Page 30 of When We Believed in Mermaids

“That’s not fair. You’ve warmed up.”

“Warm up, then.” He sits on the side of the pool, folds his hands.

Light trickles over his skin, and I look away, cast off my wrap, and braid my hair, knowing that he’s looking at all my parts. The suit is a one-piece designed to contain my chest and modestly cover my butt, but it’s not exactly a garment that leaves much to the imagination. Securing my braid, I slide into the water. “Oooh,” I sigh. “Ozone.” I dive under the surface of the silky pool and kick my way half the length before I come up for air, swim hard to the end, and turn back to the start.

He’s still sitting on the side. His legs are covered with black hair. “Impressive.”

“You can’t just sit there and watch,” I protest. “You have to swim.”

“Let’s swim, then,” he agrees, and slides back into the water himself, taking off without warning.

So we swim. Laps, mostly. I’m conscious of his skin, only an arm’s length away. I’m conscious of my own skin, swept by the water. And then, as always, I forget anyone else and the problems of the day and meld with the water, moving easily, rhythmically, the world forgotten. I don’t even remember learning to swim, any more than I remember learning to walk.

He stops before I do, hooking his elbows backward over the wall, his hair slicked back. I keep swimming, but then I’m worried he’ll leave before we have a chance to talk, which is backward from what I wanted last night. But maybe for once I’m going to go with what I actually feel instead of what I think I should.

When I lap back, I come up and pause. “Are you leaving?”

“Do you want me to?”

I shake my head.

“There is a spa pool over there,” he says, and points to a door going outside. “I will wait there if you like.”

“Yes, please.”

He doesn’t smile, and neither do I. I lean back into my stroke and do a few more laps before I give in to the lure of him and climb out, wrapping a big towel around my waist, which is ridiculous, because then I just take it off.

The spa pool is protected, but it is outside, with views of the office buildings around us. I drop my towel on the chair. “How is it?” I ask.

“Quite good.”

I step into the hot, swirling water and sink down, letting it cover me to my neck. He sits on a higher ledge, and I can’t help admiring his well-shaped arms, the black hair on his chest. He’s ever so slightly overweight, carrying the extra right over his belt line, which makes me like him more—the sign of a man who relishes life.

Or travels a lot,I think, remembering that he said he’d been on the road too much.

He doesn’t speak, only dabbles his hands over the water.

Fair enough. “Sorry I bolted last night,” I say.

His dark eyes rest on my face, and he lifts an eyebrow in question.

I can’t hold the eye contact and look down at my hands, floating in the blue water. I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“Mm.”

“Look, it was stupid, and I’m sorry. Can we start fresh?”

He turns his lips down in consideration. “Okay.” Offers a hand. “My name is Javier.”

I laugh. “Not all the way at the beginning.”

“Did you like my song?”

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“Thank you.” He slides deeper into the water and lets his feet rise, the toes poking up into the air. It seems strangely revealing. “Perhaps one day you can hear more than one song.”

I give him a wry smile. “Maybe so.”