Emily sat on the deck and stared out at the ocean's waves, glinting with pinks and golden crests, reflecting the last few rays of dawn. She sighed, thinking how breathtaking it was.

"You okay?" Jackson asked as she gave a little start.

She smiled up at him and accepted the cappuccino he held out to her. "Sorry, I was entranced with the sunrise."

"Like every morning?"

She put a hand to her eyes and stared up at him. "Yeah, like every morning. I didn't hear the door open and close...you just startled me is all."

"The breakers always seem so loud in the early morning stillness."

"Sit," she ordered, patting the arm of the chaise next to her, wanting the feel of him close.

He sat, tilted his sunglasses from his head to his eyes, took a sip of coffee, reached in his pocket, withdrew her bifocal sunglasses and handed them to her. "You always forget, you know."

She took them gratefully and relished the contentment she felt at this moment. Everything was so perfect. "You're right, as usual. But do you realize how often you say 'always' now? The way you do it...it makes me feel like we've always been together."

"We haven't?"

"Nope."

"Unfortunate."

"Yep."

"Have you told you're mother that we're just like an old married couple?"

"Yep."

"Are you happy?"

"Yep."

"About us?"

"Yes," she answered, grinning from ear to ear. "Jackson?"

"Yep."

"Do you remember a few years ago, when I was so desperate and wanted to run away to Mexico or South America, live on the beach and never come back again?"

"Yep."

"Do you remember you talked about us doing it together...getting a small place and never letting the outside world come in and hurt either one of us again?"

"I remember, but you weren't officially divorced from your husband then and I was ready to sweep you up and do it, but—"

Her stomach knotted. "Stop it!"

"What?"

"Don't go there."

"We can't avoid our pasts, Em. We're both walking on eggshells, trying to keep from bringing anything up about our sordid history. It's part of who we are. If we talk about things and try to understand, maybe we can move on from the resentments we both have."

She thought about it for a moment before answering. "I'm not ready. We've had five full days of bliss. I don't want to ruin it yet...not yet, please." She reached out and let her fingertips trail along his arm, watching as the fine blonde hairs on his wrist glittered with the reflection of the rising sun. "Please?"

His sigh was heavy and she had an eerie feeling there was something he needed to get off his chest that she didn't want to hear. She stole a sidelong glance at his face and could swear his jaw clenched, trying to contain words she felt he desperately needed to get out and the omnipresent fear, of their utopia crumbling around them, swept over her like a veil of doom. I can't let him do it...not yet.

"I'm proud of us, you know that?" she ventured.

His faced relaxed and he turned to her. "For?"

"We did it, silly...so far, at least."

"Hmmm, you mean we didn't do it," he corrected, grinning.

Always the smartass, she reflected, her spirits lifted. "I wouldn't have thought we could make it this long. But there's something so familiar that just feels right, being here together and knowing we have the time..." She let it trail off as he sat up and straddled the chaise, swung his left leg over and twisted to face her, lifting the sunglasses to the top of his head again. His green eyes sparkled with flecks of gold as rays bounced off the waves, and there was a brief look she'd never seen in them before, making her breath catch.

"I don't want to ruin this either, but we will have to talk about things. You do understand that, don't you?"

She nodded but didn't trust herself to speak.

"Emily fucking Masterson, it's everything I have to keep myself from breaking our agreement, but on the other hand, I'm strangely content. Always before, there's been such urgency, like we'll never get another chance, this ridiculous sense of entitlement, of instant gratification. I've read that if it's worth it, it's worth waiting for, that it should be earned and—"

"Oh, that! Well, that would be me...from one of my books...the part about it being worth waiting for. I guess that after almost thirteen years of waiting it was—"

"Something you knew and you wrote about. Yes, I've noticed you use a lot of our situations and conversations in your writing."

She gave a sly grin and turned to stare back out at the ocean. "Well, you have given me plenty of fodder over the years."

"Why not just write a book about us?"

She was silent for a moment, wondering how to explain it then deciding to be one-hundred percent honest, she met his eyes. "A book needs an ending of some sort, Jackson. I actually did start our story once, but I had no idea where it was going to go and..." She hesitated then getting her courage up went on. "You see, there is no us. We've never really been together. I mean, I don't even know if we'd have stayed friends if there hadn't been this insane chemistry between us, always pulling us back to each other. But what we do have is tons of material I can use in other stories that really are kind of, but not really, us.

"And stop glowering at me like that. We're like magnets...we both attract and repel one another. We say and do awful things, hurt each other, push away..." She thought for a moment. "Okay, here's an example. Last night when we were having dinner at the restaurant and the band stated playing, I was going to ask you to dance under the stars with me. But, oh no, I look over and see you staring at these two skimpily clad young women who were obviously on some kind of school break, like you'd never seen a female before and it was several minutes before you even remembered I was there. I mean, really? You're rude like that to me all the time."

"Oh whoa, are you jealous? You are! You're the jealous type, I knew it!"

"I am not! It's just you'd think that since we're here trying to figure us out that you could have the decency to—"

"I knew it from the beginning! You are such a frigging prima donna! But of course, if all the attention isn't focused on little miss Em then the world is going to fall apart. I always knew deep down you were insecure as hell."

She started to interrupt him but something in the tone of his voice made her stop. He's never talked like this to me before, she thought curiously, not sure she wanted to hear what else he had to say.

"From the first time I saw you climbing out of that swimming pool when you were in high school with your haughty little turned up nose and the way you looked up into the crowd with that smug little smile, as if they were all your devoted fans—"

Suddenly, she was sure she didn't want to hear any more. "Jackson! Stop it!"

"You stop it!"

"Stop what? And why are you angry? Do you realize you just raised your voice to me? I'm just sitting here listening to you—"

"Be honest with you. That's all I'm doing. Christ almighty, Em, do you not get it that all men look? Some are just better at hiding it than others. I thought we were close enough I didn't need to hide anything...that you'd know that's all it was...looking. And what about you? The other night when we went to the beach for movie night with the ex-patriots, you couldn't keep yourself from flirting with every swinging dick that spoke to you. You never have."

"I did not and I don't. You're imagining things," she said indignantly.

"Oh, let me give you an example. Let's pretend it's a waiter and you're ordering your meal. You always look up at them and smile—"

"That's just being polite."

"Humph. Then you look down as if you're still perusing your menu, then you look up again into their eyes and let yours drift slowly away as if you're thinking." He made a great show of mimicking her facial expressions and she was having trouble suppressing a giggle that threatened to pop out. "Next you give a sidelong glance at the poor soul with that sly grin." He continued his imitation of her. "And being sure your dimples are flashing, ask what he recommends or what his favorite is." He tried to make his voice soft and sultry as he batted his eyelashes and said, "So, tell me, Jimmy, is it? What would you suggest?"

She snorted, just before the laughter bubbled its way out and she had to swipe her hand across her nose.

"Oh, so ladylike," he retorted, chuckling.

"Stop it! I do not!" she giggled, giving him a gentle swat on the arm.

"Oh, yes, you do. You really do."

She couldn't stop giggling and tears began to trickle down her face. "Oh, I had no idea."

"I always knew you didn't. It just comes naturally to you."

"Does it bother you?"

"Oh, fuck yes, it bothers me. Down on the beach, there was that dude in his forties, the one with the big ol' stogie he kept chewing on, that kept coming over hitting on you. I wanted to knock that cigar down his fuckin' throat and watch him choke on it. But I wasn't jealous, because I knew who you were leaving with."

That's not jealous? Emily asked herself, confused but still amused.

"It's just like all the other men all these years and the times I've had to rescue you from some douche, because they don't get it like I do. You flirt and you don't discriminate. It can be men, women, children...your best friend..."

Her laughter died then and she brushed the tears from her cheeks and stared at him with everything she had to keep from giggling again. "I'm really that bad then? Why have you put up with me all these years?"

"We're here to find out." He shrugged then his face lit as if something had just come to him. "So, you wanted to dance last night?"

"I did. And I'm sorry, I am jealous. I can't help it any more than I can help flirting. So, I got defensive and didn't ask you. You don't realize it but you distance yourself and yes, it does make me insecure, so I back away."

"Probably for the best, you'd had quite a bit to drink," he countered, smugly.

"What's that supposed to mean? That I back away?"

"I have learned, darlin', that when you're a hair past tipsy that wannabe stripper, undulating with no rhythm on top of a bar, dirty dancing to her own beat that no one else can here, comes out something awful."

"Are you insulting my dancing and bitching about my drinking?"

"You're a lousy drunk."

"I am not. People tell me I'm a fun drunk."

"There is no such thing as a fun drunk."

"So, now I'm a drunk, jealous, prima donna. Is there anything I can do right, Mr. Perfect? Have you seen your ass drunk?"

"No, but I've heard stories. My point exactly, there is no such thing as a fun drunk. Do you remember the second night we were here and I tried to lead you across the beach doing the twostep, and you kept trying to thrust and grind against me as your two left feet stumbled over mine?"

She almost protested but the vague image swam through her mind and she felt her face grow red. "That bad, huh?"

"That bad. But you did swear to the stars and the moon above that you could learn."

"I must have been shitfaced."

"You mean the way you were dancing?"

"No! I mean to have sworn I could learn. You aren't going to hold me to it, are you?"

"You're serious, aren't you?"

She nodded with a grimace. "Mom always tried to make me go to those cotillion, as she called them, lessons when I was in junior high and I fought her tooth and nail."

"Obviously!"

"You are such an asshole."

"You wouldn't like me if I wasn't, remember?"

"Have you and Rita been talking?"

"Who?"

"Rita...my mother?"

"Oh, so that's her name. I always just thought of her as Mrs. M."

"Have you?"

"A couple of times, maybe."

"Oh, my God, Jacks! I can't believe you'd do that!"

"I like your mom. She's been worried about you." He stood and put a hand up. "Back to what you call dancing."

She felt irritated and amused all at the same time and getting to her feet, faced him. "Okay, I admit I'm a little more graceful in water than on land, but I'm—"

"A little?" he asked, sounding dumbfounded. "When you're swimming or diving or just skimming through the water playing, I feel like I'm in the presence of a goddess, a mermaid, your movements so fluid and elegant. But when I'm watching you try to dance, I feel like I'm still in the presence of a mermaid...out of water. Like your two left feet are glued together in this tail and all you can do is wiggle your body and squirm."

"Oh yeah, well, I don't seem to have any trouble with my left feet being stuck together when we're in bed, do I?" she challenged him and was rewarded to hear his breath suck in and see a flame spread across his cheeks. Automatically, she glanced down at his hands now held in front of the zipper of his shorts and she tried to hide the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth, as she imagined him thinking about the times they'd been in bed together and how her pale legs had opened for him and—

"I'm going into town," he said abruptly, breaking into her thoughts.

"What about breakfast? It's your turn to cook."

"Nibble on something. I'll take us to an early lunch."

She could feel it, feel how hard this was, not just her but for him. "It's not easy, is it? This transition, I mean...the going back and forth from friendship to the idea of being lovers, to the possibility of us being more. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought up us being in bed together."

He looked at her blankly for a moment then shook his head as if to dispel an image that was now haunting him. "Nothing worthwhile is easy," he said at last and turning left her standing there, staring at his departing back and grinning like the Cheshire Cat.