Manuel stands a few feet away, as if he dare not draw any closer. He’s frustrated; I know it from his tense shoulders and annoyed huffs of breath.
“I’ll let you have your privacy with each other,” Nina says.
Something in her tone makes me blush again. But then Manuel’s flat voice cuts the night. “I’m only her guard,” he says. “I’m sworn to protect her.”
She shrugs. “But you still need privacy, yes?” And before I can say anything else, she and the other women disappear. I face Manuel, clutching my basket. We study each other—there’s hope on my face; I canfeelit. But he’s as stiff and formal as ever, wearing his sense of duty like a heavy cloak.
I hate it and don’t understand it.
“You can—” he begins just as I start to say something. We both stop awkwardly.
I strive for a light tone. “Do you think there are piranhas in there?”
A reluctant smile tugs at his mouth. He shakes his head. “Go in first.” He turns around, hands gripping either side of his basket.
He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I haven’t had a bath in what feels likeforever.The soap smells heavenly, a blend of citrus scents. Perhaps mandarina and naranja. I undress and throw the soiled garments onto the flat rock. Then I sink into the pool, the cool water coming up to the bottom of my chin. I bend my knees and let it close over my head.
When I reappear, I call out to Manuel. “The water is perfect. You don’t have to wait until I’m done. I won’t look.” I tuck myself under the surface so only my head and neck are visible, then face away from the steps.
“Don’t turn around,” he orders.
“You’re safe from me, Manuel.”
He mutters something, but I don’t catch the words. The sound of him undressing rides on the subtle breeze. I shiver and sink deeper into the water.
“I’m in,” he says softly.
I face him and nearly laugh. He’s as far away from me as he can go, clutching the bar of soap like a weapon. He regards me fiercely, his expression clear:Don’t come any closer.
I hate being told what to do, and the urge to cause ripples across his still demeanor nearly overwhelms me. I want to yank open the doors to his shuttered expression, let enough light in to reveal all of his secrets.
“I can’t keep up with your moods,” I say.
“No one is saying you have to.”
“But they affect me,” I say. “One minute, I’m your friend. The next, I’m not. Sometimes you smile at me and seem to enjoy it. But then there are the smiles that come against your will. Ihatethose. Manuel, what did Chaska say to you?”
He remains stubbornly silent—trapped in a pool with me, nothing but water between us.
I look away and search for another topic of conversation. “Have you ever been swimming with a girl?”
His shoulders tighten. “This isn’t suitable conversation.”
“I bet all the girls were madly in love with you, no matter where you went.”
“Why?” he asks, exasperated. “Why on earth would you think that?”
“Well, look at you,” I say.
He glances down at himself, at the puckered scar on his shoulder, his calloused hands, and the dirt under his fingernails. Then he returns his attention to me, his face perfectly straight, but his voice has a subtle note of amusement. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”
I try not to roll my eyes, but it’s seriously difficult. “You’re taller than any boy I’ve met, you look great in a pair of pants, and your jawline …” I let out a little laugh at the startled look on his face. “But more than all that, you’re constant and loyal. Always calm—except when you lose your temper, which isn’t often, but for some reason, it’s usually with me. I always feel perfectly safe when you’re near, like everything will turn out all right in the end. There’s so much about you to love.”
“But there’s no point in falling in love with me, is there?” he asks.
“It might be fun,” I say, striving for a light tone, even as my heart flips.
He flicks water at me. “Think harder.”
