“You were worried I’d get too hot,” I finished for him, trying to say it in the most diplomatic way possible.

“You did get too hot, so I had to improvise…and you’re still sweating,” he said, clearly dismayed at the situation.

I looked around to see that all the windows were open. “You didn’t sleep last night.”

Jared sighed, frustrated. “You could have suffered heatstroke from sleeping beside your boyfriend and you’re worried if I got my hour in.”

“You need more than an hour,” I pointed out.

“I slept.”

“Good,” I said, gulping more water down before setting the glass on the bedside table. “I’m going to take another shower, I’m sticky.”

Jared nodded with a guilty expression and then retreated to his hut.

I showered and then dug through my pile of bathing suits. I held up a small piece of fabric, finding what I hoped would render him speechless. Interestingly enough, it was a one piece. It was blush pink, with a dramatic cut out so revealing it might as well have been a bikini. Small gold circles lined the missing piece and a single strap came over one shoulder, leaving the other bare. I stood brazenly at the screen door; hand on hip, waiting for Jared’s reaction.

Jared kept his back turned. “Do I want to know what you’re up to?” he asked, sensing my impish disposition.

“Why don’t you turn around and find out for yourself?”

Jared slowly turned. The second I came into his line of sight his eyebrows shot upward and his mouth parted infinitesimally. He struggled with words for a moment, and I beamed with satisfaction.

“Feel like trying out the beach today?” I asked, smiling innocently.

“Wow,” he said, his eyes scanning over every part of me.

“Jared?”

“Yeah?”

“Beach?”

“I’ll get my trunks,” he said, wheeling around to his cabin.

I giggled as I watched him swiftly vanish behind the palms and return within moments. He walked over to me in light blue board shorts and it was definitely my turn to be impressed.

We spent the morning playing in the water, diving through the waves and splashing each other. After an hour, Cynthia strolled out of the trees and parked in a lounge chair, laying her book beside her on the sand. She had brought her camera with her and snapped shots of the ocean, of the fishing boats, of me, and of Jared and me. Jared even coaxed the camera from her and snapped a picture of me and her.

Jared handed the camera back to my mother and pulled me off the sand, leading me out to the water.

“You can replace the one on your nightstand with the picture of us together,” I said, thinking of the black and white photo beside his bed.

Jared smiled, splashing water my way. “I’ll get another frame. I’m keeping the one I have of you.”