Joy glances at the bag and box, heart swelling uncomfortably in her chest. He’d gone out of his way to specifically pick these items out for her, washed them, hid them in the closet so he could surprise her because he knew she would complain about not having hiking gear. Malcolm doesn’t do that for everyone. He only gives this level of attention to Joy and Joy alone.

Now. Joy should tell him now while they’re alone and her feelings are bubbling up so close to the surface.

But what would she say? How would she say it? In all her frantic panic of the morning, she never once considered the words she’d use to confess. She hasn’t had time to find the right combination of sentences or how to make it sound heartfelt.

Joy decides to start slow. “When did you buy this? You invited me yesterday, so you couldn’t have gone this morning.”

Malcolm shrugs. “All that matters is you’re comfortable. I really do appreciate you being here.”

Now! Now! Do it now!

“Malcolm.” Joy hiccups a breath. She can’t look at him, she can’t, but she can say it. “Malcolm. I love you.”

“I love you too.” He says it quickly and without thought. Of course he does.

“No, really.” She risks a glance up at him. Oh lord, please don’t let me throw up. “I mean it.”

“So do I.” Malcolm leans over and kisses her on the top of her forehead. “I’ll go so you can get changed.”

Frozen in place, all she can manage is, “But—”

“Ten minutes,” he says, as he walks out of her room.

Summer’s yellow polka-dot bikini, where the dots are hearts, suits her. “Oh my god, I love your swimsuit!”

“As do I,” Joy says without a hint of humbleness. Immediately she notices Fox noticing her with a bit too much interest. The easiest way to stop someone from staring is to subtly point it out to them. It isn’t a bad stare on his part. He’s looking respectfully, just a little too long for her liking. His shorts are the exact same shade of blue as her bikini. “We match. Imagine that.”

“We do.”

Joy tilts her head. “Do you ever say more than a few words at a time?”

“Why?”

Suddenly feeling mischievous, she says, “Because it’s usually the quiet ones I have to watch out for.”

“What?”

“You’re not fooling me.”

“I don’t— What are you talking about?”

Joy leans closer to him, whispers, “Seven words that time. New record,” and quickly walks away. She tosses a casual glance over her shoulder—his eyebrow is still arched in response. Got him. She pauses at the entrance to the boathouse before heading down the short set of stairs.