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I laugh, despite myself.

“All good.”

Then I step toward the pool before I can change my mind.

He turns then, finally, and whatever joke he had ready disappears before it reaches his mouth. His eyes move over me quickly, then return to my face.

I put both hands in front of myself.

“You’re holding up well for… how old are you now?”

I huff a nervous laugh. “The same age I was yesterday. Birthday’s tomorrow.”

“Good answer.”

He swims closer, but not too close. The water breaks around his chest. The light moves over his shoulders, his throat, the sharp line of his collarbone.

“Getting in?”

“I don’t dive.”

“Then might as well jump.”

“You’re too young to know that song.”

He cocks his head to the side. “There’s a song?”

I stare at his sideways face. There are moments a person can overthink until they rot. This should probably be one of them.

Instead, I jump.

The water closes over my head, warm and shocking at once. For a second, there is only blue darkness, the muted thud of my own pulse, the strange suspended silence of being underwater. Then I surface hard, wiping water from my eyes.

Clint is there, laughing.

“What now?” I ask.

Clint shrugs. “Got any balls to toss around?”

We both freeze, then laugh.

“No toys,” I say.

“Shame.”

He moves a little closer. Enough for the water between us to feel occupied.

There’s an idea in his eyes, or maybe I put it there because I want it to be there. My own heartbeat has not returned to normal. His hands lift slowly through the water.

“Then it’s just our hands.”

My mouth opens.

I look down toward his hands moving beneath the blue surface.

Then they break the water and splash me full in the face.

I gasp. Clint laughs so hard he has to push himself backward to stay afloat.