Within seconds, they’d scaled the Paulsons’ wall and reached the oval-shaped pool in the middle of the patio. Inner tubes and rafts were stacked neatly on the deck. A black Weber gas grill stood under the pergola, and a beehive-shaped fire pit loomed farther out in the yard. Two towels, both with purple monogrammed Ps in the center, hung over the chaises. Emma glanced cautiously once more at the Paulsons’ dark house. No lights snapped on.

It took Ethan less than five seconds to strip off his T-shirt and jeans, kick off his New Balance running sneakers, and dive into the pool. When he surfaced, he grinned at Emma. “The water’s awesome! Come in!”

Emma kicked out a pajama leg. “Uh, I’m not exactly dressed for swimming.”

Ethan waggled his brows. “Take ’em off. I don’t mind.”

Emma mock-glared at him, but shed her pajama bottoms, grateful she was wearing opaque, black cotton boy shorts underneath. Tiptoeing to the edge, she lowered her body into the pool, the cool water slipping over her skin inch by inch. She pushed off from the wall and did a couple of breaststroke pulls underwater. Her camisole billowed out beneath her like an inflated parachute. When she came up for air, Ethan had stopped in the center of the pool. The golden lights reflected off his cheekbones, showing off his slicked-back hair, angular face, and broad, golden shoulders. Ethan caught her eye and smiled back, but Emma quickly looked away. She didn’t want him to think she was staring.

“This was a good idea,” Emma said, twisting around to float on her back.

“Told you.” Ethan paddled toward the diving board. “I have a confession to make,” he said a moment later, his strong arms cutting the water. “I’m a serial pool crasher. When I was younger, I used to sneak into my neighbor’s pool all the time.”

“Well, I’m a pool-crashing virgin,” Emma said, hoping the night was dark enough that Ethan couldn’t see her blushing at the word virgin.

“I always wanted my own pool.” Ethan reached up and grabbed both sides of the diving board. “My parents never went for it. My mom thought I’d be one of those kids on the news who drowned.”

It occurred to Emma how little she knew about Ethan’s life. “What are your parents like?”

Ethan shrugged. “They’re . . . well, my mom’s a chronic worrier. And my dad’s . . . absent.”

“He’s gone?” Maybe the two of them had something in common.

Air slowly escaped Ethan’s lips. “Not exactly. He just travels a lot. His work means everything to him. He got an apartment in San Diego that’s close to his company’s main office, and he’s there more than he’s home. He probably likes being away from us.”

“You shouldn’t joke about that.”