“Your words, not mine.” I shouldn’t have said that, but a small part of me is glad that I did. In order to keep my mouth occupied before I slip up and say more things that I have no business saying, I take a bite of the sandwich, which is just…delicious. I try the potatoes, and they’re awesome too. “You’ve perfected the BLT, Nate. And this potato salad is so good.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he says. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

“Really?” Even though I just watched him make the food that we’re eating, I’m having difficulty reconciling this rugged man in front of me with the kind of person who talks about making potato salad from his grandmother’s recipe. I picture him in his kitchen at home, wearing an apron and whipping up some recipe from his childhood. The thought of it makes me grin.

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“I was just picturing you wearing an apron, that’s all.”

“I have one, you know,” he says as he spears a few potatoes with his fork.

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“It has ‘Caution: Extremely Hot’ written across the chest.” He’s completely serious, but he’s smiling at me anyway.

I cover my mouth with my hand as I laugh, and his eyes linger on mine as my smile fades. Sometimes the way he looks at me is so intense that I’m not sure whether I should wrap my arms around him or run away.

“We should eat,” he says, nodding towards my plate.

We slip into an easy silence through our meal, occasionally teasing, occasionally making small talk. It’s not until we both finish that we have any semblance of a real conversation.

“That was the best sandwich I’ve ever had,” I tell him as I fold up my napkin and place it on the table.

“Ever?” he asks, looking a little surprised and a lot pleased with himself.

“Well, my mom did make me this grilled cheese once…but that was a close second.” I take a sip of wine and then lean back in my chair. “So, what do you do when you’re not making BLTs?”

“I bought my first house a year ago,” he says, pushing his plate away from him so there’s room for him to rest his elbows on the table. “It’s in a nice neighborhood and all, but it really needed some fixing up. I’m about halfway done now, but I spend a lot of my free time working on it. I recruit my friends to help me with the promise of free pizza and beer. I’ve become friendly with most of the people at Home Depot.”

“And you’ve managed to stay out of the emergency room,” I tease.

He laughs. “So far. When I’m not doing that, sometimes I head out to the lake near my house. I’ll send a text to my buddies, and half the time we wind up hanging out there. We go swimming, drink a little. What about you?”

“My life is boring compared to yours.”

“Doubtful. No home improvements to keep you busy?”

I shake my head. “I’ve been staying with my mom since the breakup. I intended for it to be temporary. I mean, it is temporary, I just haven’t…you know.” He’s just going to let me keep rambling, so I make myself stop before he starts judging me or something. “I read a lot, do market research. I like to bake, although I haven’t really been doing much of that lately. I work a lot. Like, a lot a lot.” I shake my head and take another sip of wine. “God, I sound pathetic.”

“No you don’t. You sound like someone whose life changed and you just haven’t caught up to it yet.”

I grin because that’s such a nice way of looking at it. I like the way Nate looks at life. I like the way he looks at me. “Thanks.”

I reach back and pull my hair up off the back of my neck. It’s a warm night—the warmest by far since I’ve been here—and I kind of want to go inside to get some relief.

“You know,” Nate says, leaning toward me and resting his elbows on his knees. “Gabby and Ben aren’t going to be back for hours. What do you have planned for the rest of the night?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Nothing yet.”

With a mischievous glint in his eye, he asks, “Feel like going swimming?”

THE WRIGHTS have an indoor pool, because Nate was right; this place really is a self-contained entertainment environment. The pool is fairly large, too, and I’m surprised I hadn’t noticed it here before. It makes me wonder what else Amy and Jack have hidden in this house. A movie theater? A bowling alley? I want to ask, but I’m afraid that the words would come out wrong, like I’m somehow making fun of their wealth. So I keep my mouth shut.

There are dim lights along the walls next to the windows, and the lights inside the pool are dim, too. The low lighting creates a romantic type of atmosphere that I’m not entirely sure that I’m comfortable with, and that’s not because I don’t want to get romantic with Nate, but more because I do. The more I’m around him, the more I want it. And that’s dangerous, that’s bad. That’s everything I promised myself I wouldn’t do, especially if I’m going to make it out of the next four days unscathed. I can enjoy myself when I’m with him, I just can’t let myself get in too deep.

“I like your suit,” he says, offering me a mischievous grin. Again, it’s like he knows what I’m thinking and wants me to stop thinking so much.

I look down at my simple red bikini, as if I’ve forgotten what it is that I’m wearing. “Thanks,” I tell him. “I like yours too.”

They’re blue swim trunks, nothing really special. But they hang low on his waist, and because he doesn’t have a shirt on I can ogle his abs, which are…incredible. I want to tell him that, but I don’t.

Nate quickly looks down, as if he’s forgotten what he was wearing too. “You’re lucky I decided to forego the banana hammock for you today.”

I laugh. “I appreciate that.” Although I’m sure if anyone can make that look good, it’s him.

The water in the pool is very warm, and Nate and I are standing together in the shallow end, the water close to our knees. I take a few steps forward and he follows suit, until we’re waist-deep. I skim my fingers across the surface of the water, enjoying the soft feel of it on my fingertips. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a pool, and this memory of my father and me swimming pops into my mind. Unlike most of the other memories I have of him, this one makes me smile.

“What are you thinking about?” Nate asks.

“My dad,” I tell him, not even stopping to think about whether sharing this would be a good idea. About whether I even want to. It seems my mouth has made up my mind for me. I want him to know, although I’m not sure why. “We used to go swimming a lot when I was a kid,” I say. Nate’s looking at me like I’m telling the most interesting story he’s ever heard, which encourages me to continue. “He used to do this thing where he’d crouch down in the water and I’d put my feet on his shoulders. He’d grip my ankles and then he’d pop up and throw me across the pool. It was fun.”

Nate smiles. I get the feeling that he’s glad I shared with him, but I can also tell he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“Madeline likes to do that too.”

“A girl after my own heart.”

A few seconds later, Nate dives into the water and swims into the deep end, about ten feet away from me. When he comes up, he treads water.

“You should come down this way,” he says. “The water’s clear, so you can see we don’t have an eel infestation.”

I bring my hand up to rub the back of my neck. It’s so difficult for me to stay away from him, especially with the promise of his wet skin just waiting for me at the other end of the pool. I want to put my hands all over him, it’s almost like a sickness how badly I want it.

“Are you afraid of getting your hair wet?”

“No!” I yell, half laughing. Just to show him how not afraid to get my hair wet I am, I dive under the water and swim over, giving his foot a gentle tug before I surface right in front of him, so we’re facing each other.