"Especially me." He kept turning the shell in his fingers. "I talk a good game about the environmental stuff because I've had time to think about it. But the rest of my life? Total mess. I'm working at a beach club instead of taking summer classes. I have no idea if the grad school thing will even work out."
"But you have a direction."
Ryan tossed the shell toward the water. It skipped once before sinking. "You don't need a plan at nineteen." He turned to look at her. "Look, I'm twenty-two and I'm still winging it."
"Tell that to everyone asking what I'm going to major in."
"Tell them to mind their own business." He smiled. "Or tell them you're exploring your options. That always sounds good."
She laughed. Only a sliver of orange remained above the horizon now.
"I didn't know it could feel like this," Brittany said. "Easy. Like I don't have to try so hard." She didn't look at him. "I keep waiting for something to go wrong, but it just—keeps being good."
"Maybe nothing's going to go wrong."
"Maybe." She let herself believe it.
She turned toward him. The last light was catching his face, softening the angles, and she forgot to be nervous.
"I like you," she said. "I wanted to say that out loud, even if it makes things weird."
Ryan didn't answer right away. He held her gaze, and she watched his expression shift—surprise, then a slow smile.
"It doesn't make things weird," he said.
Then he reached over and took her hand.
They sat like that as the sun finished setting, his hand warm around hers, not talking, the last glow fading around them. His thumb brushed across her knuckles, and her breath caught. She didn't want to move. Didn't want this moment to end.
When the first stars appeared, they were still holding on.
"We should head back," Brittany said eventually.
"Probably."
She stood and offered him her hand. He took it, let her pull him up, and held on a beat longer than necessary before releasing it.
They pushed the kayaks back into the water. The paddle back was easier, like Ryan had said, the current carrying them, the strokes coming naturally now. They didn't talk much, but the silence felt different than before. Fuller. Comfortable.
The launch spot came into view, the parking lot and the shore and the world they'd briefly left behind. Ryan punched a code into the lock on the storage shed, and they slid the kayaks back onto the rack while Brittany shook the sand from her sneakers.
His truck was parked under a streetlight at the far end of the lot, an old Tacoma with a faded surf shop sticker on the bumper.
"I can drive you," he said. "It's on my way."
It probably wasn't, but Brittany didn't argue.
The drive to the rental house took five minutes, windows down, the radio playing something acoustic she didn't recognize. At a red light, his hand found hers on the console. Neither of them said anything.
When he pulled up to the curb, he let go to put the truck in park.
"I had a really good time,” she said.
"I'm glad you came." His eyes held hers, and her stomach flipped.
She reached for the door handle, then stopped. Turned back. Leaned across the console and kissed him on the cheek—quick, before she could talk herself out of it.
His surprised smile was the last thing she saw before she climbed out and headed up the walk, her heart pounding, and not from the kayaking.
