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“So cute. You know, if you ever want to talk about it—” Nick jolted like he’d been zapped with an electric shock. “FUCK!” His whole body tensed, spare his heart, which drummed frantically against Evie’s chest.
“What’s wrong?!”
His fingers dug into her waist. “Something”—he scoured the water and shuffled sideways, pulling Evie with him—“something touched my leg!”
She relaxed. “Probably seaweed. Or a spoot.”
Meeting her eyes, Nick gulped so hard Evie could hear it. “What the hell is that?”
“Razor clams. Totally harmless.”
His knotted brow wasn’t buying it. Was this the same actor who ‘skinny-dipped’ in a London pond?
“Their shells look like closed straight razors, but they won’t hurt you,” Evie explained amidst the squawk of swooping gulls overhead. “Spoots are terrified of people.”
Nick smiled faintly. “I’m not the best with creepy crawlies.” Unease lingered in his voice. “Or, you know…nature.”
Better not mention the jellyfish, then.
His gaze fled over his shoulder back toward shore.
Remorse dragged in Evie’s chest. I forced him out here. I made him uncomfortable. She kissed his cheek. “Let’s head in. Get something to eat?”
“Sounds magic,” said Nick.
As she walked silently through the receding water, Evie’s skin tingled in the breeze. She hugged her middle, taking in the whirling blades of the windfarm high on Burgar Hill.
“Is anything totally off limits food-wise?” he asked.
“I can’t drink coffee, eat red meat or spicy stuff, and certain veggies like beans and broccoli really do a number on me. Chocolate, fast food, and dairy can be tricky, too, which sucks.”
“What can you eat during a flare?”
“Not much. Bland stuff mostly: marshmallows, bananas, rice, chicken broth. Sometimes I push the boat out and have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or a baked tattie with applesauce.”
“On the actual potato?”
“Yeah, I only eat the fluffy part, though, and leave the skin. It’s yummy when you can’t tolerate much else.” Evie untangled her hair from her necklace. “That’s the thing about Crohn’s. When I feel good, I never take food for granted.”
“Well, in that case, whatcha reckon? Sarnies, fish and”—as he glanced over, Nick’s focus slipped and his words jammed—“and, I, uh…yeah.” He swallowed. Hard.
Evie looked down. Glued to her chest, her drenched bra accentuated every curve, every swell, every cold, hardening peak. Everything was on jiggly display, and Nick seemed mesmerized by her tight nipples poking through the transparent lace. He’s a boob man! Flashing a celebratory grin, she edged closer. “Cold water strikes again!”
Nick’s eyes slowly skated up her neck then hovered over her lips. “You are so beautiful.” He blinked up, meeting her gaze as he draped his arm around her shoulder, their wet thighs brushing as they walked. “You know that, right?”
She sucked in a breath.
All her life she’d been called cute Evie or smart Evie, but beautiful Evie? That person was definitely not someone she’d met in the mirror before. If Nick saw her that way, maybe she could, too? But some habits were hard to break, especially deep-rooted, seventeen-year-old habits tangled up with self-esteem and Crohn’s disease.
How to respond? Yes would sound cocky (and so un-Evie), but no reeked of insecurity and neediness like she was clawing for compliments.
Nick smiled as the ruffle of the kite fighting the breeze filled her pause. She couldn’t dawdle. An answer was needed now.
“Thank you.” Evie veered left so they would dodge a large floating knot of kelp. “Depends on the day,” she added. “And the boy.”
“Well, this boy thinks you’re hot.”
Her cheeky stare vaulted south, but any excitement lurking within Nick’s soaked boxers was sadly absent. Nick was right; cold water didn’t do guys any favors. Shrinkage was real—real frustrating…at least for Evie.
