Yeah. Nope.I’m going with silence as my response. And maybe a quick prayer that my zipper holds.
Thankfully, Sienna taps the mic and commands the room.
“Welcome, everyone. “I’m Dr. Alvarez. Let’s talk about how to clean a beach without accidentally murdering yourselves or each other.”
A few nervous laughs ripple.
The slideshow reveals a rusted pipe buried in the sand just as the servers descend—a synchronized, black-tied swim team moving together. A plate of chilled jumbo shrimp lands in front of me, garnished with lemon and paired with cocktail sauce. The presentation is impeccable, but for someone with my particular genetic glitch, they're essentially edible landmines.
I reach out to push—
Ivy’s hand is there first.
She hooks the rim and slides the plate away without a word, eyes still on the stage. No announcement. No big deal. Just quietly removing the threat as if she’s done it a million times before.
My hand lands over hers, and everything goes quiet.
Sienna’s deadpan lecture on puncture-resistant gloves turns into white noise. The clinking of two hundred forks sounds muffled and distant. My thumb finds the delicate skin on the inside of Ivy’s wrist. Her pulse is a frantic, erratic thrum against my skin.
I’m testing.
Waiting.
Hoping she doesn’t pull back.
“Shellfish,” she states flatly. “You’re allergic.”
I keep my voice even. “Didn’t know you cared.”
“I don’t.”
Her hand retreats, but the lie is already out. I felt it: that frantic, staccato spike of her pulse beneath my thumb, at odds with the composed expression she’s wearing.
She cares.
And that—okay, that throws me off balance.
Not like her mouth did earlier.
Not like my body’s been losing its mind all day.
This one sticks somewhere deeper.
“Rule three of beach cleanup.” Sienna’s voice cuts through my thoughts. She flexes her gloved hand. “If it glitters, it’s not gold. If it glints, it’s dangerous.”
CLICK.
“Next slide,” Sienna continues. “If it’s breathing, it’s got teeth. Unlike you, the ocean is not here to make friends.”
I face forward. Settle back in my chair. Fix my eyes on the stage as if I’m absorbing every word of this snoozefest presentation.
But I’m not.
I’m watching Ivy out of the corner of my eye, back on her iPad, biting that pillowy bottom lip of hers in concentration.
I have to stop noticing when she does that!
I’ve been categorizing Ivy as a beautiful, high-strung opponent I enjoy dismantling. I told myself it was all fun and games.
