Page 51 of Rum Sips and Salty Lips

“Yeah? Brown and yellow?” I ask, thinking of the changing leaves in New England.

“No, we tried a brown once. It kind of looked like poop. This is dusty rose and hunter green.”

I love the sound of her voice when she’s talking about her work, soft and wistful. It’s clear to me she loves what she does and has a passion for it.

She’s so close to me now. Our legs brush each other. If she keeps her attention ahead on the water, we won’t be in any trouble. If she looks my way, I’ll kiss her.

Because sitting on the beach, watching the sun set with the person you care about, is the most romantic thing in the world. She turns to me, her face in a slight smile that comes from being relaxed. I hope she says something about the look on my face, because there is no way I can hide how badly I want her right now.

She doesn’t. She studies me and I wonder what she sees. She leans in and presses her lips to mine.

I don’t hold back. I can’t. Not when she tastes like salt and the sea. My hand goes immediately to the nape of her neck, pulling her in close.

I’m tired of pretending I don’t want this. That somehow this is a terrible idea, when it feels so good to have her in my arms.

She ends the kiss but doesn’t pull away from me. I rest my forehead on hers. We need to take care of her board and my kayak. Then I need her in my bed.

Or really, the shower, because we’re both covered in sweat and sunscreen. Every time I see Carina wet, every time I’ve got her in the water with me, all I think about is sleeping with her. Shower sex is my perfect fantasy.

But Carina is skittish. I can’t scare her away with how much I want her.

She doesn’t speak. I feel her breath on my lips.

“You are—” I start.

She jerks away. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Wedid that,” I correct. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal.” Though this is a big deal to me. She’s all I want.

She shakes her head and stands up. “As fun as it would be, a fling is a bad idea. We don’t want you to burn out when you’re stuck with me forever.”

“Right.” She’s wrong. She’s afraid feelings will get involved but it hurts even if we don’t have sex. I can’t deny to myself that I have feelings for her. We would be great together. It would be worth it if we worked out. I want to risk everything for her. Risk the house. Risk Wendell Beach.

She is worth it.

She reached out to me when she was having a good day.

She shakes the sand out of the towel.

“I’m surprised you even use a towel,” I say, falling back on the one thing she accepts from me. “Since you don’t make them.”

I’ve earned myself a glare. “This towel is made from organic cotton, and a portion of the proceeds from every purchase go toward marine conservation.”

“Are they union made?”

A deeper glare follows. “They are the most sustainable and employee-friendly towel company out there. I did my research.”

I wonder how long that took her. If she spent weeks comparing towels until she found one to her exacting standards. I look at the label and make a note to buy some for myself.

She throws it over her shoulder and picks up her board.

“Let me help you.” I reach for her paddle for her, but she beats me to it.

“I got it,” she says.

I expect her to walk away and leave me behind, but she doesn’t. She waits for me to pick up my kayak and together we cross the sand.

nineteen

---