He has on dark blue swim shorts and a faded gray T-shirt that matches his eyes. It sticks to his back and his shoulders, where he’s still wet, and I can see the angles and edges of his body. He’s all lean muscle and bone. The only thing soft about him is that dark, wavy hair.

Cole’s hot, like Lex said, but there are things I can see in the daylight. Things I didn’t notice last night on the beach.

Those black circles around his eyes.

The chewed skin at the edges of his fingernails.

That tension in his jaw.

He catches me looking at him, and I turn back to my script.

“For whatever it’s worth,” he says, “most people say it’s just the wind in the dune grass. That whispering sound you heard last night.”

I have this sudden twinge of fear. Just the smallest shiver. And I want to tell him I didn’t hear anything—on the beach, or later, on the cabin porch.

Cole tosses that pink sliver of glass into the air and catches it in his hand like a game of heads or tails.

“But that story about the mass drowning is true,” he tells me. “There’s a little graveyard not far from here.” He jerks his head toward the tree line. “Where the women are buried. And the kids.”

The idea of a cemetery, rows of little graves, makes me uncomfortable. So I change the subject.

“Were you swimming?” I ask him, and he nods. Runs his fingers through his still-wet hair.

“I swim every morning. A couple of miles. Up the coast to the state park and back.”

That explains the leanness of him. Those taut muscles and that agile grace.

“You swim for exercise?” I say, and he shakes his head.

“I swim because the ocean scares me.”

We look at each other for a few seconds.

He told me last night his mother was afraid of the water. He didn’t say he was. My eyes find the soft skin of his wrist. That compass rose tattoo.

“But you’re safe,” I tease. “You’ve got that magical tattoo, right?”

He laughs out loud again, and I realize it wouldn’t take me long to become a fan of Cole’s laugh. If I let myself.

“Yeah,” he says. “Totally safe.” He’s watching me. But I’m staring at my toes now. “You should come with me some morning.”

“Maybe I will,” I say. And then I’m not sure what to say next.

He looks down at the script in my lap. “Have you read it before?”

“Yeah,” I tell him, “I’ve read it lots of times. I just wanna make sure I’m ready for auditions.”

“Don’t bother.” Cole reaches down to swat away a horsefly that’s buzzing around his ankles. “You can’t prepare for Willa Culver, trust me.”