could recall, and I didn’t want that feeling to ever leave.
She emerged from the water about twenty feet away, her hair everywhere, those eyes gleaming in the shadowy sunlight, hands on her hips, waiting for my critique.
“Well?” she said, as impatient as ever.
My heart was thumping like a jackhammer. Right where I belonged with who I belonged.
“I love you,” I said to her across the water.
She stared at me, her hands sliding off her hips. A small wave crashed into her, knocking her off balance for a moment. She regained her footing and waded awkwardly over to me, her board leashed to her ankle, dragging behind her.
She ran a hand through her hair, moving it away from her eyes and smoothing it back. “What did you say?”
The jackhammer was working overtime, and I felt like a high school kid again, embarrassed over a crush.
“I said, A-plus.” I nodded toward the shore. “Let’s head in.”
I slid onto the board before she could object and paddled in, letting the tiny waves push me forward. I rolled off and squeezed my eyes shut as I submerged myself in the ocean.
I came up for air, and Liz was standing right in front of me.
“That’s not what you said,” she said.
The sun was a third gone, spraying pinks and yellows across the horizon.
I stood. “No, it wasn’t.” “I heard what you said.”
The water was cold around my feet, my toes digging into the sand. “Okay.”
She moved her eyes away from me, looking down the shore. Beads of saltwater clung to her cheeks and neck. A sliver of her stomach was visible where her rash guard had ridden up. She pulled her hair around, gathered it at the bottom, and squeezed the water out.
She cut her eyes back to me. “You can’t take that back, you know?”
I reached down and ripped the Velcro leash off my ankle and tossed it to the ground. “I don’t want to.”
“You say that now,” she said, the green in her eyes bright. “But somewhere down the line you may want to. Something might change, and maybe you won’t feel the same way.”
High tide was coming in, and the water crashed a little higher against our legs.
“I don’t think so, Liz,” I said, as sure as I’d ever been about anything.
Her eyes held mine, probably waiting for me to look away, to see if what I’d said was impulsive or impetuous. I didn’t look away. “Fine,” she finally said. “Fine?”
And standing there against the sunset, the pinks and yellows glowing against the blue and white of the water, Liz said to me, “I love you, too.”
THIRTY
We went back to her place, cleaned ourselves up, and walked down to Peohe’s for dinner.
Our conversation in the water had confirmed things between us. In reality, we weren’t telling each other things we didn’t already know. You spend that much time with someone in the way that we did and you just know. But saying it out loud had obliterated that invisible barrier that stayed up until each person came clean. An easiness and sense of permanency descended on me as we strolled to the harbor, holding hands.
The hostess recognized Liz and placed us at a table near the immense window overlooking Glorietta Bay. The lights of the downtown high-rises were gleaming in the early evening darkness.
We ordered a bottle of Merlot and our food, and Liz was looking at me a little funny as she finished her first glass.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing’s really changed,” she said, a faint pink sunburn on her cheeks. “But it feels like everything’s changed.”
“I agree.”
“You think that will be a problem?”
“Only if we continue to analyze the hell out of it.”
“Then let’s not do that.”
I picked up the wine bottle, held it out, and refilled her glass. “Agreed.”
“Tell me about your day,” she said.
I recounted my trip to the casino, my conversation with Carolina, and Miranda’s arrival.
“Well, that’s a load,” she said when I finished. “Maybe I should hold off on what I have for you.”
Our food arrived, and we were halfway through it before I responded.
“Tell me,” I said.
She wiped her mouth with the linen napkin, dropped it back in her lap, and tented her elbows and hands over
