I am ogling you, but purely for exorcism purposes. A know-thine-enemy sort of thing.

When he didn’t answer, he emitted a dissatisfied growl and picked up the pace.

“I’m swimming!” she said quickly.

“You don’t know how to swim.” He did not sound pleased.

“How do you know I didn’t learn?”

He kept sloshing toward her.

“Okay, okay!” She held up her palms. “Stop. You’ll ruin your outfit.”

He furrowed his brow, but he stopped moving. He was about ten feet from her, and all his splashing had made his…juncture wet. Which had a highlighting effect.

“Uniform,” he corrected.

“What?”

“This is a uniform, not an ‘outfit.’” He made air quotes.

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference is dignity.”

Eve tried—unsuccessfully—to smother a giggle.

One side of his mouth quirked up, too. “Have you learned how to swim? Tell me you learned to swim sometime in the last ten years, and I’ll back off and leave you alone.”

Clearly the answer was to lie. “I have not learned how to swim.” She made a vague noise of frustration. “Dammit.”

He quirked an inquisitive brow.

“My mouth can’t lie to you even though my brain is telling it to.”

He started walking again.

“I’m getting out!” She started toward him. “Anyway, I was fine. I’ve got to the point where I can go in quite a ways and…” It was still so embarrassing. What kind of adult didn’t know how to swim? What kind of adult who’d spent ten summers on the shores of Lake Huron didn’t know how to swim?

Well, there was no point in sugarcoating it. He’d seen it before. So she finished her thought. “I’ve got to the point where I can go in quite a ways and not have a panic attack.”

“Still, it’s a bad idea to be out here by yourself.” He turned and pointed to a sign on the beach that gave a disclaimer about the beach being unguarded.

“I’m swimming at my own risk.” Or, more accurately, not swimming at her own risk.

“Well, then you’re being stupid.”

“Am I breaking any actual laws? Or are you just here in a nonprofessional, paternalistic capacity?” She tried to plug that neon sign back in, to summon some anger.

He sighed. “Look, I know you hate me, but—”

She sighed, too. “I don’t hate you.” To her surprise it was true. Newly true.

“Well, if you don’t hate me, I’m not sure why. You certainly have reason to.”

She blinked, shocked.

“I’m just worried about you out here by yourself,” he said softly.