Cold, black water lapped against the boat’s chipping paint. Hidden by brush and trunk, she contemplated her next move.
“Come with me.” His words echoed in her mind. “Meet me at the guard house. We’ll get a fresh start, together.”
Her friends had stared, slack-jawed, when she’d told them. “The most romantic thing EVER,” they’d declared.
Becca wasn’t sure. She glanced around, willing her thundering heart to quiet.
“Are you ready?” She whirled around to Stephen, standing just behind her. He held out his hand and smiled, though it didn’t reach his ice-blue eyes.
For their beginning? Or her end?
The Mom Who Runs: 