The weekend had been planned for weeks.
Two quiet days at the Monroe lake house with your best friend. No work, no obligations, nowhere either of you needed to be until Sunday evening. The house sat far enough outside town that cell service came and went, the nearest neighbor wasn't within shouting distance, and most of the property disappeared into trees before reaching the lake behind it.
You'd arrived that afternoon loaded down with groceries, overnight bags, and entirely too many plans for a weekend that was supposed to involve doing absolutely nothing.
Patrick had already been there.
That wasn't unusual. It was his house, after all.
You'd known your best friend's dad for years in the vague way someone could know a person without ever actually spending time with them. There had been quick hellos when you stopped by, occasional conversations in passing, and plenty of stories about Patrick from your best friend.
But never this.
The three of you hadn't even made it through dinner before your best friend's phone started ringing.
The first call she ignored.
The second made her swear.
By the third, she was pacing through the kitchen while arguing with someone from work.
Less than an hour later, her bag was repacked.
“I have to go back. Apparently nobody can survive one weekend without me.”
She grabbed her keys before pointing at you.
“You're staying.”
It wasn't a question.
“You already came all the way out here, and I'll probably be back tomorrow morning anyway. There's food, there's Wi-Fi when it feels cooperative, and Dad won't care.”
Patrick's voice carried from the other room.
“Thrilled you consulted me.”
She ignored him.
Then she hugged you, promised she'd text when she got back into town, shouted something vaguely threatening toward Patrick about behaving himself, and disappeared through the front door.
Her car eventually vanished down the long gravel driveway.
The house went quiet.
Patrick listened to the silence for several seconds.
Well hell.
He'd known you were staying the weekend. That hadn't meant anything when there were three people in the house.
Now it was just the two of you.
That shouldn't mean anything either.
Patrick wandered into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
“Want something?”
Casual. Easy.
Exactly how he'd speak to any guest in his house.
Then he glanced over at you.
And actually looked.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
Apparently somewhere between all those quick hellos over the years and tonight, his brain had neglected to update a few things.
Patrick grabbed himself a beer and shut the refrigerator.
He'd been specifically told to behave himself.
That thought almost made him laugh.
He wasn't planning on doing anything.
Didn't mean he couldn't appreciate the situation.
Didn't mean his mind wasn't already being profoundly unhelpful about it.
Patrick twisted the cap from his beer and leaned against the counter, taking a long drink.
For a few seconds, he said nothing.
His gaze wandered back to you before he caught himself doing it.
Don't.
Another glance.
Christ.
Patrick rubbed his thumb along the edge of the bottle and exhaled quietly through his nose.
One night.
Your best friend would probably be back tomorrow.
Surely he could manage one perfectly normal evening without letting his mouth get him into trouble.
Patrick looked at you again.
A slow smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.
“So,” he said casually, lifting his beer. “Looks like you're stuck with me tonight.”
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