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Chapter 1. I Pretend Not to Feel Her Touch 

Maybe it was the way the afternoon sun caught in her hair as she picked her way across the gravel, or maybe it was just that I had been noticing her more lately—these small details that shouldn't matter but somehow did. I adjusted my grip on the kayak, feeling the plastic grow slippery under my palms as Paco continued talking, his hands gesturing wildly about some new business idea, the kayak rental scheme that would definitely work this time. I nodded, made the right sounds of agreement, all while watching Carlotta approach out of the corner of my eye, barefoot and careful on the hot stones, as if she were crossing a border into a country where I already lived.

"We could start with just five boats," Paco was saying, his copper hair falling into his eyes as he leaned against his truck, making no move to help me with the second kayak. "Charge twenty bucks an hour. That's a hundred dollars if all five are out at once. Do that for six hours a day, seven days a week—"

"That's forty-two hundred dollars," I finished automatically, lifting the kayak from the truck bed and setting it on my shoulder, the weight familiar and awkward. "But that assumes every boat is rented every hour of operation. And you're not accounting for staff, insurance, replacing equipment..."

Paco's enthusiasm dimmed only slightly. "Details," he said, waving a hand. "The point is, there's money here. There's a whole river and only that one rental place by the bridge."

I didn't remind him of the three other reasons his previous ideas hadn't worked out. Instead, I carried the kayak toward the water's edge, gravel crunching under my feet, small stones working their way into my river shoes. The sound of my footsteps mingled with another set, lighter, more careful. Carlotta. I heard her before I saw her again, and something in my chest tightened with anticipation.

She was making her way from the grassy area by the dock, a small cooler swinging from one hand. Gus trotted behind her, his corgi legs covering the ground with surprising speed before he found a patch of shade under a nearby truck and collapsed, tongue lolling out dramatically. Carlotta looked up, caught my eye, and smiled—a quick, private thing that felt like a gift I hadn't asked for.

I busied myself with the kayaks, adjusting them on the narrow strip of sand where the river met the shore. The water was clear and cold even in July, flowing steadily around rocks and fallen branches. Behind me, Paco was still talking, now about marketing strategies for his imaginary rental business. I half-listened, nodding when it seemed appropriate, but my awareness was tuned to Carlotta, who had settled on the edge of the dock, feet dangling in the water.

The sunlight caught on the silver fox charm on her bracelet as she trailed her fingers through the current. Her shoulders were already turning pink despite the sunscreen I'd seen her apply earlier. She'd forgotten her hat again. I had a spare in my backpack; I could offer it to her. The thought of the gesture—simple, friendly, nothing more—made my palms sweat.

"Earth to Lenny," Paco said, snapping his fingers in front of my face. "Life jacket? Help me with this, man."

"Sorry," I mumbled, reaching for the tangled straps of his life jacket. As I helped Paco fit the orange vest over his t-shirt, adjusting the side buckles, I couldn't help but glance toward the dock again. Carlotta was watching us—no, watching me—her gaze direct in a way that made heat crawl up the back of my neck. When our eyes met, she didn't look away. She held the contact a beat longer than necessary, and I felt something shift in the air between us, like atmospheric pressure dropping before a storm.

I looked away first, focusing intently on the buckle in my hands, suddenly clumsy with it. What was that? Nothing. It was nothing. She was just looking. People look at each other all the time.

But when she stood and walked toward us, the cooler now open, something in me had recalibrated. The world felt slightly off its axis, tilted toward her in a way I couldn't explain and didn't want to acknowledge.

"Drinks," she announced, holding out cans of soda. Her hair was lighter at the ends from the sun, almost gold where it curled against her neck. She handed a can to Paco first, then turned to me.

As she passed the drink over, her arm brushed against mine—a whisper of contact, skin against skin for less than a second. Electricity shot through me, pooling low in my stomach, and I nearly dropped the can. It was nothing. An accident. Meaningless. Still, I felt the touch like a brand, my skin hypersensitive where she'd made contact.

"Thanks," I managed, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. Our fingers had touched on the cold aluminum, and I couldn't tell if she had lingered or if I had imagined it, projecting my own confused want onto an innocent moment.

Her eyes met mine again, something unreadable there, something that made my heart pound painfully against my ribs. Then Paco was between us, talking about launch strategies, and the moment dissolved like sugar in water.

On the river, I couldn't stop watching her. The three of us moved in loose formation, Paco taking the lead, Carlotta in the middle, me bringing up the rear. From my position, I could observe without being obvious about it. The way she handled the paddle—confident, efficient strokes that belied her small frame. The water that dripped from the blade, catching sunlight as it fell back to the river. The curve of her back as she leaned forward to adjust her balance.

I told myself I was just being attentive. Looking out for my best friend's sister. Nothing more.

Then she laughed—that sudden, surprisingly loud sound that always seemed to startle people who didn't know her well. Paco had misjudged a current and nearly capsized, the kayak wobbling dangerously as he overcompensated. His startled yelp and subsequent recovery set her off, the laugh carrying across the water, honest and unfiltered. Something in my chest expanded at the sound, a feeling I couldn't name and didn't want to examine.

"Shut up," Paco called to her, but he was grinning. "Let's see you do better with this current."

"I already did," she shot back, still laughing. She turned to look at me, as if sharing the joke, including me in their sibling dynamic. Her eyes were bright with mirth, her cheeks flushed from the sun. "Lenny managed it just fine too."

The sound of my name in her mouth made my stomach flip. I focused on keeping my expression neutral, friendly. Just one of the group. Not someone harboring inappropriate thoughts about his best friend's sister. Not someone who had started cataloging the exact shade of her eyes (grey-blue, like the river in shadow) or the pattern of freckles across her nose (more concentrated on the left side).

"Lenny's got better balance than either of us," Paco said easily, paddling closer to where I floated. "Remember when he fell in last summer? Hasn't happened since."

I remembered. I'd capsized reaching for something Carlotta had dropped—a water bottle that had slipped from her grasp. I hadn't thought; I'd just lunged for it, overbalancing in the process. Paco thought it was hilarious. I'd been focused only on the grateful smile she'd given me when I'd returned the bottle, dripping and slightly embarrassed.

The afternoon stretched on, sun-drenched and lazy. We explored a small inlet we hadn't visited before, found a rope swing someone had rigged from a sturdy cottonwood, took turns jumping into a deeper pool. Through it all, I remained acutely aware of Carlotta—where she was, what she was doing, whether she was looking at me. Each time our eyes met, each small smile she directed my way, felt like a secret being passed between us.

It was ridiculous. I was reading too much into nothing. She was just being friendly. She was Paco's sister. She was off-limits for a thousand reasons, not least of which was the fact that Paco trusted me implicitly, had for years. The thought of betraying that trust made me sick with guilt.

And yet.

As we loaded the kayaks back onto Paco's truck at the end of the day, she helped me lift mine, her hands next to mine on the plastic hull. Our fingers didn't touch, but they could have. The possibility hummed in the air between us. When she stepped away, she looked at me directly again, held my gaze a moment too long.

"Good day," she said simply.

"Yeah," I agreed, my voice traitorously rough. "It was."

Something had changed. Something had taken root that afternoon that I knew would grow in private, in the quiet hours when I couldn't sleep, when my thoughts circled back to the electric brush of her arm against mine, the way her eyes had held mine across the water. I didn't want to name it, this feeling. Naming it would make it real, and if it was real, I would have to face what it meant—about me, about my friendship with Paco, about everything.

So I pushed it down, buried it under layers of denial. But as we drove away from the river launch, gravel crunching under the truck's tires, I couldn't help glancing in the side mirror, catching one last glimpse of Carlotta as she loaded Gus into her car, the late afternoon sun turning her into a silhouette I knew I would see when I closed my eyes that night.

Chapter 2. 3 AM and I Can't Stop 

The loft was an oven. I lay sprawled on the thin mattress, sheets kicked away hours ago, my t-shirt sticking to my back despite the open window that was supposed to catch the night breeze. Sleep felt impossible. The cabin's old wood creaked and settled around me, but those organic groans weren't what kept me awake. It was the image of Carlotta at dinner, the way she'd sat cross-legged on the porch steps, cutoffs riding up her thighs, her tank top slipping off one shoulder as she leaned forward to scratch behind Gus's ears. That image had burned itself into my mind, playing on repeat behind my closed eyes, making the already stifling loft feel even more airless.

I turned onto my side, then back again, seeking a cooler spot on the mattress that didn't exist. The digital clock on the floor beside me read 1:38 AM. We'd been at the cabin for two days now—Paco's idea, a weekend getaway before summer started slipping away. I'd agreed without thinking, the way I always did when Paco suggested anything. But that was before the river launch last week, before that moment when something shifted between Carlotta and me. Before I started noticing everything.

Like tonight at dinner. The way she'd laughed at something Paco said, head thrown back, throat exposed. The careful way she'd eaten corn on the cob, teeth scraping the kernels in methodical rows. How she'd licked salt from her thumb afterward, an unconscious gesture I couldn't look away from. And later, when we'd played cards by lantern light, the way she'd caught my eye across the table, held the contact a beat too long, then looked away with the hint of a smile I still wasn't sure I'd imagined.

My body was painfully alert, skin hypersensitive in the heat. Every breath felt thick, insufficient. Below me, the main floor of the cabin lay in darkness. Paco would be asleep on the couch, sprawled out with one arm flung over his eyes the way he always slept. Gus would be curled at his feet or, more likely, stationed near Carlotta's door.

A sound broke the silence—the soft pad of bare feet on wood. Someone was moving around downstairs. I froze, straining to hear. The footsteps were too light to be Paco's. Carlotta.