Re: [The Lake: Atticus & Cass]
She'd picked up Spanish somewhere in Mexico. Tequila, and hot, late nights filled with dust and a man who had worn sadness along with the soft, bare place where a ring had been once and never would be again, she knew as she'd mapped his ribs with her palms. The boat rocked faintly under her weight and the sun beat upon her neck and Cass was fond of whimsy. It made her less believable. She hadn't been truly young since Switzerland but youth was easily dismissed. Dismissible, unbelievable, it was far easier not to scorch one's fingers if you set the blaze yourself.
The boy smiled as if he didn't mind acquiring a companion early in the morning and Cass looked from his outline, strong against the glare of sunshine, to the shoreline. "But not convicted." She said it gently. It was truthful, she hadn't. "Permission to come aboard?" She didn't wait. She was stronger than she looked, both elbows came down and her weight came up, the movement economical enough that the water only stirred a little.
"Atticus." She held out a strong, wet hand, pallid from too little sun with the expectation it would be taken. Her handshake, if taken, was firm. Solid, a little masculine. The drugs could be relied upon a little longer, her head still cobwebbed and she didn't think she'd see the boy's future in the slide of his palm.
But the boat. She looked down. "Does it need romance? It seems perfectly in order."