“No.”
She waded toward me. “What’s wrong?”
“You exist,” I said flatly.
She laughed again, splashing water in my face. “That’s your complaint?”
I wiped my eyes. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
Her smile faltered for a second, just a flicker, and then softened. “Actually… I think I might.”
There was a moment between us then, still and electric, like everything around us took one slow breath and held it. I could feel the pull again, the magnetic draw to get closer, to kiss her again, tonever stop kissing her.
But she swam a few strokes away, breaking the tension with a flick of her hair.
“Okay,” she said. “We’ve cooled off. Now we sun dry, andthenwe eat. I brought sandwiches and fruit. And one single brownie we have to fight over.”
“Why would you do that?”
“To remind you that I’m the boss.”
I chuckled and treaded water beside her, watching as she floated on her back like she did this every weekend. “You planned that much?”
“I take snacksveryseriously.”
“Apparently.”
We swam a little more, floated, laughed, and splashed like kids playing hooky from our real lives. And for the first time in months, maybe longer, I wasn’t thinking about what came next.
I wasn’t overanalyzing or bracing for the emotional fallout.
I was just here.
With her.
Soaking wet. Breathing easy. And wondering what it would feel like to wake up next to this woman and donormalthings like make breakfast and argue over coffee brands.
The thought hit me hard enough to make me pause.
Because I wanted that.
Withher.
She glanced at me, floating lazily on her back. “You’re quiet again.”
“Just thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“Always.”
She smiled at the sky. “What are you thinking about?”
I swam closer, close enough to brush her hand underwater. “Lunch.”
“Liar.”
And maybe I was.
