Page 162 of Beyond the Stroke

Watching Rory and Edgar play together on the beach is like seeing pure joy in action. The way Edgar chases him across the sand, tongue hanging from his mouth with the effort, is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Edgar’s not a human child but it’s easy to see how good Rory would be with one. His playfulness and patience. The way he picks Edgar up when a large wave threatens to knock the small dog down.

It’s been a week since I revealed to Rory that I’m Covey.

A week of spending our free time together. Walking down to Main Street to grab ice cream. Rory picking me up after my late shifts at the café. Visits to the boardwalk so Rory can practice skateboarding on a board that’s his size. Nights on the couch relaxing with Edgar snoozing at our feet before we tease each other into a frenzy.

“I wore him out.” Rory places Edgar on a beach towel we’ve laid out under the umbrella.

Edgar immediately drops his head onto his paws and closes his eyes.

Rory makes his way over to where I’m packing up my paints. With a finger hooking into one of the belt loops on my denim cutoffs, he tugs me toward him. “Your turn.”

“Sorry, Flipper. I don’t play fetch.”

He pulls me close enough that the momentum has my hands lifting to press against his bare chest.

“Come in the water with me.”

I eye the waves. They’re steady but not too powerful. Nothing like the afternoon I played mermaid at the Lancaster party.

“Fine.”

Wrapping my legs around his waist, Rory lifts me into his arms and walks us out into the water.

“How’d you know you’d be a good swimmer?” I ask, clinging to his broad chest. “Did you come out of the womb swimming?”

His hands grip my ass, holding me to him as the water flows around us.

“I wasn’t good. I was terrible. Afraid of the water, especially putting my face in.”

“No way.” I can’t imagine Rory ever not moving through water like he was born to do it.

“True story. You can ask my parents.”

“Speaking of, your mom texted me earlier. She asked if I had any insight into finding a Covey, you know, with my regular person job at the café and all the people I see there. Sounds like she’s desperate.”

“She asked me for your number. I hope you don’t mind.”

“The fact that she’s acknowledging my existence is entertainment enough.”

“Don’t worry, she’ll grow to love you just like I do.” He presses a kiss to my mouth and I can’t help but gasp.

Did he just say what I think he said?

He said it so casually. Maybe I heard him wrong. The waves are noisy.

By the time we reach our towels where Edgar is still snoozing loudly, I’ve convinced myself that Rory didn’t say ‘I love you’ because technically he didn’t. He didn’t stare deep into my eyes and whisper those three words. He said his mom would grow to love me like he does. That’s totally different. Maybe he’s referring to the love between friends or fake spouses.

Besides, that would be a breach of our contract. Even though we didn’t sign anything, it was a verbal agreement. No falling in love. He promised. And I promised him back.

Hmm. I wonder if we’ll both turn out to be liars.

Rory pulls out the snack cake he’s worked so hard for all week. One from the new box I bought when I was at the store last night. I’d stood there for longer than I want to admit, staring at the shelves filled with bright yellow boxes with the sunshine logo stamped across the front.

My childhood in plastic wrappers.

I haven’t had a Little Sunshine Cake in years. Not since I walked away from everything; my parents, their perfect corporate life, the legacy they planned to pass down to me and Tripp. The cakes are more than just sugar and nostalgia, like Rory said. They’re a reminder of who they wanted me to be.

But Rory loves them. And weirdly, that makes it easier. It softens the hard edges.

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