They huddled around the room-temperature pizza and ate until they were satisfied. Josie led Tristan back to the couch, where she curled her knees up to her chest and tucked her toes beneath his thigh.

“This is a first, you know,” Josie said.

“What?”

“Having someone sleep at my place, and,” she paused, feeling a bit embarrassed by her lifestyle for the first time, “waking up with someone I didn’t have sex with.”

“Well, I’ve read that cuddling is more important than the act of sex. It’s more intimate and relaxing, opening people up for more honest bonding.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah, I don’t buy it either,” Tristan said, smiling at her.

“We could change that, you know,” she suggested.

She ran her hand up his thigh with a feather-light touch. Scratching her nails up the seam of his zipper, Josie was pleased with the deep moan Tristan let out.

“Josie.”

“I want you, Tristan,” she purred.

His hand clamped over hers when she reached for his belt buckle. Tristan surprised himself with the amount of restraint he possessed.

“I want you too. I do. But not until you’re ready.”

Josie frowned at him.

“Oh, I’m ready. I’m always ready.”

“That’s the problem,” he said. “I’m not going to let you use sex to distract from what is really happening here.”

“What exactly is happening here?”

Tristan didn’t answer her with words. He simply smiled and laced his fingers through hers. He knew she couldn’t handle any big declarations or stark truths.

Josie released his hand and scraped around her cuticles, trying to remove the charcoal dust. She ignored the paint flecks dotting her nails.

“Tell me something that only I would know,” she demanded.

Tristan knew exactly what she meant. He looked into her shining eyes and thought it over. Memories flooded his mind and he scrolled through them quickly, finding the perfect one to share.

“I saved you from drowning once.”

“What?” Her eyes grew large and she gestured wildly for him to continue.

“We were at the lake behind my house, walking on the pier, when you tripped and fell in. You must have hit your head or something, because you didn’t come up. I panicked and jumped in, somehow finding your arm beneath the water. It was freezing and I struggled for a few minutes to drag you out. You weren’t breathing. So I started CPR. After a few forced breaths, you started choking and sputtering water. I carried you back to my house and gave you some of my clothes while I threw yours in the dryer. We never told anyone.”

Josie wiggled her toes beneath the weight of his leg and smiled.

“How did you know CPR?” she asked.

“My father’s a doctor. Dr. Daniel Fallbrook always liked to make me a shining example of his abilities.”

“Lucky me,” she said.

“Lucky me,” he repeated.

Silence enveloped them as they sat in the afterglow of bygone days. Tristan loved how it was so quiet here, nothing to distract them from each other. Josie sighed and looked at the clock on her wall, wondering how much longer she could have him.

“We got into a fight the next day because you considered the CPR your first kiss and I argued that it was only a medical procedure,” Tristan continued, laughing at the memory. “You were so stubborn. I shut you up.”

“How?”

“I kissed you and told you that was your real first kiss. You didn’t argue.”

Josie ducked her head, blushing at his devilish smirk. Tristan had a way of dissolving her tough exterior, revealing glimpses of the adolescent girl inside.

She started at his wrist and traced a line up his arm until the art disappeared beneath his sleeve. She loved following the paths across his skin, wondering where she’d end up. Her fingers ghosted over traditional tattoo flash such as spider webs and harsh red flames before tracing the gray bark of a large oak tree.

“What is this one for?” she asked, pointing to the image on the inside of his forearm.

“It’s a tree in my yard back home that you and I practically lived in. It was always where we’d go to play and hang out. Later, we would climb up there to spy on my neighbors or make out.”

Josie’s fingertip moved over the twisting limbs as though she could feel the scratchy bark beneath her touch.

“This was for us,” Josie stated, gesturing toward the art.

“For you,” Tristan corrected, picturing her laughing face covered with dots of light and shadows beneath the branches of their tree.

She lay her head down on her knees. Josie knew that she was venturing into unknown territory with Tristan. She felt the kindness in his eyes. The way he offered himself up made her want to fall apart with unworthiness. Wrapped in the cocoon of her apartment, it would be easy to get lost in his memories

A partial or total obscuring of one celestial body by another.

Rob pulled into a parking space and killed the engine. It was rare to find a spot so close to home. He grabbed the four bags of groceries and walked the half block to his door. The sun was shining and the air was cool and salty. When all was quiet, he could even hear the waves against the shore. Beach life was good.

“Hey, man. How’s it going?” his neighbor asked.

The man stood in the shade of a palm tree waving at him. He wore board shorts and no shirt, standard dress code for these parts. Rob’s neighbors were pleasant enough, old hippies who made a living painting murals and teaching tourists how to surf.

“Good, thanks,” he answered.

He put the bags down on his front porch while fumbling with his keys. He could feel his neighbor’s eyes on him.

“Groceries?” the guy asked. “Man, I’m starving.”

Rob nodded and slid his key into the lock. Was he supposed to offer him some groceries or invite him over for dinner? He didn’t know protocol for curing the munchies of your stoner neighbor. Once inside, he found comfort in the distance between them, no longer responsible for his side of their awkward conversation.

New to the city, and the West Coast, Rob Nettles found himself out of sorts. He had moved for work, transferred for a more advantageous position. He hadn’t thought twice about leaving his former home behind.

He’d settled himself into a small beach neighborhood within the city, trying to mingle among the locals. The community was home to free spirits who supported only local businesses and were sympathetic to its large vagrant population. In the four weeks he’d been there, he’d become addicted to authentic Mexican food and learned to identify the best places for imported beer. That was the extent of his adaptation.

At sunset, he walked the short block to the beach. Content to just sit in the sand and watch the sun drop into the water, Rob knew he had it good. He wondered if the people who had been here for years still felt the appreciation he did. He couldn’t imagine ever taking this for granted. This city felt alive, like the thriving metropolis knew him and welcomed him.

He’d called some of the biggest cities in the country home, but this place was different. The Pacific Ocean calmed him, and the energy of the city fed him. He knew it wouldn’t be long until he assumed the way of life here. With its laissez-faire attitude and persuasive charm, he’d be a fool not to.

Mississippi, the place of Rob’s childhood, was an alternate universe compared to the white sand beaches of California. Back home, the oppressive summer’s heat and humidity could melt you to the sidewalk. Meanwhile, San Diego always offered a cool breeze and moderate temperatures. Rob had traded his boots for flip-flops, his hat for a messy haircut, and his bluegrass for reggae. Still, each day he returned home to the empty apartment, he felt like he hadn’t exactly found where he fit in.

That was, until he’d found a woman by the name of Monica Templeton. Within a matter of minutes, she’d turned his world upside down, making him abandon all reason. He let down his guard and pulled her inside. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This doesn’t happen in real life, not this fast.