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“It appears you’ll have a choice between a pink dolphin or a blue leopard,” she deadpanned, tilting her head toward the stuffed animals hanging on either side of the carnival game.

“Ah. High stakes, then,” Dillon returned, dropping the ball to her feet. Her legs felt rubbery and unpredictable, weariness finally setting in from the race earlier in the day. Or, more likely, she knew, from jet lag and lack of sleep. The race had been irrelevant. A breeze of a swim along the shoreline, a flat cycle through the city, and a run down the famous oceanfront footpath with two hundred weekend warrior Southern Californians who’d turned out for the Christmas Charity fun.

Tom Hanks was going to be there, Kameryn had texted her the night before.

If he had been, Dillon never saw him. A disappointment, since she’d have enjoyed lapping him on the run.

But the race had given her the excuse to be in California over the holiday. It had given her an excuse to be standing on the overstated landmark pier, packed in amongst the sightseers and local teenagers, playing silly boardwalk games. It had given her the excuse to be there with Kameryn.

She sighted the target, drew back her foot, and tried to flick the ball through the largest hole at the cardboard goalkeeper’s feet. It was poorly struck and sailed harmlessly off the fake net.

“All the good that soccer tattoo did you now,” Kameryn whispered over her shoulder before reaching down to scoop up the ball and placing it on the plastic turf. Before Dillon could sling back a response, Kameryn neatly arched the ball through the smallest target in the furthest corner of the net.

“Winner winner!” The disinterested game attendant unenthusiastically rang a bell, waving his hand at the wall of stuffed animals. “Take your pick.”

Kameryn smiled pointedly. “Did you hear that?” She grabbed a ridiculously large dolphin and pressed it into Dillon’s arms. “I’ll have you remember, I’ve won choice on prizes.”

It wasn’t often Dillon found herself flustered. Dalliance was her pastime sport, something in which she was well-versed. She knew how to play her cards and maintain the upper hand. It was seldom words or wit ever failed her. But tonight, Kameryn had her number. Dillon wasn’t sure if it was because she was home, on her own turf, secure in her surroundings, or if she’d simply grown more comfortable in her skin—more comfortable with the idea of whatever this was. More comfortable with each other.

They’d talked almost daily since parting in Key West. About anything, everything, nothing. Dillon had worried, after the six weeks that had passed since they’d last seen each other, that an uncertainty may have arisen once again. But as soon as Kam showed up at the coffee bar where they’d agreed to meet earlier in the afternoon, she knew something had shifted.Something had evolved. There was none of the awkwardness she had expected. For the first time, nothing about them felt like strangers.

But in that absence of unfamiliarity, a different tension was beginning to surface—an awareness they both knew where this was heading, but with neither one willing to take the first step in that direction.

Kameryn had taken her free hand, drawing her away from the games toward an empty spot on the pier railing.

“I can’t believe you swam in this this morning,” she said, leaning over the side, staring at the gentle tide lapping against the pilings. “I can’t even handle Dani’s heated pool in the winter. Let alone the ocean.”

“It’s balmy, compared to the water off the Isle of Anglesey.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“No, I was born in South Wales, in a village called The Mumbles, not far from Swansea. Anglesey is in the northernmost part of the country. My dad used to take me camping there every spring. It’s where I learned to swim.”

“Is he the one who got you into triathlons? Your dad?”

Dillon hesitated. It was such an innocent question. It deserved a simple answer—not the vortex of emotion it unintentionally summoned.

He’d taught her to swim, to bike, to run, hadn’t he? So by default, the answer was yes, wasn’t it?

It didn’t matter that it was Henrik who’d crafted her—who’d molded her into what she was.

No, Henrik did not deserve the credit. He’d not been the one to spend hours treading water in the river, helping her perfect her stroke. Running behind her bike after removing her stabilizers, making sure she didn’t fall. Doctoring every scraped knee and elbow after her runs down the trail.

All Henrik had done, day by day, year by year, was teach her to hate herself.

Shifting the oversized dolphin under her arm, she leaned her shoulder against Kam’s.

“Yeah,” she tried to curb her sigh, “he was.”

Kameryn misunderstood the sorrow laced beneath her tone. “I feel guilty keeping you out this late. Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

Dillon cleared her thoughts, inhaling the warm California evening, so different than the cold, rainy winters on the coast of Wales—where she would usually be celebrating the holidays with her mam and Seren.

“Well, technically it’s almost morning back home. So at this rate, you’re going to owe me breakfast soon.”

“Oh yeah?” Still holding her hand, Kam stepped close enough that her hair—hanging loose around her shoulders—fluttered against Dillon’s cheek in the breeze. “Is that what you expect from every girl who keeps you up all night long?”

“Only the ones I want to see again.” Dillon knew she hadn’t managed to hide the quiver in her voice, her breath falling shallow in response to the nearness of their bodies, standing as close together as they were. She darted her eyes away to the glittering reflection of the water, certain her pounding pulse was visible in her throat.