Callie and I looked at each other.
“She’s going to be terrifying when she grows up,” Callie said quietly.
“She’s already terrifying,” I said.
Poppy accepted this as a compliment.
We waded deeper, the three of us moving further out, the water rising to my hips. I was still thinking about Fletcher looking away when I caught him. About his ears going pink when he called me beautiful.
I had spent five years telling myself I had imagined the way he looked at me. The Tuesday coffees, the Thursday flowers, the farmer’s market rescue, the way he always seemed to appear exactly when something went sideways — I had filed all of it underCallie’s older brother, protective instinct, means nothing.
But you don’t call someone beautiful because you’re protective.
You don’t buy someone’s entire flower stock every week because you’re protective.
Or maybe you do. If you’re Fletcher Calloway.
I pushed my hair out of my face. I should not let myself think this way because I had been here before and it had not gone anywhere. Afterall, a man who wanted you did not bring his girlfriend to meet his family.
A wave hit me sideways.
I didn’t see it coming. It caught me right in the hip, hard and fast, and my feet went out from under me like someone had pulled a rug. I went down. Salt water in my nose, in my mouth, spinning for one second where I couldn’t tell which direction was up.
I came up laughing.
I couldn’t help it. It was too sudden, too ridiculous. I broke the surface laughing and Callie was already laughing and Poppy was laughing with both hands over her mouth.
“Are you—” Callie started.
Another wave.
This one caught me before I’d fully gotten my footing, and I went down again, and I was laughing so hard underwater that I swallowed half the ocean on the way back up.
I was still laughing when a pair of hands wrapped around my waist and pulled.
Strong hands. Both of them. They pulled me up fast and steady and I came up out of the water and found myself face to face with Fletcher.
Very face to face.
His hands were on my waist. My hands had landed on his arms. We were close enough that I could see a drop of salt water on his jaw. His eyes were right there, looking at me, and for one full second neither of us moved.
The ocean kept going around us.
He stepped back. His hands dropped.
“Are you okay?” His voice was slightly rough. Like he’d run to get here, which, looking at him, I was pretty sure he had.
“Yeah.” I pushed my hair out of my face. “Just got knocked over. I’m fine.”
“It is literally impossible to drown at this depth,” Poppy said helpfully, from three feet away. “The water is four feet deep maximum. A person would have to work very hard to drown here.”
Fletcher looked at Poppy. He looked back at me. His ears had gone pink again.
“You’re fine,” he said. He nodded, once, like he was confirming it for himself as much as for me. “Enjoy your swim.”
“Thanks.”
He turned and walked back up the beach.
