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Abso-friggin-lutely.

“Point made,” I mutter.

He beams. We spend some time drying off our legs, brushing sand from our feet. I hastily pull on my dress while he’s turned away. Quint takes my towel and the snorkel gear, cramming them into a bag, and we start back up the beach, heading toward the boardwalk.

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

“Starving,” I answer automatically.

“Cool. Maybe we can get some tacos while we go over the rest of your ideas?”

He’s a couple steps ahead of me, his focus turned toward the horizon. I wish I could see his face, because that old uncertainty rears up again, every bit as unbelievable now as it was earlier.

This isn’t supposed to be a romantic thing. I mean, there’s just no way.

Is there?

“I… uh… left the folder at home.”

“Is it far?” He glances back at me.

“No,” I say, perhaps too slowly. “We live over on Sunset.”

“Okay. I’ll walk with you. Or I can go get us a table somewhere?”

He’s being so casual. Which is perhaps the only reason I notice how flustered I’ve become.

“Actually, I’m kind of exhausted. Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow? At the center?”

If he’s disappointed, he hides it well beneath a shrug, utterly devoid of emotion. “Sounds good.”

We pause at the boardwalk. The beach is more crowded here and chancesare good that we’ll see someone we know from school, but if Quint is at all wary about being seen with me—clearlywithme, given our matching wet hair and goggle impressions—it doesn’t show. When it becomes clear that he’s heading one way and I’m going the other, we both hesitate, standing awkwardly.

“Okay, well. Tomorrow, then.” I start to turn away.

“Hey, could I just hear you say it?” he asks. I glance back. There’s a glint in his eye. “Just once?”

“Say what?”

“I just want you to admit that this”—he gestures toward the ocean—“wasn’t a waste of time. ThatIactually had a good idea.” He taps his chest.

I cross my arms and say in a robotic voice, “This was not a waste of time. You had a good idea.”

“And you’re glad you came.”

I sigh and drop the robotic tone. Honestly, I confess, “And I’m glad I came.”

“And you’ll never doubt me or argue with me ever again.”

I point my finger at his nose. “Too far.”

His teeth flash. “Had to try. Hey, I almost forgot. I have something for you.”

He starts digging through the bag, shoving aside damp towels and goggles. His hand emerges clutching a yellow T-shirt, printed with the logo of the Fortuna Beach Sea Animal Rescue Center.

I take it from him, surprised, but not sure if I should be flattered to be receiving it or annoyed it wasn’t given to me on my first day. After a second of inspecting the shirt, I say, “I’m not really sure yellow is my color.”

“I’m not sure it’s anybody’s color, but it was the printer’s cheapest option.” Still grinning, he adds, “Besides, you might be selling yourself short. I’ll see you Monday, Prudence.”