“Well, that’s certainly an admirable reason to risk your life, I guess.” Joy shrugs. “Lucky for you, I happen to be an excellent swimmer. In the event you do foolishly decide to get in the water, and something goes wrong, I suppose I’ll have no choice but to save you.”

A grimace flits across Fox’s face so quickly Joy almost misses it. She’s about to take back her offer—hey, if he doesn’t want her help, let them eat cake and all that—when he asks, “Why are you here?”

“Physically or existentially?”

“Why did Malcolm ask you to come?”

“Why did Summer ask you to come?”

“I’m being serious.” Fox keeps his gaze trained on the distance. “I think they’re trying to set us up.”

Joy’s field of vision instantly flares white hot with realization, like a superpowered lightbulb clicked on behind her eyes. She has to sit down. Now. Gripping the rail on the boat, she lowers herself onto the seat.

Are they . . . are they being set up? Did Summer ask Fox to come here for Joy the same way Malcolm asked her to be here for Fox?

Would putting her head between her knees make it too obvious that she’s three deep breaths away from full-blown panic? She prides herself on almost never letting the absolute chaos destroying her insides ever, ever show on her face. But this might be the thing to break her.

It doesn’t make sense.

Malcolm claims to have a huge problem with Fox. He would never set her up with someone he truly dislikes. Actually, he would never try to set her up with someone, period.

Joy doesn’t date. Everyone knows that. She’s made sure of it.

The tingling in her limbs begins to disappear in time to her slowing heart rate. She laughs at herself, shaking her head.

“You all right?”

Fox hasn’t moved. He’s still standing in the same spot with the cooler between them, but he’s angled toward her now, concern drawing his glorious eyebrows together. From the outside, she must have looked ridiculous. Fine one second, close to hyperventilating the next.

Joy isn’t ashamed of many things, including her anxiety. “Does your brain ever just let your thoughts run away from you? Like they’re gunning for first in a one-hundred-meter dash and dead set on leaving common sense in the dust?”

“That’s quite an image.”

“I know. I’ve spent a lot of time coming up with different ways to describe what happens.” Joy takes a deep breath, filling up her lungs, letting the air sit before exhaling. “Anyway, sometimes my brain overreacts, and it takes me a second to find myself again.”

“So you have anxiety?”