I’m just paddling the canoe back to the dock when I see Annabelle coming down the little path toward me, looking more relaxed than I’ve yet seen her. Her face lights up when she catches my eyes, and I’m pleased to see her looking happy.

I smile at her as I hop out of the canoe and tie it to one of the pilings. “How was ice cream?”

She nods. “Good …” She looks thoughtful. “We had a really nice time talking. Thanks for being cool with hanging out here.”

“Absolutely no problem,” I assure her. “Still feel like a Kewpie doll?” I ask with a grin.

She smiles. “Well … yeah, maybe I’ll always feel a little Kewpie doll-ish around them. But I think I’m starting to feel less like they’re Barbie dolls.”

I chuckle. I’m starting to think that of the three sisters, it’s Annabelle who’s the real catch. Brianna’s beautiful, but the ice queen act doesn’t do it for me. Carina is warmer and shares Annabelle’s sweet nature, but she gives off a frenetic kind of energy that I think would be exhausting to be around for the long term.

Annabelle, though, is nice and smart and down to earth, and if she lacks her sisters’ glamour, she makes up for it with a kind of wholesome prettiness and genuine kindness.

I lean a little closer and sniff. “You’re wearing that perfume again.”

I don’t miss the fact that her cheeks turn a little pink. “I like it,” she says a bit defensively.

To be honest, by the end of that day at Neiman Marcus, I was wholeheartedly sick of the scent, but smelling it again here, on her, I feel differently.

“I like it,” I tell her.

She gives me a quick glance then ducks her head, but I can see that she’s smiling. “Thanks,” she mumbles.

After Mrs. Winters’s—Moira’s—promise to look into hooking me up with Zac, I’m in a phenomenally good mood. I kind of want to tell Annabelle, but I’m smart enough to keep it to myself. Instead, I stand up and pull her to her feet.

“What should we do?” I ask.

She blinks and looks around. “Carina and Bree called the Quest, but we could take the Sunfish out if you like. Or go swimming. Or go for a hike.” She laughs. “Or follow in my dad’s footsteps. The titan of industry is sound asleep on the porch.”

I have way too much energy for a nap, and I’ve already been out in both the sailboat and the canoe today. “Let’s go for a hike.”

Annabelle nods agreeably. “More of a walk, really. The woods around here are full of little trails. Nothing dramatic.”

“A walk, then. C’mon, let’s go!” I grab her hand and pull her down the dock. I don’t really care where we go or what we do, only that it gives me a chance to work off some energy.

Annabelle has the good sense to stop by the kitchen and grab a couple of water bottles, which she throws into a small backpack and which, gentleman that I am, I insist on carrying, then I take her hand again, in case we run into her sisters.

She leads me part of the way down the dirt road that leads to the house then we turn off onto a small path that winds through the trees. The sunlight filters through the trees, the air grows still, and I’m immediately more aware of the sound of birds chirping.

“I’ll take you to see our tree house,” she says.

“You have a tree house?” I say. “So cool.” I’m in such a good mood right now that everything just sounds amazing. And oddly, it’s only partly because of my potential meeting with Zac. The fact that Mrs. Winter actually saw my production of The Seagull makes me unreasonably happy … and seeing Annabelle walk down the dock toward me as I tied up the canoe seems to have been the icing on the cake.

Annabelle laughs at my enthusiasm. “Yeah, my dad built it for us the summer he bought the house. Bree and Carina outgrew it before I did. I used to come out here to read by myself all the time.”

“What kind of books do you like to read?”

She smiles and blushes a little, so of course I have to know more.

“Science journals? Classic literature?” I press.

She rolls her eyes. “Romance novels and mysteries, mostly.”

“Ah, the formidable Dr. Winter has a weakness for pulp fiction,” I observe, rubbing my beard thoughtfully with my free hand. “I wonder if there’s blackmail potential here.”

Her face is scarlet, but she laughs. “I’m not going to be Dr. Winter for at least a couple more years. And I think if you want to blackmail me, you’ve already got better material on hand.”

“That’s right,” I snap my fingers. “You still sleep with a teddy bear too.”

She laughs again. “You’re in a good mood. I guess my parents weren’t too mean to you?”

I grin. “Your parents are awesome. Turns out your mom actually saw this little theater production I was in last year.”

“No kidding?”

I fill her in quickly on The Seagull and my role in it.

“Sorry, I’ve never heard of it,” she says apologetically. “I was never really into literature classes. Does it have a happy ending?”

“Hmm … not really.”

She scrunches up her nose. “Eh, I only like happy endings. Or at least endings where you find out who committed the crime.”

“You might want to avoid the Russian playwrites,” I suggest. “Is that it?” I point to a small wooden structure that’s built about six feet off the ground around a large pine tree.

“Yeah, come on.”

There’s a small wooden ladder nailed into the trunk of the tree. Annabelle climbs up with surprising grace, and I get a good look at her backside as her hips move from side to side with each step.

Seriously, what’s with these baggy khaki shorts? She’s not skinny, but the curves she’s got on her are nothing to be ashamed of. Unbidden, an image of her in a pair of tight, cut-off denim shorts floats into mind, and suddenly my fingers itch to reach out and give that round little booty a firm squeeze.

Fortunately, she clambers up into the tree house and her ass disappears from sight, leaving me a little astonished at my sudden attraction to her.

But then, it’s not so sudden, is it?

She annoyed me the first time I met her, but even then, she got my attention, if for no other reason than that her first impulse was to say I “wouldn’t do.” On our coffee date, and on the ride up here, I was struck by her genuine niceness and how easy it was to talk to her, and ever since then, I’ve been feeling an odd buzz of energy whenever I’m around her, noticing things like her delectable ass and her pretty, green eyes.

I remember the feeling of her in my arms when we woke up this morning, and think how strange it is that I’m standing here in the middle of the woods, four hours north of Los Angeles, attracted to this geeky little librarian-looking girl. I squint at the tree house above me as if it will give me answers.

She leans over the edge of the tree house and looks down. “You coming up?”

I mount the ladder quickly and pull myself into the little hut.

“So this is where Annabelle Winter spent her formative years,” I observe.

It’s just a bare plywood floor with three walls and a rail, with a roof overhead. Perfect kids’ playhouse.

“Well, some formative weeks, maybe. I used to keep an old cooler out here. I’d leave books and a pillow in it so they didn’t get wet. I’m sure everyone knew exactly where I was, but it still felt like it was my special hideout.” She smiles nostalgically at the weather-stained wooden boards.

“I had a tree house when I was a kid,” I say.

It’s been years since I thought about it. Annabelle tilts her head at me, a go on kind of look on her face.

“My mom used to climb up in it with me and read to me or have picnics with me. I never went in it again after she died.”

Annabelle takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, then pulls me down to sit next to her on the creaky plywood. “Tell me about it,” she says …

… and I do.

I tell her about my mom and how wonderful she was. About my dad, who always drank a little too much anyway but really started getting carried away after she died. About the night I came home after curfew and he hit me and I left and never went home again. I tell her about spending rainy winter days at the local multiplex, where I’d pay for one movie and sit through five, falling in love with the magic of movies and their potential for reinvention. I tell her about the women I met caddying at the country club, women who taught me that my companionship was a commodity, something that could be exchanged for useful things, like upscale clothing and college classes.

And I tell her about Elsie, beautiful, successful, twice-my-age Elsie, who seduced me and shaped me, smoothing my rough edges and teaching me how to dress, how to talk, how to act, and how to please a woman … and who kicked me out of her life after two years when she decided to marry a man her own age.

Annabelle just listens as I pour out everything I’ve kept inside all these years, things I’ve never shared with anyone, not even Alex. There’s no judgment or pity; she just listens, and never lets go of my hand the entire time.

When I’m done, she takes out the bottles of water and opens one for each of us. Handing one to me, she clinks it gently with her own.

“To you,” she says.

I give a light snort. Already I feel a little self-conscious for having shared so much with her when I’ve known her only a few days, but I also feel an enormous sense of relief.

“You haven’t lost all respect for me?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.

Annabelle shakes her head, seriously. “You got a raw deal, Archer. I’m not in any position to judge. All things considered, I’ve had a pretty easy life. You did what you had to do to get by and now you’re making it on your own. You moved to an entirely new part of the country, you’re going after your dream, and you’re succeeding at it.” She smiles. “You’re going to be a big star someday, I know it.”

We stare at each other for a moment, and I feel a pang of guilt, and for a moment I wish I’d never heard of Zac Borstein. His presence is standing between me and Annabelle and she doesn’t even know it. I open my mouth to clear the air, but she stands up abruptly.

“Come on, it’s getting too hot here,” she says. “Let’s get back to the lake.”

And because I’m a coward, I keep my mouth shut and follow her out of the tree house.