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Elara stared at me for a while and then laughed.
I heard the waves, nearby and soft, each one moving thousands of tiny grains of sand. "Swim?"
"Swim!" she replied.
In less than a heartbeat, she shot up. I moved with her, and we ran together into the chilly ocean, laughing and thrashing, embracing between the waves, kissing each other as easy as the sea kisses the sand.
***
We ate lunch, feeding each other bites of crusty bread and hunks of cheese. We drank lemonade and ate strawberries and watched as the sun made its lazy way across the sky.
"You think the sun knows about us?" Elara asked dreamily.
"Mmhmm," I replied. "The sun's obsessed with us."
She giggled. "You think?"
"Definitely. Always watching."
Later, inside, we watched a movie. The Notebook. I didn't take in much of it. For most of the runtime, I was either eating popcorn or kissing Elara.
Before dinner, with Elara's permission, I fixed my fuse box.
"I'll allow it because you're doing it for yourself," she said, "so it doesn't count as work."
While I tinkered in my trailer, she cooked in hers. It felt good to give her some space, but, as ridiculous as it sounded, I wished that she was with me. It didn't take me long, though, and by the time I was finished, so was she.
"We're in sync," she said.
"We are," I agreed, joining her at the table.
"Did you get it fixed?"
"Sure did. Replaced all the fuses just to play it safe. That should stop them from tripping for now." I sighed. "Of course, in an ideal world, I'd have a brand-new fuse box and a brand-new house. But that's not going to happen."
"Have a seat. I made carbonara."
"Sounds very good."
It was. Extremely good. Elara had paired the food with a dry white wine. Each mouthful was nourishing, hearty, and full of love. It felt so damn good to be cared for. By the end of the meal, I almost felt as though I was on the verge of tears.
"You okay, Cole? You're quiet."
"I'm honestly just . . . blown away."
"Glad you liked it."
"Not the food, El. Well, yes, the food, but . . . everything. It's hard for me to let someone else look after me. Feels like I'm admitting defeat."
She nodded, taking a sip from her glass. "I get it. You think you should be suffering, in a way."
"Exactly. That's my whole identity. Fucked up, isn’t it?"
"You can still be that suffering person," she said, taking her hand. "But you’re someone else, too."
I swallowed hard, and something clicked in me. I knew this feeling, recognized it so clearly it was absurd. "Today made me feel like a kid again. That probably sounds weird."
"No. It makes sense."
