Page 15 of Good Graces

“Try not to let anyone drown,” Daniel adds.

Outside, the heat slams into me like it’s got something to prove. Another scorcher. Another long shift ahead. I roll my shoulders, try to center myself, then round the corner toward the pool deck.

And there she is.

That same knowing smirk. That same stance I used to love and now can’t seem to shake.

Whatever semblance of patience I walked out with? It vanishes, just like that.

Right back to square one.

* * *

The restof my shift passes in a flurry of chlorine, sunscreen, and mindless routine.

Hours spent perched on the guard stand, sunglasses shielding my eyes, watching over a pool full of kids cannonballing off the diving board, retirees wading through the shallows, and club members who don’t understand that no running applies to them, too.

It’s fine. Easy work. If I don’t think too hard, it’s almost peaceful. Almost.

Because every once in a while, my gaze catches on the course beyond the gates. The flash of a navy polo, the swing of a golf bag over a shoulder, the sharp sound of a club cracking clean against a ball.

I go through the motions—rotating shifts, hydrating, tossing a couple of swim rings back to kids who keep floating too far out. I nod along as one of the younger lifeguards rambles about his plans to try out for his college swim team. I wipe sweat from my brow and keep my focus locked straight ahead.

I make it. Unscathed.

Or, at the very least, without snapping.

By the time I clock out, the sun is sinking low, bleeding orange and pink across the sky. My shoulders ache with the weight of the day, but there’s a strange relief in it. Another shift finished. Another paycheck earned. Another day closer to the end of summer and to getting back to school, where things make more sense.

I head toward the parking lot, keys in hand, already running through tomorrow’s shift in my head.

Then I see her.

Quinn’s sitting on the hood of my car like she owns it, arms braced behind her, ankles crossed, eyes turned toward the sky. Completely at ease. Like she didn’t just spend the day haunting the edges of my focus.

Her long, dark hair is pulled into a loose braid over one shoulder, strands escaping and curling against her sun-kissed skin. High cheekbones, full lips, those deep, cutting brown eyes that have always seen too much. Always too sharp, too knowing.

And still—God help me—the most devastatingly beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I grit my teeth. “You’re gonna dent it.”

Quinn tilts her head slightly, as if considering the thought for the first time. “What? This mint-condition, top-of-the-line, 2008 Toyota 4Runner?”

My patience snaps. “Get off my damn car, Quinn.”

She huffs a little, unimpressed, but she does it. She slides off with an exaggerated stretch, like I just interrupted her break.

“We should talk,” she says, brushing imaginary lint off her shorts.

I move closer and yank open the driver’s side door. “We shouldn’t.”

She steps into my space, close enough that I can smell her sunscreen and whatever shampoo she uses. Okay, it’s fucking cherry almond. I’m not gonna pretend I don’t know that. I remember exactly what it smells like on her skin, in my sheets, on my hoodie that she used to steal.

“I’m so tired of this, and it’s only been three shifts.”

I don’t answer, just move around her, hand braced on the door handle, ready to get in and drive away. But then she moves, too, cuts me off and plants herself firmly in front of me.

“I’m serious, Mercer,” she says, crossing her arms. “This has got to stop. I get that you can’t stand me. I get that you’d rather I disappear into the ether forever, that you’re unbelievably mad at me. But can you just put on an act for the next few weeks to make this experience tolerable for the both of us?”

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