“You know, some people consider boasting distasteful,” I say.
“Nah.” His eyes flash with mischief. “Not you, Alice Everly. You like it.”
His voice is deep and rough. Somehow, he makes my name sound illicit. I imagine him whispering against my skin.
Alice Everly. Alice Everly. Alice Everly.
Nope. No. Not happening. I square my shoulders. “You have no idea what I like.”
He smirks. “I think I have a pretty good idea. Let’s not forget how we met,” he says with a wistful sigh. “I remember it like it was only this morning. You, me, the cucumbers…” He leans close and whispers, “Whoa.”
He’s teasing, but he’s so ridiculous I’m not embarrassed. He’s right; I don’t mind it. If anything, I might like it. I’m not sure I’ve met such an unapologetic flirt before. But we have a whole summer ahead of us, and I’ve got to put a stop to it.
“You have a great face,” I tell him.
He cocks his head. “Thank you, Alice.”
“But there’s an almost infinite number of great faces in this world, and I’ve seena lotof them.”
“Oh?”
“I’m a photographer. Faces are kind of my thing. And to be fair, yours is…” I squint into the sun, considering my word choice. “Remarkable,” I say, looking at Charlie again. “You’re handsome, obviously. You know that. The shade of your eyes: It’s rare. You know that, too.”
He squints at me. “Why doesn’t that sound like a compliment?”
“Itisa compliment,” I tell him. “The first thing I thought when I saw you this morning at the store was that I wanted to photograph you. There’s a kind of lived-in quality to your features that makes you interesting to look at.”
Charlie is completely still. Aside from his throat moving with a single swallow, he’s turned to stone.
“You have the perfect imperfect face. Hence thewhoa.” I tip my chin up, gathering strength. “But it’s just a nice face. It’s literally the last thing that would make someone attractive to me.”
At first all Charlie does is stare, but then he grins. “Message received. Alice Everly: not into faces.”
He moves past me and steps onto the end of his boat so he can haul in John’s skiff. I watch the muscles in his back shift as he pulls on the rope. Charlie glances over his shoulder, catching me mid-ogle. Busted.
“More of an ass woman, then?” His smile is a brilliant display of straight white teeth and dimples.
I know I’m as purple as a beet, but something about him, his lack of modesty, makes me feel emboldened. “I was checking out your shoulders.” My eyes drop to his backside. “But your ass is okay.”
Charlie tuts. “It’s exceptional.”
I battle the smile that wants to bend my lips. Trevor wasnothinglike this. He was sincere, earnest to the point of being businesslike, but I always knew where we stood. Trevor was solid ground; Charlie is a sheet of thin ice. So it’s bizarre how not awkward I feel with him. We’resparring, and it’seasy. I’m not sure what he’s going to say, and while it’s slippery new terrain, it feels like I know how to skate across it.
“I’m not sure what to make of you,” Charlie says as he kneels, tying John’s boat.
“You don’t have to make anything of me.”
“I think I do,” he says. “It’s kind ofmything.”
He reaches for my caftan and beach bag and sets them on the dock. I spot my notebook on the floor of the boat at the same time he does. It’s exactly as I left it, folded open to the page with my bucket list.
“I can get that,” I rush out. But it’s too late—Charlie’s climbing in to retrieve it.
“Allow me,” he says. “Since I can’t win you over with myremarkableface.” He shoots me a pointed glance before picking up the notebook.
Please don’t look. Please don’t look. Please don’t look.
He looks.
