I writhe beneath him and clutch onto his forearms as a second wave of pleasure crashes against my body. Dom climaxes too.

He collapses on top of me. I sink deeper into the sand, hugging him.

He kisses the crown of my head. “Thank you. I know this hasn’t been easy for you. But I’m here to stay. You won’t regret this decision.” Then, after a pause. “By the way, I’m the decision.”

I smile. I’ve spent years thinking it would never be okay, wasting days and months angry at the world, and Joe, and cell phones, and myself.

At the same time, I can’t help but draw parallels between the last time I had sex and this one.

Both times were with a guy from Massachusetts.

Both were at the beach.

In both, we danced around the subject of a condom awkwardly before doing the deed.

But not everything is similar. Because no matter how much I like Dom, he does not consume me. I’m not desperate for him. I don’t feel like the world would end if we end.

Dom feels safe.

And that’s exactly what I need.

The next morning, we go whale watching, play mini golf, and take a scuba diving class in a shallow pool. By the time we get back to our room, I’m exhausted. Tomorrow, we’ll drive back home and return to our reality. But we still have tonight, and I’m afraid my overdriven boyfriend (he is my boyfriend, right?) will want to bungee jump, go to the rail trail, and adopt a village during this time.

As if reading my mind, Dom gets out of the bathroom, steam trailing behind him. His torso is sun soaked and glistening. A small towel is wrapped around his waist.

“Babe. Do you want to go out? Grab a few beers, maybe catch a late-night show?”

I want to say yes. After all, this is his place. His passion. But the truth is, I miss being Ever. I want to veg in front of a good book and eat things with more artificial colors than actual food.

“Would you mind very much if we stay in tonight?” I ask from my position on the mattress.

Dom sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing at his forehead. “I wore you out, didn’t I?”

“A little.” I smile.

He squeezes my foot, and it wants to scream in relief. All my muscles are bunched up from walking all day. I’m not as athletic as he is. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I get carried away. Let’s have an Everlynne Lawson evening.”

“Really?” I light up.

He nods. “What’s on the menu?”