“Maybe I don’t feel like smiling when I’m around you.”

He felt his eyes widen. “Ouch.”

She covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry. That was super mean. It came out wrong.”

“What’s the matter?”

She let out a heavy sigh and moved her hands away from her face, but her eyes were focused on the ceiling above her. “I went to see my parents. I think I’m still recovering.”

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t pry. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he wasn’t sure how much she wanted to share. If he was really going to keep his distance, he’d have to do a good job of keeping her at arm’s length.

Why was it so hard?

She waved him off. “It’s fine. I’m used to it. Or at least I should be. My mom’s never forgiven me for—” She looked away.

He could see the sadness on her face. He knew how it felt to carry the guilt of that night, and he wished he could carry it for her.

She pressed her palms into her eyes. “Plus, I accidentally bid on you and now you’re stuck with a disaster of a partner for the race, and it’s next weekend, and you know I’m not going to be over whatever this is by then.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Stranger things have happened.”

She sighed. “I can’t sleep. I keep waking up certain I’m dead. It’s horrible to almost drown.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

She looked at him. Had she forgotten that his father died because Cody had nearly drowned? Did she not realize that he, too, had overwhelming nightmares and a strong, healthy fear of the water?

If she had forgotten, she remembered it now. He saw it in her eyes.

“It seems so easy for you,” she said. “Being in the water.”

He distinctly remembered the day he got back in the water. He didn’t take it slow or easy. He plunged himself into the ocean, determined not to let it steal anything else from him, and it nearly killed him all over again.

It took some time, but eventually he overcame his fear. He’d dedicated his life to saving the people the sea wanted to steal.

“Cody?”

He’d shared too much that day on the boat—getting any deeper with Louisa was a bad idea.

“You’ve got this regatta stuff figured out, right?” he asked.

She looked confused at his abrupt subject change and started to scan the work on her desk. “Yes.”

“Okay, I trust you.” He stood.

“You’re leaving?”

“No, we’re leaving.”

Her frown line deepened.