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On shaky legs, I reach for a tissue box and clean her up. Turning her over, I sit her upright and put the shirt back over her head before adjusting my shorts.
“I fucking love you, Emily, so damn much,” I whisper into her hairline as I kiss her forehead.
“I know the feeling,” she replies.
“Care to tell me where the hell you learnt to shoot with such accuracy?”
“My dad was a special forces sniper, Josh. Who do you think I learnt from?” She raises her eyebrows.
“Your dad taught you how to shoot, Emily? You were fifteen when he died. You shouldn’t have even been near guns.”
“Calm your farm. I learnt to shoot when I was five. My dad said it was in our blood. I always had good aim,” she says proudly.
“Well, you’re now two million dollars richer. Thanks to your little sharking ways.” I laugh.
“I don’t want his money. Tell him to keep it, Josh. I don’t need it.”
“No, you don’t, but it’s a lesson for him not to be such a smartass all the damn time. Don’t worry, he can afford it, babe. Come on, let’s go shower the salt and sand off.”
