Page 257

Down the beach, Petunia trots away with her saddle crooked and her tail swishing like a waving middle finger. Our guide is after her, trotting through the water on his calm little horse and calling her name in a voice much kinder than she deserves.

“Don’t sweet-talk her!” I yell. “She knows what she did!”

Paul’s off his horse and trudging toward me through the surf. His mouth is pressed flat. His shoulders keep twitching with all the laughter he is heroically—and poorly—holding back.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

“No.”

“Anything twisted?”

“My pride.”

“Seriously.”

“Medically, I’m fine.”

That gives him permission to laugh. He bends forward, one hand on his thigh, the other uselessly reaching for me like he intends to help while actively betraying me.

“I’m glad my trauma brings you joy.”

“I’m sorry.” He is not. “I really am.”

“Smells false.”

“I’d say this is just like Shirley MacLaine and Jack Nicholson, but that reference is even too old for me.”

I don’t get it, and that makes me glare even harder.

“What the hell does that mean?”

Water drips from my eyelashes. Salt burns in my throat. Somewhere beyond us, the guide’s still negotiating with my fugitive horse.

Paul laughs harder. I hate how much I love it.

He offers his hand. “Come on.”

His grip is warm and sure. For one brief, generous second, I let him think I’m accepting his help.

I yank, and Paul’s eyes go wide. He comes down with a perfect, applause-worthy splash. He comes up coughing, hair flattened, mouth open in outrage.

I grin at him. “Now it’s like whatever old movie you said.”

He wipes water from his face and laughs again. This time, I join him.

We walk-crawl back to the beach. The guide leaves us with two towels I’m pretty sure he snatched off beach chairs, three apologies, and a partial refund.

“She’s usually very sweet,” he says.

“Usually,” I say, watching him lead Petunia away.

Paul bites the inside of his cheek.

“Do not laugh. You’ve enjoyed this enough.”

“It’s aftershocks.”

I drop onto the sand with less grace than usual. Paul sits beside me, legs, hands and neck sandy.