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He sat up. “Why is it so important to know what my past romantic experiences have been?”

“Why is it so important for you to know mine?”

“You’re more interesting.”

“Right. You’re the one in the movie, not me.”

He laughed. “Your story would make a better movie than mine. Did you have a boyfriend when you were living on the street?”

“Get serious.”

He smiled, and then he did become serious. “I have a confession to make. I didn’t go to Santa Monica just to look at the ocean. I went to imagine what it must have been like for you sleeping on the beach and everything.”

“How did you do?”

He shook his head. “I’ve camped out when I was younger, but living out there like that must have been something else. I mean, where exactly did you and your mother sleep?”

“I told you before. I really don’t want to talk about all that, Ryder.”

He put up his hands. “Okay, sorry. Since you told me about the calligraphy and the lanyards, I thought maybe . . .”

“I don’t want to dwell on it. I still get nightmares.”

“I bet. Sorry.”

He got off the bed and looked into my closet.

“Isn’t it against some zoning ordinance to have a clothing store in your house here?”

“Very funny. Most of it was Alena’s.”

“Well, why is that stuff still in there? It can’t be your size. They could give it to needy people.”

“Jordan can’t get herself to take it out. It’s all too final.”

He nodded and then looked at me with that sympathetic face he wore at the lake. “This has to be hard for you. I shouldn’t be asking so many questions about your situation here. It’s unfair. You can’t do all that much about what goes on here, I imagine.”

“I’ll survive.”

“I bet. I wish I could say the same.”

“You will, too.”

He stared at me a moment. I felt there was something more he wanted to say, something he truly had never said to anyone. My heart beat faster in anticipation, but I could see in his eyes that the moment had passed.

“I guess I should start for home. Summer’s probably back and might set the house on fire or something. But I’m glad I came,” he added quickly.

“I’m glad you came, too.”

I walked to him, and we kissed, stepping back into the closet. This time, the kiss was very passionate. It wasn’t only the excitement that came from the way he drew me closer. We were touching each other in

ways that stirred the passion we had only begun to realize and explore inside us. I wanted it to last longer. His hands moved under and up my blouse. His breathing quickened. His lips glided gracefully off mine and down to my neck. I welcomed his fingers gently lifting away my bra and pressed myself against him. I lifted my head back and felt as if I was sinking into him.

And then we heard Mrs. Duval call my name. We parted instantly, and I fumbled with my clothes.

“Who’s that?” he whispered. I put my fingers on his lips and stepped out of the closet.

“Hi, Mrs. Duval. What’s wrong?”