“Hey!” I squeal as I wrestle myself from his grip.

He laughs as he sits up and makes his way to the window to open the blinds just enough so the light penetrates the curtains, washing everything in the room, including him, in a creamy glow.

“You can take a shower first. I’ll make you some breakfast while you wash up.”

“Mac n’ cheese again?” I say as I slide off the bed and grab the purple makeup bag I tossed onto the floor last night.

“You should be so lucky. Nah, just a plain, old smoothie this time. We’re gonna eat some kickass barbecue later. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

“I love animals,” I reply, solemnly. “Especially when they’re cooked.”

He chuckles as he walks past me and I’m struck by how comfortable I feel here, like sleeping over at my hot neighbor’s house is something I do often. Does this make me a slut? No, we haven’t even kissed yet. Most people would have kissed by now. Is that a bad sign?

“Hey, just a heads up,” I say as I come out of the bedroom, stopping in front of the bathroom door. “I’m probably going to meditate in there, but I promise I’ll make it quick.”

“You can meditate out here. We can do it together.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’ll put some extra roofies in your smoothie to help you relax.”

“Aw… that’s so thoughtful.”

He shrugs modestly and I have to keep myself from sighing at how cute he looks. “Like I said before, only the best for Claire.”

I shake my head as I enter the bathroom, which looks just like our bathroom downstairs. I take a quick shower, thanking myself for remembering to bring my own body wash and shampoo after I see his man-scented bath products. After I brush my teeth and hair and put my bikini on underneath my dress, I exit the bathroom to find him sitting cross-legged on the rug in the living room. The coffee table has been pushed aside to make room for us and he’s wearing a serene smile.

I set my makeup bag on the breakfast bar and place my hands on my knees as I sit across from him. “I’m going to picture the ocean. You don’t have to tell me what you’re going to meditate on.”

“I wasn’t planning to tell you,” he replies.

“Good because I don’t want to know.”

“I’m sure you can guess, though.”

“I’m sure I can, but I won’t.”

I shake my head as I take a deep breath, ignoring the sexy grin on his face as I close my eyes. I expel the breath slowly and imagine that all my worries about Chris and college are being pushed out at the same time. Drawing in another deep breath, I imagine standing on the beach, breathing in the salty air as the ocean waves roll in. I breathe out and focus my attention on a sailboat floating on the distant surface of the ocean. The jagged silhouette of the boat bobs against the skyline and I imagine the motion of the water carrying me out to sea on that boat, so far that I can no longer see the shore. I lie back on the deck of the boat and gaze at the blue sky above me. The clouds swirl in and out of view behind the giant sails. I close my eyes and allow the boat to rock me gently, swaying and pitching softly up and down as my tension melts away.

I open my eyes and Adam’s eyes are still closed. I wait a moment until his eyelids flutter open and he lets out a deep sigh.

“Man, that feels good. I can see why you’re addicted to this.”

“I’ve never meditated with anyone other than Fallon, and that was only a couple of times. This is different, but cool.”

He shakes his head as he looks at the floor between us. “Okay, I lied. I didn’t meditate. I stared at you the whole time.” He reaches across the space between us and grabs my hand. “But it did feel good.”

“You’re such a sleaze,” I say, smacking his hand away. “Go take a shower.”

He takes a quick shower, makes us each a strawberry-banana smoothie, and we’re out the door within thirty minutes.

We’re walking down the steps outside his apartment when I have a mini-epiphany. “Wait a minute. You work at a construction company and you don’t know how to light a pilot on a stove?”

I glance over my shoulder and he grins sheepishly. “I wanted to give you a chance to show off.”

“How generous,” I mutter as we reach the landing and I set off toward his truck.

He grabs my hand and I’m yanked backward. “We’re walking to the beach.”

“You’re taking me to the surf tournament?”

“The Summer Swell Pro-Am. It’s the only one in this area and it’s today.”

“Where’s your surfboard?” I ask, when we reach the sidewalk.

I don’t bother to mention that he’s still holding my hand and just as this thought crosses my mind he threads his fingers through mine.

“I’m not surfing. Today we’re watching the pros.”

We make it to the corner of Charlotte and Lumina and I’m suddenly aware of all the pedestrians on their way to the tournament. I’m hyperaware that Adam and I must look like a couple. I hit pause on my love life so many months ago; I almost forgot what it feels like to be a couple in public. Girls in short shorts pass us as we cross the street and some of them make no attempt to hide their ogling. I glance up at Adam to see if maybe he’s egging them on, but his gaze is fixed straight ahead to where Charlotte opens onto the beach.

The street is packed with tourists in shorts and visors and, with no sidewalks, they all roam through the middle of Charlotte Street laughing and talking among themselves. When we reach the sand, I glimpse the bleachers constructed on the beach. Off in the distance, I see a stage where people are already squeezing in against the platform as sound equipment and instruments are set up for a concert. The briny smell of the ocean hits me as a breeze sweeps over us, lifting the hairs that hang loose from my ponytail and making my skin prickle. The sand is warm on the surface but cool when my feet sink down. I haven’t been to the beach in a couple of weeks and I always avoid the beach during big events like this.

My hand is getting sweaty. I feel an intense urge to let go of Adam’s hand to wipe the sweat on my hip, but I don’t. Being uncomfortable is part of being on a date, right? Like holding in your farts when you’re in a new relationship. It’s a necessary evil. Suddenly, I think of the first time I farted in front of Chris and I can’t help but smile.

“Why are you so happy?” Adam asks as we trudge across the sand toward the bleachers.

“I’m thinking of how sweaty my hand feels right now.”

He grips my hand tighter. “Too bad. I’m not letting go.”

“I’ll never let go, Jack,” I whisper dramatically, and he shakes his head.

“You jump, I jump,” he replies, and I laugh.

“You love Titanic,” I tease him. “You know, that first day I saw you in the café, I kept calling you Jack Dawson in my head.”

“Do I look that old to you?”

“No, and you’re much better looking than him, anyway.”

“You’d better watch out, Claire,” he says as we climb the steel steps up to the bleachers. “If you keep saying stuff like that I’m going to be forced to take you into the water for a swimming lesson.”

“I know what that means and I would never. There are a million people out here.”

We sit at the end of a bench a few rows down from the top and the steel bench is hot against the backs of my legs.

He finally lets go of my hand and leans over to whisper in my ear. “I thought you liked taking risks.”

His lips linger against my ear and his breath sends a tingling sensation racing through me. I swallow hard as I shift in my seat and he finally pulls away.

“The first group hits the water in a few minutes,” he says, as if I care. “So we have some time to finish our little game of questions. But this time we have to actually answer. No answering a question with a question.” He grabs my hand again before he begins. “What’s your favorite time of day?”

I pause for a minute to think, though I already know the answer. “That time of day when the sun hasn’t come up yet, but you can already feel it coming. It’s an elusive warmth, like a subtle promise whispered in your ear and you can go on with your day knowing you’ve been given another chance to get it right. Sometimes I get up early just so I can sit outside with a cup of tea and feel it.”

I turn to Adam and his face is serious. “I know it’s a total cliché, but my favorite time of day is sunset.” He takes a deep breath then turns his gaze to the water. “We used to live near Carolina Beach and my dad would take me out every day after school to surf until the sun went down. It’s bittersweet because the sunset always made me a little sad knowing that it was the signal for us to leave—and I never wanted to leave the water. But it also brings back some really good feelings about that time in my life, you know, before things got complicated.”

There’s so much I want to ask him now, but I have to pick just one question.

“Okay, why do you still work for your dad if you hate it? And don’t give me the obvious answer of family obligation because you don’t strike me as the kind of guy who would let that stop him from doing anything.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the tops of his legs and I’m forced to lean forward with him since he’s still gripping my hand like a life raft.

He encapsulates my hand in both of his and my hand disappears. “I guess we both have some questions we’re not ready to answer.”

I wait a moment before I nudge his shoulder for him to look up. “Hey, the first group just paddled out.”

During the entire first round, and half the second round, Adam explains the rules of the tournament and what each surfer needs to score to move on. Every time one of them executes a difficult trick without bailing he gets so excited and cheers with the crowd. His enthusiasm is infectious and before long, I find myself cheering so loudly my throat aches by the end of the second round. I haven’t had this much fun on a date since… well, I don’t know if I’ve ever had this much fun on a date.

As we’re sitting there waiting for the third round to begin, a group of guys in board shorts with beads of water and sand sparkling on their shirtless chests pass us on the way up to the next row of bleachers. A couple of them ogle me as they pass and Adam’s grip tightens on my hand. I look at him and the tiny muscle in his jaw is twitching.

“Come on. Let’s go down and watch some of the bands while we wait for the next round.”

I allow him to pull me along down the bleachers to the sand and toward the stage before I say anything. “What was that about?”

“What?”

“That?” I say, nodding toward the bleachers behind us. “You’re not upset about those guys checking me out, are you?”

He grits his teeth again as he lets out a breath through his nostrils. “I don’t like…. Wait, let me rephrase that. I sometimes have a problem controlling my temper. That’s part of the reason I moved here. I’ve learned that the only way for me to deal with it is to avoid situations that set me off.”

Great. I had to find the one sweet guy in Wrightsville Beach with anger issues. I realize quite abruptly that we’ve both let go of each other’s hands as we approach the crowd huddled around the stage where a DJ is now playing electronic dance music. Some people jump up and down to the beat while others writhe against each other. Some hold cans of soda in their hands, which, by the enthusiasm of their thrusts, are probably filled with more than carbonated water and high-fructose corn syrup.

The smell of a dozen different sunscreens, coconut, pineapple, jasmine, combined with the scent of hot, sweaty bodies grinding against each other is intoxicating. I follow Adam as he moves through the crowd, parting the swaying sea of bodies for me. He makes it as close as a few rows of bodies from the stage before he turns around, wraps his arms around my waist, and lifts me up.