“It’s going to be weird to leave, even though it’s only been a couple weeks,” he says, oblivious to my leering, and casting his line back into the water. I blink, clearing the fog of my Finn Lust and wait to hear what he means. It seems to me, from watching him today, that he would want nothing more than to get back to his life on the water.

“Weird how?”

He surprises me, saying, “I don’t think I’ll like not being able to see you whenever I want.”

This is not at all what I expected. I expected him to mean he’s going to miss the Southern California weather or awesome burritos or hanging with Oliver and Ansel.

I want more than anything to reach up, cup his face in my hands, and kiss him like I’ve never kissed anyone before, out of relief that he’s nearly perfect.

Instead I say, “I masturbated thinking about you last night.”

He bends over, bursting out laughing when I say this. Finally he manages, “You did?”

“Absolutely.”

When he straightens, I can see a hint of a blush on his face beneath the shadow of his baseball cap. That’s new. “Me, too,” he admits.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Was I awesome?”

He turns and looks at me. “You sucked dick like a champion, Ginger Snap.”

“I would, too.” I give him a proud lift of my chin.

He reels in his line a couple of feet. “You would.”

I always expected to fall in love and feel jittery or hyperaware or overwhelmed. I never expected falling in love with someone would just make me feel even more comfortable in my own skin. I sort of want to tell him, “I think I love you,” because I suspect he would make a soft sound of sympathy and agree that it’s unfortunate timing.

I glance over at him, at his angled, stubbly jaw, his long tan neck and the arms that give me an odd sense of safety I never knew I craved. But didn’t I? Isn’t that who my father has always been until recently—not only my sounding board, but my rock, my guardian? I did know I always wanted any man in my life to live up to that expectation.

My chest hurts with how tight it’s grown from recognizing that steady, passionate, loyal Finn is what I always hoped I’d find.

He looks out across the water, his eyes narrowing and I wonder what he’s thinking. His chest lifts with a deep inhale and he closes his eyes as he exhales, his expression looking as torn as I feel.

I know I’m right when he opens his eyes and glances over at me. And this is terrifying, because if there’s one thing I know about my heart, it’s that it isn’t fickle. Once someone gets inside, they burrow deep in there, permanently.