His guitar-player fingers were strong as they kneaded her back. They moved from the skin below her shoulders to the skin above her waist, where bathing suit fabric started again. As he rubbed in the lotion, Emily felt a shiver run through her. This was the first time anyone other than Ezra had done this for her in years. Rob brought his hands to her sides, rubbing the last bits of lotion down her ribs to her waist. She felt cared for, precious.

He squeezed more sunscreen out of the bottle and leaned back to massage it onto her neck, her shoulders, down her arms, and then, his arms reaching around cradling her, his breath soft on her neck, he gently worked the sunscreen into the backs of her hands and down the length of each finger. She thought to say it was okay, he could stop, she could do this part, but her mouth wouldn’t form the words. She realized she’d closed her eyes, reveling in his touch. She felt lost in time and space.

When Rob pulled his hands away, she felt their absence. He lay down on the padded bench beside her. It was just wide enough for two. “Want to join?” Rob asked.

Emily lay down next to him, her whole body tuned to his. He shifted his arm, and she rested her head on his biceps.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm,” she said, closing her eyes, feeling the sun on her face, breathing the warm ocean air. They lay, inhaling and exhaling together.

“Do you think about it often?” Rob asked, softly.

“About what?” Emily asked.

“About . . . the baby we lost.”

She heard a seagull cawing and then opened her eyes to watch it dive down into the waves.

“I used to,” Emily said. “Every day. Less often now, but I still do. He—or she—would’ve been in seventh grade this year. Can you believe it?”

“That’s incredible,” Rob said, his arm tightening around her, rolling her head onto his chest.

“I know.” Emily closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep in the late-afternoon sun, dreaming about Rob, dreaming about their baby.

55

Back at the villa, Emily and Rob stood on the balcony, each with a cocktail. It was the calmest Emily had felt in days—in months, actually.

“I can’t believe this is real,” she said to him.

He looked at her. “Me neither,” he answered. Then he glanced back at the clock in the living room. “We’ve gotta get ready,” he said. “I’m gonna jump in the shower.”

Emily waited for the butterflies in her stomach. But they weren’t there. She was excited, but she wasn’t nervous. “Me too,” she said, and then clarified. “My own shower.”

Rob laughed. “I figured.”

—