Page 50 of One Happy Summer

“Oh my gosh,” I say quietly, even though I kind of want to squeal right now. I’ve seen dolphins in captivity, but I’ve never seen them in the wild.

They surface again, and one flips its tail up before going back under.

I look over at Briggs, watching him look out at the water, and I’m not sure why I do it, but I scoot across the foot or so between us, up against the side of him. And like we’ve been doing this the whole time, like it’s natural, he puts his arm around my waist, his hand resting on my hip. I lean into him and turn back toward the water just in time to see two dolphins breach the surface before going under again.

“This is the coolest,” I say, my face next to Briggs’s, his hand on me feeling warm and comforting.

“I wasn’t sure we’d be able to check this one off the list,” he says.

I turn to him, my brows pinched. “You put dolphins on our summer activities?”

He turns his head toward me. “I didn’t think it would actually happen. I’ve seen them plenty because I basically grew up here, but . . . it’s still always . . . exciting.”

His words have slowed, his eyes are searching my face, and there’s an intensity in them, like a fire has been lit there. He’s so close, I can feel his breath on my face, the way every part of my body touching his feels like it’s on fire.

I feel his hand on my hip squeeze me, and ever so slightly, his fingers press into the bare skin just above my bikini bottoms. Something warm grows in my belly, my senses immediately heightened. He smells like sunscreen and salt water. In the distance a seagull squawks.

He leans his face toward mine, erasing some of the small space that’s between us. I lean in as well, hovering there, just millimeters away, wanting—no, needing—him to erase all of it.

And then he does.

His lips land on mine, softly and tenderly. My eyes flutter shut and he increases the pressure, the hand not at my hip coming up to my chin as he cups my face, and our bodies instinctively turn toward each other like magnets, drawn together by some irresistible force.

We’re knee to knee now, our torsos smashed together, our arms around each other. His kisses go from soft and gentle to heated and needy, and I meet him with equal intensity. His hands are everywhere, at my back, on my neck, tangled in my hair.

One finds the base of my head, just like that first time we kissed outside his apartment, and he angles me back just slightly, giving him more access to my mouth. His tongue sweeps in and touches mine.

Our first kiss was a good one. But like inNotting Hill, it was sort of stilted and unexpected. This kiss right now is planned, thought out, desired.

The way Briggs holds me, how he tenderly explores my mouth with his, tells me he’s been thinking about doing this just as much as I have.

Kissing scenes in movies are never what they seem when you watch them on a screen. There are repeated takes and a whole room of people watching, making sure the lighting is perfect and that makeup hasn’t been removed or smeared. No kissing scene I’ve ever done has had any feeling behind it except that of a job, a role I was hired to play.

But this kiss with Briggs, out on the ocean with no one watching, no show to put on for cameras, and very much wanted, might just be the best kiss I’ve ever had.

We spend the next hour on the boat, intermittently talking and laughing and kissing and holding on to each other.

When Briggs fires up the boat to head back to Sunset Harbor, I briefly wonder if maybe we should go in the other direction, just leave and see where life takes us. It’s not really an option, even though I wish it were.

It’s dark by the time we get to the resort after docking the boat on the other side of the island and taking a leisurely walk back, hand in hand.

He stops us just before the entrance to the resort, our hands swinging between us, a beach bag full of our wet towels and other summer things slung over his shoulder. He looks at me and smiles and I give him one back.

A debate begins in my head. I could invite him up to my room. We just spent the late afternoon making out on a boat, and I would very much like to continue in my suite. To order room service and wear big fluffy white robes and just be together. I don’t want this day to be over.

“Do you . . . want to come up?” I ask, my voice sounding a lot like Julia Roberts’s character when she asks Hugh Grant’s character up to her room.

I know immediately as I say it, as soon as the words exit my mouth, that we shouldn’t. It’s too much. This is too new, whatever this is. But I want to. Who puts a time constraint on these things anyway? If I were going by what’s in the movies, we’d have already hopped into bed together, probably after that very first kiss. But this isn’t the movies and I’ve never been the type to do something like that. I like moving slowly; I always have.

Briggs lets out a breath. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s probably not a good idea.”

“Yeah.” I shake my head. “Totally. You’re totally right.”

Some hurt feelings settle into my gut, and it’s kind of unfounded because I’d just thought the same thing myself.

Briggs pulls me toward him. “You’re leaving at the end of the summer, and I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, and if I go up there”—he looks up at the resort before looking down at me—“that makes things more complicated.”

“I only wanted to kiss you,” I say, giving him a little pout.

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