My heart does the warm, expanding, terrifying thing. The one that feels like falling except the ground isn't coming.
I turn to look at him. He's already looking at me. Sand in his eyebrows. Shell crumbs in his hair.
“Paul—”
“Your mom and Mr. Paul are staring at each other!” Aidan screams from the water at a volume that carries across the entire beach. “Are you guys in love?”
I close my eyes.
“We're not staring,” I yell back.
“You were! Olson saw it too!”
“I saw it,” Olson confirms from the surf. “Definitestaring.”
Paul pinches the bridge of his nose. Sand falls off his eyebrow. “I'm going to my truck.”
“Paul—”
“I need clothes that don't contain sand. And I need to be away from eight-year-olds narrating my personal life.”
He's walking. But slowly. And when he passes me, he pauses—just long enough for me to feel the warmth of him even at two feet of distance.
“It wasn't just a safety issue,” he says. Not looking at me. Looking at the ocean. “You should know that.”
Then he's gone. Walking up the beach, sand falling off him with every step, the tips of his ears red, and not from a sunburn.
I stand there.
The boys are reenacting the kraken battle in the shallows. The sun is warm. The ocean does what it always does.
It wasn't just a safety issue.
I press my hand to my chest.
My phone buzzes.
Lottie:Signed the lease. Osprey Lane is officially home. Cried in the parking lot but don't tell anyone.
Me:Your secret is safe. How's the studio room?
Lottie:One window. Blackout curtains. I canalready see where the backdrops go. Em, I think this is actually happening.
Me:It's happening. You're building a life.
Lottie:We both are.
I put my phone down. Look out at the water, where three boys are still fighting imaginary sea creatures, sunburned and sandy and completely alive.
She's right. We both are.
I just didn't expect the thing I'm building to involve a grumpy marina owner with sand in his eyebrows who couldn't sleep knowing my light was out.
TEN
PAUL
Isaid it.
