“I’m so sorry,” Dylan said again.
She seemed closer now, her booted feet only an inch from Ramona’s sandy toes.
“Why?” Ramona asked.
“Why am I sorry?”
Ramona shook her head, let her silence say what she really meant.
Dylan sighed, set the tissue box in the sand. Ramona frowned at it, the familiar blue-and-green flowers on the cardboard.
“Is that from my kitchen?” she asked.
Dylan laughed quietly. “Yeah. Long story.”
Ramona kept her eyes on the box, the pattern blurring in her vision. “That memory was ours.”
Dylan was quiet for a second. Ramona saw her fingers twitch by her side, as though she wanted to take Ramona’s hand, but Ramona stuffed them into her pockets.
“I know,” Dylan said softly.
Ramona felt the first swell of tears.
“I told someone close to me, and they made a mistake,” Dylan said.
“Theymade a mistake?” Ramona replied sharply.
“Imade a mistake,” Dylan said. “I should have realized they might…I don’t know. Use it.”
“Use us,” Ramona said.
Dylan’s expression was so soft and open, that first damn tear escaped and slid down Ramona’s cheek. She couldn’t help feeling betrayed, like this was all some game to Dylan.
“We don’t have to do this,” Ramona said, sniffing. “We can just stop, and I won’t—”
“Ramona,” Dylan said. She lifted her hand slowly, and Ramona didn’t flinch or back away when she swiped the tear from Ramona’s face with her thumb. “That’s not what I want.” She trailed off, looked down, biting her lower lip. “My job…who I am…I know it can be complicated. But that storyisours. And it’s important to me. I need you to believe that.”
“Is it?” Ramona asked, her voice a whisper, even though she didn’t mean it to be. She was shifting though, her anger giving way to something else, something light and gauzy, like lake water under a full moon.
“Yeah,” Dylan said. “Lifesaving, remember?”
Ramona exhaled. That word—lifesaving—like tiny flickers of light through her rib cage. This might be complicated, but it was alsogood. And she didn’t want to stop. She wanted Dylan in her life, and Dylan Monroe was never going to be simple.
Somehow, they’d moved even closer, Dylan’s tee brushing the front of Ramona’s blouse. And this time, Ramona reached out first, both of her hands taking Dylan’s, twining their fingers together.
Dylan exhaled heavily. “You believe me?”
Ramona could only nod, could only focus on their hands, the sensation of touching Dylan, being close. It obliterated doubt and anger, replaced it with something fragile and desperate. Maybe a little scared too, because shedidbelieve Dylan. And that belief—thattrust—was scary as hell.
“I was going out of my mind today,” Dylan said, curling their hands and resting them on her chest.
Ramona lifted her eyes to look at her. “You were?”
“The idea of hurting you. It was unbearable.”
“Dylan,” Ramona said softly.
“Last night,” Dylan said, “I really wanted to kiss you.”
