Page 28 of Back to Square One

Rowan pointed at Claire. “I do. You were there.” She turned to Evie. “And you were there.”

Evie’s face went from shock and concern to suspicious understanding. “Are you Wizard of Oz-ing us right now?”

Rowan grinned. “I might be.”

Evie slapped at her. “That’s not funny.”

“Except it kinda was. You should’ve seen your faces.”

“Yeah, fucking hilarious,” Claire said, clearly not finding it funny at all. She picked up both paddles and headed toward the canoe without another word.

Rowan grimaced at Evie, who shrugged.

“She’ll get over it.” She slapped at Rowan one more time. “But don’t do that again. So mean.”

“Totally worth the look on your face, though.”

And then there was a moment. Just a short one, just long enough for a breath in and a breath out, where their gazes held. Evie’s dark eyes were soft. They cradled Rowan—which was a ridiculous thing to think because how was something like that even possible? But it was true. She’d always felt held and protected simply by looking in Evie’s eyes. And then Evie smiled, looked quickly down at her feet, and said quietly, “See you later.”

Rowan stood there under the deck and watched her go, watched her long, lithe body, watched the gentle sway of her hips, watched the muscles of her shoulders exposed by her tank top. She inhaled deeply, held it in, and let it out slowly.

Damn.

She cleared her throat and headed back up the stairs. The temperature had steadily increased from when they’d been out on the boat, and now, just climbing the stairs to the upper deck caused a bead of sweat to roll down the center of her chest and between her boobs. On the deck, Jasmine was still reading. “Hey,” Rowan said. “How do you feel about frozen margaritas?”

Jazzy lowered her book and slid her sunglasses down her nose, giving Rowan her full attention.

“Everybody’s gone,” Rowan pointed out. “You and I have the whole place to ourselves. And I saw all the ingredients inside, plus a top-of-the-line blender. What do you say?”

“What do I say? I say why are you still standing there talking at me about them instead of inside making them?”

“I knew I liked you the second I met you,” Rowan said with a laugh, and headed into the house. “You’re gonna love my Margarita Rowan. Just you wait.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to find out what makes them yours.”

By the time the others started to trickle in from their early afternoon activities, Rowan and Jazzy were two margaritas in and laughing at just about everything.

“Did you make Margarita Rowans?” Stevie asked, eyes wide, expression one of horror. “When I wasn’t even here?”

“Look,” Rowan said, waving a finger between herself and Jasmine. “We were alone. We were thirsty. I had no choice.”

Stevie held up a hand, palm out, and turned her head away as she tightened her towel around her waist.

“Ooh, Margarita Rowans,” Lizzie squealed as she and the other boaters came in, and she saw the blender. “Are there more?”

“There are always more,” Rowan said, waving her hand with a grand flourish.

“And somebody’s had a few already.” Lizzie laughed. She moved to the counter and got herself a glass. “Stevie? Want one?”

“I don’t know.” Stevie feigned a pout. “I’m still reeling from the betrayal.”

“Oh, please,” Rowan said, giving her a playful shove out of the way as she got a glass for her.

“The key to the Margarita Rowan is the salt,” Jazzy informed Becca. “She makes it a little spicy.”

“Why are you whispering the word ‘spicy’?” Becca asked her, clearly amused.

“Because it’s a secret,” Jazzy said, whispering again.