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I set my bag down by the house, and he propped the surfboard against the wall. Then he twisted on the spigot and followed the tangled line until he found the end.

“Here,” I said. “I’ll hold it so you have two hands to wash.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Why don’t I trust you?”

I gasped. “I’m so trustworthy.”

He didn’t seem to believe me but handed over control of the hose. I held it extra still while he scrubbed his hands and forearms. He had really nice forearms, all corded and strong. Then he cupped his hands and splashed water onto his face. Dirt dripped down his temples and chin.

“Not even close to clean,” I said.

He tried again, this time running his hands up and down his face. A few streaks remained on his forehead, and I motioned him forward. He leaned closer, and I dipped my hand in the stream of water and then ran it across his forehead and by his ear. I studied his skin closely, making sure I got it all. When I finished, he was staring at me.

I gulped. “All done.”

“Your turn.” He gestured for the hose, and I handed it over.

I replicated his cleanup, scrubbing my hands and arms, then my face. And in turn, he helped me with the remaining streaks I couldn’t see, his hand running gently over my cheek and then right below my bottom lip. His eyes carefully traveled my face until my insides were hot and melty.

We must’ve drifted closer together at some point because suddenly the stream of water from the hose he held was pouring down the front of my body.

I yelped and jumped back. “You did not!” I scream-laughed. “That is so cold!”

“It was an accident!”

“I trusted you!”

He laughed. “I’msotrustworthy!”

“Obviously not!” I wrestled for the hose.

He held on tight. “I don’t deserve reciprocation!”

“You more than deserve it.”

“I was distracted!”

“I was distracted too, but did you see me pour water down your fully clothed body?”

He laughed, then somehow managed in one swift motion to grab me by the arm and twist me around, pinning my back and arms against his chest. The hose in his other hand was still pouring water off to our left.

“No fair,” I said, kicking my feet.

His cheek was against mine, and I could feel him smiling. “Truce?”

“Truce?”I asked. “Nothing has happened to you. A truce can only be called when both people have been victims.”

“Is that so?”

“That is very so.”

“Okay, if you insist.”

Before I realized what that meant, he sprayed water into the air so it was raining down on both of us. He loosened his grip on me, and I turned in his arm so I could look him in the eyes and say, “You are so annoying.”

“But you still like me.”

Water dripped down his face and onto mine, and his smile turned serious. His hand holding the hose fell to his side, dropping it so water now flowed through the weeds and wildflowers at ourfeet. My wet hair continued to drip onto my forehead and shoulders and arms. His now-free arm joined his other one around my waist, pulling me closer. He paused for a moment, searching my eyes. I wondered if he was waiting for me to make a move because I had rejected a kiss on the boardwalk. But before I had even finished that thought, his mouth was on mine, hot against my cold lips. I sucked in some air, but then my hands traveled up his chest and around his neck, into his wet hair. My tongue brushed past his lips and tasted his mouth. His hands moved from my waist, up my back until they gently cupped my face.