“Are you cold?” he asked.
He knew he should have grabbed her a towel from the house. But she had been so desperate to get away from him that he knew it wasn’t worth trying. And to be fair, he had been just as desperate to make sure she saw his offer through. He hadn’t even changed out of his threadbare T-shirt and old Columbia hoodie that he had thrown on over his board shorts at the beach. It wasn’t ideal, but he also didn’t want to leave her alone.
This felt like a stolen moment, like the universe had made a clerical error and he had to exploit it before the world corrected itself. He had left his board on the beach and carried hers up the stairs along the cliffside. She avoided the house, pretended she didn’t even notice it there towering over the yard, and when he invited her inside to dry off, she declined. Still, he noticed how she studied the house’s facade when she thought he wasn’t looking, a brief but intense survey. Then she raised her chin and climbed into the passenger seat without a word.
She hugged her arms tighter around herself and shook her head. “It’s fine.”
No, it’s not, he wanted to say. The heat was already on its maximum setting, though, so he reached forward and pressed the button for her seat warmer.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
He nodded, waiting another minute before he spoke again. “What time is your reservation?”
Her eyebrows knitted together. “What?”
“Your lunch reservation. At Mike’s.”
“Oh. Right. Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Soon.”
“So… one?”
Her eyes darted down to the clock on the dashboard, then away again. “Yes. One.”
He tamped down a smile. He knew for a fact that during the off-season, Mike’s didn’t open until four. Even then, they didn’t take reservations. They barely had napkins. But he could also see the panic in Lizzy’s wide eyes, and he didn’t have the heart to call her out on it.
“Good. Wouldn’t want you to be late. They might give your table away.”
She smiled. It was brief, but he caught how her lips curled up despite how she tried to temper it.
It was a victory. A small one, but he took it.
Will forced himself to focus on the road again, navigating his way through town as “Captain Jack” by Billy Joel played softly on the radio. The truck was big, but she still felt close, too close. His head was swimming in the damp heat filling the car, and it took all his willpower to ignore how the wet strands of her red hair stuck to her neck, how her pink lips were slightly parted. How her thigh was just inches away from where his hand rested on the gear shift, fingers idly tapping to the music. But as the song swelled, he couldn’t help his gaze wandering up her leg to the tear still there on her wetsuit.
“I thought you were going to get that fixed.”
She turned to him, confused. Then he nodded down to her thigh.
“Oh.” Then she lifted her chin. “Yeah. I’ll glue it when I get back to the motel.”
“That’s too big for glue.”
“Glue will work just fine.”
“It needs a patch.”
“Well, I don’t have a patch. I have glue.”
“Then let’s get you a patch.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Isn’t it exhausting being right all the time?”
He ignored the comment, keeping his eyes on the road ahead, even as a familiar itch began under his skin, the same that crept up that day after the bakery. He stopped at the next intersection. But instead of turning left, he continued straight.
Her back straightened as she whipped her head around to glare at him. “My motel is off of Ditch Plains.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you heading in the opposite direction?”
