Page 80 of The Comeback Summer

Hannah:Sounds fun. When?

Josh:Let’s say 5pm

Josh:At the Montrose marina

Josh:You remember where that is?

Josh:I’ll bring dinner

My smile grows as I type.

Hannah:Can’t wait!

•••

A FEW HOURSlater, Josh and I are miles away from land, cutting across the water, white sails unfurled. The lake is like crushed diamonds sparkling on a clear blue canvas, the muggy city long forgotten as wind whips my hair and cool spray hits my face.

Josh had to remind me of all the sailing basics as he navigated us out of the marina. I feel like an awkward landlubber, losing my balance, stumbling over ropes. Josh, on the other hand, has come alive. He apparently spent lots of time sailing near Brisbane during his year abroad, then around San Diego during grad school. And it shows: he’s confident, steady as he adjusts the tension, tightening his grip on the rope so the sail captures the wind and we pick up speed.

I can’t keep my eyes off him. His dark hair tousled by the wind, his eyes sparkling, and his dimple winking. The wind pulls the fabric of his T-shirt against his broad shoulders andchest, his shorts against his thighs. I flash back to the shower, that big, golden body right there in front of me, and warmth spreads down my legs.

Josh doesn’t seem similarly affected by me. He’s grinning and chatting, his usual pleasant self, definitely not drowning in lust like I am. So I try very hard to stop thinking about the rasp of his stubble against my neck, his warm mouth on mine.

It’s smarter to take things slow.

When we reach a spot with no one else around, Josh hands me one of the ropes and tells me to hold it loosely, easing the tension until we’re bobbing on gentle waves. From here, the skyline looks like a jumble of children’s blocks, hazy and indistinct.

My stomach growls, and Josh looks up from where he’s dropping the anchor.

“Hungry?” he says, grinning.

“Starving.”

Josh heads down to the cabin, where he’s piled towels and our backpacks. Then he freezes. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

He turns around, a horrified look on his face. “I forgot the food. I packed this whole picnic basket with sandwiches and fruit and drinks... God, I’m an idiot. I amsuchan idiot.”

“It’s not that big of a deal—”

“Itisa big deal. I was trying to impress you.”

“I am impressed!”

“My stupid brain,” he mutters.

“Hey! I like your brain. We can grab something to eat later.”

He runs his hand over his face, looking so frustrated that it makes my heart twist. He planned this for me; he put in effort to do something special.

I think for a minute. “I might have some food in my bag. And your mom always kept stuff in the cabin, right? Let’s see what we can figure out.”

Eventually, we’re able to put together a smorgasbord of sorts: two protein bars from my bag (only slightly smashed), a package of beef jerky, a can of trail mix from the cabin, and some Jolly Ranchers. I brought my emotional support water bottle, of course, so we share that.

We eat sitting on the edge of the bow, our legs dangling over the side. It’s a casual position, like two old friends hanging out, but this close to him, I have to concentrate on my breathing so I don’t betray the fact that my body is lighting up, my fingers aching to reach out and touch him.

Josh tells me about his research on a type of coral in the Bahamas that withstands rising water temperature better than other species.

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