The ocean is behind us. The boys are down the beach, voices distant enough to be music instead of interruption. The sun is on her face and on my hand and on the space between us that keeps getting smaller.
She tilts her chin up. Just a little.
I lean in. Just a little.
My hand slides from her shoulder to the side of her neck. Her pulse is fast against my palm. Mine is faster. I haven't been this close to a woman since Holly, and the thought of Holly should stop me—it always stops me, it's the wall I built, the lock I installed, the circuit breaker that trips every time I feel what I shouldn't.
It doesn't trip.
For the first time in ten years, the breaker holds.
Emma's hand comes up and rests on my forearm. Her fingers press into the skin just below my rolled sleeve and I feel it everywhere—not just where she's touching but in my chest and my throat and behind my knees, which is not a place I thought could feel things but apparently when a woman touches your forearm on a beach your entire body gets involved without permission.
We're close. Close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her brown eyes and smell her sunscreenand the warmth underneath it that I've been pretending I don't recognize when she walks past me on the dock.
“This is a terrible idea,” I say, and I'm not pulling back.
“The worst,” she agrees, and she's not pulling back either.
“I'm your landlord.”
“You're my neighbor.”
“I still have sand in my ears.”
“I noticed.”
“I have goldfish cracker crumbs in my?—”
“Paul.” Her fingers tighten on my forearm. “Stop listing reasons.”
I obey.
Her heartbeat is fast against my palm.
I lean in the last inch.
“Mom! Mr. Paul! We found a jellyfish and Olson touched it and now his hand is puffy!”
We separate like we've been electrocuted, which is ironic given how many conversations we've had about electrical safety.
Aidan is running toward us at full speed, Mitch behind him half-carrying Olson, whose left hand is already red and swelling.
“He touched a man o' war! I told him not to. Hesaid he didn't believe in venom. You can't just not believe in venom, that's not how science works?—”
“Let me see.” I'm already moving, already shifting into the mode I know—the fixing mode, the handling-it mode. I take Olson's hand. Red welts across the palm and fingers. Painful, but not dangerous.
“Vinegar,” I say. “Does anybody have vinegar?”
“I have a water bottle and goldfish crackers,” Emma says. She's right beside me, voice steady even though her cheeks are flushed and she won't quite look at me. “I don't carry vinegar to the beach.”
“Who carries vinegar to the beach?” Mitch asks.
“Smart people. Run to the lifeguard stand. Tell them your brother got stung. They'll have a first aid kit.”
Mitch takes off. Aidan stays, because Aidan always stays.
“The tentacles have nematocysts,” he explains while I hold Olson's hand steady. “They're tiny harpoons. They inject venom on contact. It's actually really cool if you think about it from the man o' war's perspective.”
