CHAPTER THREE
The weekend came faster than Clara could prepare for.
On Friday evening, Uncle Ethan finished packing the truck—cooler stocked with drinks and food, thick blankets folded neatly, groceries tucked in bags. He looked over at her from across the driveway, a small smile playing on his lips.
“We’re going to the old lake house,” he said simply. “Just you and me. No one is around for miles.”
Clara’s pulse thundered in her ears the entire drive. She sat in the passenger seat, hands knotted tightly in her lap, staring out at the darkening road.
Every curve, every jolt of the truck over uneven pavement sent a shiver through her.
Her mind kept circling back to his promise—the one whispered in heated moments, full of dark intent.
The real thing.
The lake house emerged from the
