“Love, huh?” I questioned softly, wondering if that’s what had driven him to study oceanography. Where I had avoided everything that reminded me of my loss, he’d embraced and examined the very thing that killed his parents. Had that exorcised the demons of his grief? Or was I the only one who had those?

“Love,” he confirmed. “Being out there on the water is as life-affirming to some people as sex is to others. The ocean is in their soul. And you’re right, maybe it’s a little bit of insanity that brings people out on those waters in particular.” He nodded toward the divergence of the two currents in front of us. “But from what I’ve seen, the only emotions that overpower our own sense of self-preservation are obsession and love, and the ocean is both for a lot of people. They fuck up when they forget that she’s too deep, too stubborn, and too powerful to love you back. There’s never a partnership because she’s always in control.”

“I’m so sorry you lost them.” It was all I could think to say. It was the only thing I’d ever wanted to hear, so maybe it was the same for him.

His fingers tightened around mine in a reassuring squeeze. “Thanks. They would have really liked you, and they would have been utterly wrapped around Finley’s finger.”

I made a mental note to call Mama tomorrow and absorbed his words quietly as a comfortable silence fell over us. The ocean looked exactly as he described. Inky black under the night sky, breathtakingly beautiful, and wickedly powerful. His thumb moved, stroking the edge of my pinky in an absentminded pattern. It was soothing—comforting, even—and I had no desire to pull away or put distance between us.

Holy shit, I liked the way he touched me. I liked way more than that about him, if I was being honest with myself. Sure, I liked the way he looked, but there wasn’t much to not like. His profile was strong, his chin carved and nose straight—with a slight bump that made me wonder if he’d broken it once—and his lips somehow managed to look hard and deliciously soft at the same time. I’d seen enough of his body to know what was under that shirt, and the simple memory of him jogging toward me on the beach sent a flash of heat through my veins strong enough to kick up my pulse. He turned his head, looking down the beach, and I mentally sent up a prayer of thanks that he hadn’t caught me staring at him or turned those eyes on me.