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“It’s just that the answer to that is so simple: yoga. But I feel like a fraud saying it because I haven’t practiced once since moving back here. That’s wild. I mean, I used to do yoga like five, six times a week. Now, the only thing I do that much is go to the post office.”

“You know there’s a yoga place on every block here.”

“Not one that overlooks the Pacific Ocean.”

“Is that a prerequisite? Because if so, I might be out of suggestions.”

I’ve been having so much fun with Ollie, I’ve forgotten that my main goal of being here is…getting back to Ocean Beach. I’m afraid to think about how far apart those two things are—both literally and figuratively. So I get back to the puzzle and refill my cup with another glass of Us.

Another hour or so goes by. The bottle of Brut has long since been tapped, the charcuterie board has been cleared, and empty ice cream dishes accompany us on the table—the table that holds a now-completed puzzle of the Amalfi Coast.

“It’s pretty,” he says. “A trip there is on my list.”

“Mine, too,” I say. “It makes me want to go swimming. Too bad it’s not summertime. We could have jumped in the lake for a nightcap.”

“I know a place we could go for a swim. The Brockmeier keeps their pool at a balmy 88 degrees.”

Ollie procures a black key card from his back pocket and slides it across the table. “Master key,” he narrates. “All access to the entire hotel. Any day, any time, any place.”

“I don’t have a suit,” I say…attempting to thwart what may be the best or worst idea I’ve ever heard someone suggest.

“We can figure it out,” he says.

While I wish the most challenging relationship obstacle we will face is figuring out the bathing suit situation, to me, it’s really how I will navigate my smudge spray knowing we’ll be in water.

The safe bet is to say no. Make up something. Say I have my period. Fake that I can’t swim. But as I look deep into Ollie’s eyes, he’s so confident that a night swim in the hotel pool is in our destiny.

“Okay then,” I say. “Let’s figure it out.”

I take him up on the offer as we get up to leave for our next adventure.

“Wait. What do we do with this?” I ask, gesturing to the finished puzzle.

“We can let it be,” he says. “Or we can mess it all up.”

“Let’s…let it be.”

Back at TheBrockmeier, the lobby level is hopping with people coming in and out of the restaurant and bar. A few workers recognize Ollie and say hello to him as he nods back and walks us, my hand in his, through the lobby to the gift shop.

“Pick out a suit,” he says, showing me the section of fancy swimwear. Everything is Trina Turk and…

“So expensive,” I say.

“Employee discount,” he reminds me. “Plus, I owe you a little something for your help finishing the puzzle. Plus…” he says, as he bends down and picks up a quarter off the ground. “Big money!”

I cannot resist the urge to smile—or kiss him—in that moment…so I do one, then the other. I briefly wonder if kissing him in his place of work is inappropriate, but the way he kisses me back tells me it’s a non-issue.

There were no black swimsuits on the rack.

So I went with the most neutral thing available in my size: a color-blocked one-piece that’s neon orange on the top and hot pink on the bottom.

The V-neck is low and the bikini cut is high.

I’m grateful for the shower-and-shave I did earlier as I come out of the women’s locker room and see Ollie already in the water wearing a pair of running shorts he keeps in his office as his swim trunks.

“I can’t believe we have this place to ourselves,” I say as I dip my toe in the warm water.

“The perks of dating a hotel engineer,” he reminds me. “Come in.”

I walk slowly down the steps into the art-deco pool. Ollie extends a hand to help me in.

“I’m good,” I say, careful not to touch palms without the safety of my spray.

“This is the most color I’ve seen you in,” he comments.

“I know. I don’t like it.”

“I do,” he says. Brings out your…” I can tell he’s getting lost in the plunging neckline, so I dip under the water to help him snap out of it.

We proceed to swim and frolic like two love-drunk teenagers splashing around, and eventually find ourselves under the bubbles of the hot tub. I’m sitting on his lap with my arms around his neck.

“This feels good,” I announce.

“The water? Or us?” he asks.

“Both,” I say.

“It’s so surprising,” he says. “You and me. Isn’t it?”

I mean, it’s as surprising as something can be that I didn’t already have a future vision of—but I cannot confess that.

The reality is, I knew Ollie and I were going to date.

But ever since the smudge spray, all of our little adventures have been just that…

adventures. The allure is still there. I feel like a normal girl.

Above all, that is surprising. So I lean into that as I answer him as honestly as I can.

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“I’m turning into a raisin,” he comments, showing me his shriveled, water-logged fingers.

“Me too. Should we go home?”

“Maybe not home. But we should go.”

“Well, where to next?” I ask.

“Presidential isn’t booked tonight—and I’ve got the keys to the kingdom. How about I block it off in the system for some ‘unplanned maintenance’?”

He bites the bottom of his lip. I resist the urge to copy and do the same back.

“I think I saw some things that needed a little… work …when I stayed there.”

“Point them out to me?”

“Gladly,” I say.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Ollie hops out of the hot tub and water rushes off his body like Niagara Falls. He extends his hand to help me up and out as well.

FUCK.

A vision hits my brain en force during the five seconds it takes for him to help get me on my feet. All I could see was him and I sitting outside somewhere—nowhere I recognize—and him pouring me a coffee from a French press.

Shitty as it may be to have spoiled a scene in our future, I breathe easier knowing that wherever, whenever that was—it looked warm. We’re going to make it through to the summer, I think to myself. That’s at least six more months of happily dating Ollie.

I’ll take it.