“You said we were going to dance.” I grabbed his hands, surprising him. Surprising myself, too. But I wasn’t going to let him leave. “So let’s dance!” I tugged him along as I began to move to the music playing above us. “I already know some country dances.”

“Frannie, no—this isn’t—I don’t know what this is.”

“Dancing!” I pulled him in a circle and began to skip. He was right—I had no idea what I was doing. When I danced at beach bonfires with Mercy, we kicked our heels and twirled so fast, we turned the world into a blur. But I was determined not to let him disappear into the cuddy. “Come on, Asa!”

He laughed. Then he wrapped his arms around my waist and swept me in a circle, and we danced.

When the music ended, we were both out of breath and sweating. Asa’s eyes sparkled with such merriment, I wondered if he’d ever had fun before. And though I knew I had, I’d never felt like this. All I wanted was to get closer to him. “I just thought of my dare,” I said. “I dare you.”

“You dare me?” he echoed. But I could see that he knew exactly what I meant.

“Yes. I dare you.”

The longest second in the world passed; then he leaned down and brushed his lips against mine softly, sending heat curling through every part of me. “Frannie…,” he whispered by my ear. “Your turn. I dare you.”

I rose on my toes, threw my arms around his neck, and kissed him. Asa pulled me in tight, his lips parting, his tongue sweeping against mine, and suddenly time disappeared. There was nothing beyond our mouths, gently searching. Our hands, clutching fiercely. And my heart exploding, again and again and again.

We drew apart. I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. I had nothing to say, either. There was no way I could express what I felt. So I stood, wishing he was the sea so I could dive right into him. I wanted to be surrounded by him everywhere and completely. Like water.

When we started talking again, we didn’t stop. We were nowhere close to exhausting our stories. As we sat side by side on the stern bench, with the moonlight dusting our shoulders, he told me about his half brothers, who were serving in Loyalist militia units, and how his political views had only caused more strife between him and his father. Then I told him about how, when the diving was going poorly, Mercy and I sometimes pretended to drink tea deep inside the galleys of sunken wrecks.

“Did you just say you dive wrecks?” He brushed the loose hair behind his ear, peering at me. “You actually dive them—and you enjoy it?”

“Yes! Every new dive is an adventure. It’s dangerous, but that’s part of why it’s thrilling. Sometimes I feel like the thing I’m searching for—a spoon, a Spanish dollar, or whatever—I feel like it’s calling to me. Like it wants to be found. It’s the best feeling.”