“I should take a quick shower so I don’t stink up the pool,” Annie said.
Annie pushed past me and immediately gasped. “Mom. Robes.”
“I love robes,” I said.
Annie darted around the room. “There’s a balcony. And tiny soap.”
She had already thrown open the balcony doors, letting in a rush of ocean air that lifted the curtains and brought with it the cry of gulls. The room was lovely, all white bedding and palewood, with two queen beds, a sitting area, and a vase of flowers on the dresser.
Annie stepped onto the balcony and leaned over the railing. “This is amazing.”
I came to stand beside her. Below us, the resort terrace spread toward the cliff’s edge, where white umbrellas shaded tables. The pool flashed turquoise to the left, dotted with people.
“It’s pretty,” I said.
“Pretty? Mom, this is where people in movies come to recover from scandals.”
I laughed. “You think?”
She grinned, and for a moment all I could see was the child she’d been before grief laid its hand on her. The round-cheeked little girl who once wore rain boots with everything and believed pancakes tasted better if they were shaped like animals. She was taller now, sharper at the edges, her watchfulness a little too practiced. But today she looked young and happy and loose.
While she showered, I unpacked and changed into a black swimsuit with a white linen cover-up, then put my hair up.
When she was ready, we went downstairs to the pool, which was tucked below the main terrace with a low wall overlooking the Pacific. The afternoon light scattered across the water, turning every ripple white at the edges. Families occupied most of the chairs, a few couples dozed beneath striped umbrellas, and a pair of little boys were engaged in a splash war.
Annie dropped her towel on a chair and was in the pool within thirty seconds. Dorian and I sat under an umbrella. He wore swim trunks and a navy T-shirt I couldn’t wait for him to take off.
“She’s going to sleep for twelve hours tonight,” I said as Annie floated on her back, eyes closed.
“She earned it.”
“She did.” I watched her drift, one hand trailing through the water. “This means a lot. To both of us. Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do.”
“Then you’re welcome,” Dorian said.
Annie suddenly flipped upright and pointed at him. “Dorian, you have to come in. It’s so nice.”
“Should we?” Dorian asked me.
“You first.”
Grinning, he stripped off his T-shirt and set it on the chair. Hoping my sunglasses hid the direction of my gaze, I took a good, long look. He was even better than I’d thought. Lean but muscular, shoulders wide in the right places, a tapered torso with a six-pack. Good lord.
He jumped into the deep end of the pool.
“Wanna race?” Annie asked when he emerged from below the surface,
“Prepare to lose,” Dorian said.
They raced one length of the pool. Annie won by just a tad. I suspected Dorian hadn’t given his full effort. He surfaced at the end, silver hair darkened and slicked back, one hand on the wall. He wasn’t even breathing deeply.
“That was close,” he said.
“You let me win,” Annie said.
