“Well,” she says, twirling her pink heart-shaped sunglasses between her fingers, “I didn’t get off to a good start with her, so I never asked her real name. She gives off major Susan vibes.”
I chuckle. God, I love the way her brain works. “Yeah, okay. She kinda does. Her name’s actually Rachel.”
“Eh. That sort of tracks,” she shrugs. “Still feel like I nailed it.”
“Emotionally, yeah. Solid read.”
She tugs off her cover-up, revealing that perfect pin-up two-piece that hugs her like a sin, and my self-control packs a bag and books a one-way flight to nope.
“What’s next on the ‘not dying horribly in water’ checklist?” she asks.
“We get in,” I say, voice low, “and we float. Just float. Let your body relax. Let yourself trust me or yourself.”
Her eyes flick to the pool, then to me again.
There’s that flicker, fear, pride, challenge, something messier in the middle. And I’d wade through all of it with her. Every time.
She hesitates at the edge of the pool, toes curled over concrete, sunglasses back on like they’re armor.
I hold out my hand. “C’mon, gorgeous. Just a little. We’ll stay shallow.”
One of her hands slides into mine. Her skin is warm and damp with nerves, and I don’t squeeze, just hold.
“I’ve got you,” I promise.
“That’s what everyone says right before they let go and you drown and get chlorine in your sinuses and die ugly.”
“Well,” I say, tugging her lightly forward, “lucky for you, I’m not everyone.”
She steps in slow. One foot, then the other. I ease her down the stairs, water rising around her thighs, hips, waist. She stiffens when it hits her ribs.
“Too much?” I ask.
“No,” she lies.
I don’t call her out. Instead, I shift to stand behind her, arms out like I’m her own personal flotation device. My chest inches from her back, hands loose but ready.
She breathes out. It’s shaky. Not sexy shaky. Real shaky. “I don’t like this,” she says.
“I know.”
“I’m trying not to cry, and it’s very inconvenient because I look amazing today.”
“You do,” I say. “You always do.”
She tips her head back slightly, like she’s letting my voice hold her up.
“I’ve never…” she starts. “Like, I can’t do this. I know it’s stupid, but.”
“Not stupid,” I cut in, low and firm. “This is your fear. It’s real. Doesn’t make you weak.”
She shudders. “You’re really fucking nice to me.”
“That’s what people do when they’re in love, Delilah.”
That makes her go still. Dead still. Not breathing still.
And then, slowly, she lets herself fall back. Just a little. Not all the way. She’s not floating. Not yet. But she’s resting against me now. My arms around her waist. Her head tipped to the side. Her whole body trembling like a live wire that finally found a ground.
