I've successfully managed to avoid Wells for most of the week. The only exception was our Monday interview for the article, during which my tardiness and hasty departure left very little room for us to interact. But aside from that, I haven't seen him all week.

I've been walking an extra twenty minutes from the lake house to the next nearest coffee shop, the Mean Bean, where the coffee is burnt, overpriced, and the owner is meaner than the coffee itself. Even my best smile doesn't even earn a hint of friendliness from her.

She's always glaring at me as if I've overstayed my welcome, which is probably true. I'm only purchasing one cup of coffee per full workday. But if she only knew the salary of a journalist at the Seattle Sun Times, maybe she'd reconsider offering more affordable prices.

But once the internet is back up and running, and this article that Wells and I are working on together is done, I won't have to worry about any of this anymore. I can work from the lake house and shake off these strange feelings for Wells. It will be water under the bridge, yesterday's news, buried in the past.

Except that I can't stop thinking about that dream.

I open my eyes, attempting to clear the vivid mental images from my mind and shift my gaze to Ellis. She's rummaging through the cooler for a bottle of rosé as we drift the lake on her boat.

"So when is the internet going to be fixed?" I ask, lying on the bow of the boat, drying off beside Delaney. We're still damp from our swim in the lake.

She suddenly halts pouring her rosé into her cup and turns to me. "Oh, shit," she says. "I completely forgot to call."

"Ellis!" I yell in frustration, sitting up on my forearms and shooting her a pointed look.

"What?" She feigns innocence, shrugging. "I thought you liked working at Hansen's Coffee. You go there every day."

"I'm there every day because there's no internet, not because I want to. I've been waiting for it to be fixed for the last two weeks now."

"Oh, please," Delaney mutters under her breath from her spot beside me. "You love going there."

I glance down at her, ready to glare at her, but her eyes are closed, and she's uninterested in my response.

"Okay, okay. I'll call tomorrow, I promise," Ellis pouts as she settles back into the cushioned bench chair and reaches for her phone.

"What are you doing on that phone that you've been glued to it all day?" Delaney asks Ellis, peeking one eye out from beneath the sun's glare.

"Nothing," she says, furrowing her brows irritably without bothering to look up. "Just work stuff."

"You're not working, you're texting," Delaney points out. "I can see your screen from here."

Ellis turns off her phone and tosses it into her bag. "Maybe I'm texting for work," she says with a touch of defensive. "And stop trying to change the subject. You're the one who's supposed to be telling us about Mr. McHottie math teacher."

Delaney sighs, closing her eyes again as she soaks up the sun. "There's really nothing to tell. He's hot, he's single, he makes every mom slash gay dad swoon over him, and he doesn't even notice me."

"I find that hard to believe," Ellis comments.

"Maybe he's just nervous around you," I say, trying to be optimistic.

"Eh, I highly doubt it," She says with a hint of skepticism as she sits up. "Ellis, pour me a glass of rosé?"

Ellis rises from her seat and heads over to the cooler. "Okay, well like how hot are we talking here? I need a visual. Show me a picture."

Delaney straightens where she sits as Ellis passes her a glass of wine. She scrolls through her phone and then flips it around, revealing the Instagram profile of @ClayWillTeachYou, AKA Clayton Porter.

"Hot damn, Delaney," Ellis exclaims, swiping the phone from her hand and scrolling through the Instagram profile. I shift closer to get a better look. "I'd gladly go to detention if he were my teacher."

"And I'd totally let him teach me math," I add.

"He's out of my league, isn't he?" Delaney asks.

"No, not at all," I reassure her, shaking my head as I glance at the tall, tan-skinned, brown-haired, brown-eyed, Spanish-looking teacher, who seems to possess an almost god-like aura.

"Look, he has a puppy," Ellis says.

"Oh, and he's into reading," I add.

"And he spends time with his sisters," Ellis notes, her eyes sparkling as she looks up at Delaney.

"And he's out of my league," Delaney repeats.

"He's not out of your league, Delaney." Ellis firmly asserts, returning her phone. "Maybe you just need to make the first move."

"Maybe start simple. Like you should put an apple on his desk with a little note inviting him to lunch, but don't let on that it's from you so it will be like a secret admirer. Oh no, but then he might think it's from a different teacher and start having lunch with them instead. All the while, he's secretly wishing it was you who invited him. Then, after a few weeks of these lunches with this teacher, he casually mentions it, and they'll be like, 'I didn't leave you an apple.' And that's when figures out it was you all along and he'll come running back to you," I suggest.

They both blink at me and then Ellis turns to Delaney with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Or, you can leave a note that says, 'I'll let you take me to detention xoxo Delaney,' and then he'll have sweet hot sweaty sex with you on his desk after school hours," Ellis says with a dreamy expression, looking up at the sky.

"Okay, you," Delaney says, pointing at me, "are reading too many romance books. And you," she says, directing her finger at Ellis, "are officially sex-deprived. And enough with my problems, I'm hungry; let's go home," Delaney announces making us laugh.

"Alright, fine, but you're in charge of dinner this time," Ellis declares, starting the boat and steering it toward the house.

"Gladly. At least mine won't turn out to be burnt grilled cheese," Delaney quips as we both settle into the seats next to Ellis.

"I did offer to order food in, but you both insisted on taking turns cooking," Ellis remarks, rolling her eyes.

And then suddenly, the boat comes to an abrupt stop.

"Why are you slowing down?" Delaney questions, looking over at Ellis.

"Oh no," Ellis whispers to herself.

I sit up, concerned, and ask, "What's wrong?"

"I think, um—well, I think we ran out of gas."

"We ran out of gas?" I ask in disbelief as she attempts to restart the engine, but it only sputters before shutting off immediately.

"We ran out of gas," she repeats, offering me an apologetic smile.

"How did we run out of gas? We've hardly used the motor," Delaney questions.

"Well, maybe I didn't check how much gas we had before we left," Ellis confesses.

"Ellis!" Both Delaney and I exclaim simultaneously.

"Sorry!" Ellis scrunches her nose, her expression apologetic. "I didn't think to look."

"How are we going to get back, then?"

"Oh my god. We are going to be stranded out here. We're going to die on this lake," Delaney says, her voice filled with panic.

"Don't be so dramatic. There are patrol boats all over the lake. They come by like every ten minutes," Ellis says, waving off Delaney's concerns as she tries the engine once more.

"Are you sure?" I say, scanning the lake, which seems devoid of any boats. "I haven't seen one in a while."

"I'm positive!" Ellis insists as she takes a seat on the cushioned bench again, "They're always driving by."

One hour later

"Maybe we should try calling the lake patrol office," Delaney suggests to Ellis.

Ellis checks her phone, holds it up to her face, and shows us the black screen. "My phone's dead."

Panic creeps into Delaney's voice. "My phone's dead too." They both turn to me.

I reach for my phone in my bag and check the battery life. "I've got twenty percent."

"Oh thank God," Delaney says, pressing her hand to her chest. "Look up the patrol office and call them."

I quickly search for the lake patrol's phone number and make the call.

"They're closed," I report as I hang up the phone. "Went straight to voicemail."

"They're closed? How in the world can they be closed at 5:30 on a Saturday? This can't be happening," Delaney exclaims, her panic escalating as she paces back and forth on the boat.

"Will you calm down Delaney?" Ellis says, rummaging through her bag. "We have a bottle of rosé, a few snacks, and towels we can use as blankets. We'll be fine if we have to stay out here all night." She twists the bottle of wine open.

"Oh my God, you're serious, aren't you?" Delaney exclaims in disbelief.

Ellis rolls her eyes and hands us both cups of wine. "Here, drink. I'm sure someone will drive by soon and we will wave them down"

Another hour later

"What time is it now?" Delaney asks, her patience waning.

"It's 6:45," I reply, glancing at my phone.

"We're actually going to die here, aren't we?" She says, stretching out on the bow of the boat."Juniper's friend is going to write about us in the Seattle Sun Times."

"Headline: Woman dies of panic attack only to be rescued twenty minutes later," Ellis quips.

"Oh my god," Delaney exclaims suddenly, sitting up and turning toward me. "June, call your friend, Wells. He can come save us."

"What? No, I'm not calling him," I respond firmly. There's no way. I can't even look at him without my mind drifting back to that dream. "Besides, I don't think he even has a boat or a way to get out here."

"He can use the jet ski at the house," Ellis suggests, taking a few steps over and sitting next to me. I shake my head, still hesitant.

"No, I'm not calling him."

"June, we're going to die out here. I know you 'don't like him,'" she says, making air quotes as she sips wine. "But it could take forever for the lake patrol to come by. I could actually die."

"June, come on," Ellis pleads, wearing a frown.

"Yeah, Junie," Delaney chimes in looking up at me with a pout.

I hesitate for a moment before responding, "I don't even think I have his phone number," I lie, even though I know for a fact that it's at the bottom of his email signature.

Delaney isn't buying it. She sits up now, narrowing her eyes at me. "You're lying," she accuses. "You totally have his number."

"You email him, don't you? Just email him then," Ellis suggests.

"Come on, June," Delaney and Ellis plead, giving me their eyes giving me a puppy-dog look.

"Fine!" I relent, reaching for my phone.

I pull it out and quickly locate one of his emails. Scrolling to the bottom, I hover my finger over his phone number, glancing back at Ellis and Delaney, who seem to be silently urging me to make the call.

I press his phone number, bringing it to my ear, and it begins to ring. It rings for what feels like an eternity, to the point where I'm almost convinced he won't answer.

Please, please, please don't answer.

And then suddenly, his voice comes through. "Juniper Jenkins," Wells says, his voice alone causing a strange flutter in my stomach. I ignore it. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I furrow my brows, pulling the phone away to look at it. How does he know it's me calling? I've never called him before.

"Wells Hansen," I reply, placing the phone back to my ear. "Do you have my phone number programmed into your phone?"

"What?"

"How did you know it was me calling? You have my phone number programmed in your phone?"

"Well... yeah," he says, his tone slightly sheepish. "But I have most of everyone's number in my phone that works for the Times." He quickly adds.

"Hmm," I hum thoughtfully, processing this information.

"What do you need Juniper," He asks as if he is suddenly annoyed with me.

"How do you know I need something?" I say, my fingers toying with the necklace draped around my neck.

"Because when have you ever called me?"

Taking a deep breath, I blurt out, "My friends and I are stuck out in the middle of the lake on a boat, and we need someone to bring us gas." I say it so fast I'm not even sure he heard me correctly.

"You need gas?"

I clear my throat. "Yes."

"And you want me to help you?"

"Yes," I repeat hesitantly.

"Hmm," he hums, and there's a momentary pause. "What do you say?"

"What?"

"What do you say, Malibu Barbie?" he repeats slower, carrying a playful tone.

I turn away from Delaney and Ellis, who are clearly watching like their lives depend on it. "Oh, I don't know, Wells," I say, my voice light. "You're rubber, and I'm glue."

I can practically hear his smile smiling spread on his face through the phone, and it brings that warm fuzzy feeling to my chest.

"Please," I add after a moment, my tone shifting to a more earnest one. "You can use the jet ski at Ellis's house to come bring us the gas."

"A jet ski, huh?"

"Yes, Ken. A jet ski. Ever used one?"

"Hmm. Wave runner, yes. Ski-doo, of course. Not sure about jet ski, though."

I roll my eyes. "Keys are hanging in the shed next to the dock."

I hear him chuckle. "Okay. I'll be there in 20 minutes. Send me your location and text me the address to the house."

I hang up and quickly send the information to Wells before my phone dies. I turn my attention to Ellis, who is tipping the bottle of rosé to extract the last drops into her glass, and Delaney, who's looking at me with a smirk.

"What did he say?" Ellis asks.

"He said he'll be here in 20 minutes," I relay to them.

"Well, of course, he will," Delaney says, her smirk growing.

And, just as he promised, 20 minutes later, we spot him driving up on Ellis's jet ski. The sunset dances on the lake's surface, casting a shimmering reflection around him.

"Oh. My. God. Is that him?" Ellis exclaims, pulling her sunglasses down to get a better look. Delaney and I quickly turn around to see Wells on the jet ski, heading toward us with a red gas can snugly wedged between his legs.

The sight is, for a lack of a better word, breathtaking. He's not wearing a shirt, and his sculpted torso glistens with droplets from the lake water, accentuating every muscular contour of his chest, and the play of sunlight on his summer-tanned skin adds an almost ethereal quality to the scene.

I swallow hard, unable to tear my gaze away.

"Wow," Delaney exclaims, sitting up more. "Did you know he had that under there?"

"No," I lie, as I briefly glance over at both of them ogling over him. And a sudden urge to divert their attention washes over me. I don't want them looking at him like that; he's not theirs to look at that way. But he's also not mine either, so instead, I say, "Well, maybe."

They both turn their attention toward me. Ellis gives me a questioning look and asks, "When have you seen him shirtless?"

Her gaze is piercing, but I choose not to respond because Wells pulls up on the jet ski next to the boat.

"Ladies," he greets Ellis and Delaney with a friendly nod before turning to me. "Juniper," he says in a way that makes me melt into a puddle on the floor.

"Hi," I reply softly.

"Well, well, Wells," Ellis chimes in with a flirtatious tone, "if it isn't our hero."

He turns to her, a warm smile playing on his lips. "Well, I'm not so sure about the hero part, but I do come bearing a gas can." He holds up the red container and starts to hand it over to Ellis.

Ellis responds with a playful scrunching of her nose. "Would you mind helping put it in the boat? It looks a bit heavy."

For some inexplicable reason, a pang of jealousy stirs within me as I watch them interact. I shouldn't be feeling this way, though. After all, I'm not jealous, not in the slightest. I absolutely have no romantic feelings for Wells. Not one bit.

I quickly avert my gaze, trying to focus on something else. Anything else. Definitely not the way his biceps flex as he lifts the gas can, or the single strand of his wavy hair that falls gently onto his forehead. And my god, I'm not paying any attention to how his forest-green eyes glisten in the light of the setting sun.

God, I'm losing my mind.

"There you go," Wells says to me, taking the gas can out of the boat and handing it over.

"Thank you," I respond softly.

"No problem," he says with a warm smile. "I'll take the jet ski back."

He revs up the jet ski and starts to head back to the house, moving faster this time, no longer worried by the gas can that was wedged between his legs.

"We should invite him over for dinner!" Delaney suggests suddenly.

"No!" I blurt out. Delaney shoots me a knowing look, while Ellis, on the other hand, exclaims enthusiastically, "Oh, that's a great idea!"

She then turns and calls out, "Wells," waving her hands in the air to get his attention.

"I don't think he'll want to come, you guys." Hoping they'll drop the idea.

"Wells!" Ellis yells again this time grabbing his attention and he starts turning around.

"He probably has plans. He's probably already had dinner," I say, my desperation showing as I try to find an excuse. "He probably doesn't even eat."

They both turn to look at me, puzzled.

"Why don't you like him?" Ellis asks, her brows furrowing.

It's not that I don't like him. It's that I like him a little too much.

I remain silent as she turns back to Wells who is approaching once more. "Stay for dinner tonight!" Ellis enthusiastically invites.

Wells shifts his gaze from Ellis to me and then nods. "Yeah, okay. I'll meet you guys back at the house."

Notes

Thoughts on this chapter?

Any predictions for how dinner will go in the next?

I'm thinking dual point of view for the next chapter!

Thank you everyone for reading, commenting, and voting! ❤️