Page 29 of Coming Home

She blinked, her brow knitting. "What?"

"Next time we're at Glendale. One lap. Freestyle. You touch the wall before me, and I'll give you whatever secret you think I'm hiding."

She let out a dry, incredulous sound. "I don't swim, Ralph. You know that."

"You swam well enough twenty minutes ago when you thought my lungs were full of water."

Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. "That was adrenaline," she muttered, looking away.

"Adrenaline doesn't fix a high elbow recovery, Em. Your form was flawless."

"My form was terrified."

"Your form was Olympic. I was looking through the water."

"You were playing dead."

"And you still came in after me." I stepped closer, dropping my voice until it was just a low rumble between us. "Think about why you did that."

Before I could press further, there was a chime. She pulled her phone from her shorts, her thumb sliding across the glass, and her entire face shifted in a single, silent second.

The frost dissolved. Her eyes went wide and bright, and for the first time since she'd landed on my porch, I saw real sunlight in them. It was joy.

"What is it?" I asked, leaning in.

"None of your business, Brandt."

I reached down and plucked the phone clean out of her fingers.

"Ralph!" She lunged immediately, her hands clawing at my forearm. "This is a boundary issue! You need to learn the basic definition of privacy!"

I held the phone straight above my head, because some dynamics don't change just because you've grown up, and she went up on her toes, reaching for it exactly the way she used to in Theo's old kitchen when I'd move the cereal boxes to the top shelf.

"Your reach is still tragic," I said, looking down at her.

"My reach is statistically average!" She jumped, her fingernails brushing the edge of the OtterBox case.

"You are an unnatural height and this is harassment! Give it back!"

I started to lower my arm, taking pity on her, but my depth perception misjudged her velocity. I brought my hand down too fast just as she launched into another small jump. Her entire body collided straight into my chest.

The impact was solid, sudden. My left arm snapped around her waist on pure reflex, catching her weight before the momentum could send her sprawling into the flagstones.

Her palms slapped against my shoulders, her fingers instantly bunching into the fabric of my t-shirt to steady herself.

We were close. Close enough that the world outside her hair simply ceased to exist. Her face was tilted up, inches from my chin, her mouth slightly parted as she pulled in air. I could see the flush climbing from the hollow of her collarbone, traveling up the soft skin of her throat into her cheeks. Her eyes were enormous this close, a deep, liquid blue.

She broke first. She stepped back, her heels hitting the grass, clearing her throat with a sharp, nervous sound.

"I got the side gig," she said.

"The side gig?"

"A job, Ralph. Some of us don't have corporate swim contracts to pay our property taxes." She still wouldn't look up, the red stain still lingering on the side of her neck. "It's… it's a voiceover contract. An audio project. I'll tell you about it later. I need to go inside."

She brushed past my shoulder, her bare feet moving quickly across the warm stone of the path.

I watched her go, her shoulders squared, her chin held high, her small hands balled into fists at her sides as she vanished back through the heavy front door. I stood out there in my own yard, barefoot in the grass, holding a half-eaten apple and the lingering scent of her hair.