggie?”

She spits out a mouthful of the lake and stares at me. “I didn’t need to be saved!” Then recognition flashes across her face. “I wasn’t drowning, idiot; I was swimming.”

I bark out a laugh, and almost inhale a lungful of water. “You’re not even going to thank me?”

“I think you’ve already done enough, Adam Lane.”

The force of the water presses back against my arms, making it more tiring by the second to stay upright. I have no idea how she’s been doing it this long after swimming all the way out here. No, that’s not right. It’s so Reggie to be able to do this. Tough as fucking nails. Always.

“What the—”

Reggie glides underneath the water and kicks, breaking the surface a few yards away. “Don’t come after me!” she calls back between strokes. “I don’t need any more of your help.”

“What are you talking about?” I shout.

Then, because it seems like the absolute right thing to do, I swim after her.

Reggie might be tough. She might be independent. But telling me not to come after her is a dare.

And I never turn down a dare.