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And just like that I’m sixteen again.

The bench dissolves and I’m back in my room, low blue light, his hand in mine, those exact words closing a door in my face.

Something in my expression must show it.

Everything in my expression always shows it.

I am an open book that has never once successfully pretended to be closed.

• • •

He tilts my chin up with two fingers.

“Get out of your head.” His thumb moves along my jaw. “I wasn’t finished.”

I wait.

“You can’t look at me like that,” he says, quieter now. “Because it makes me so fucking shy.”

A beat.

“The way you look at me and the way you smile every time—it’s everything to me. Perfect.”

I stare at him.

I feel the blush moving up my face in real time.

Completely unstoppable.

Deeply humiliating.

• • •

“Well,” I say, looking away. “How many smiles have you seen, you slut.”

I flick ketchup on his nose.

And skip away before he can retaliate.

Skipping might be a new thing.

Happy Rowan is apparently a little feral.

I’m getting used to him.

• • •

He catches up and grabs my hand and doesn’t mention the skipping which I appreciate because now I regret it.

We spend another hour wandering.

He makes up wrong names for every fish with complete confidence.

I correct him every time.

He ignores every correction.

We watch the stingrays for a while.