Like he alone had the key to anything I wanted to read.

“My mom never had time to get over there, and I was kind of terrified of the school librarian, so once I got old enough, I’d just walk over to the local branch after class and Mom would pick me up when she got off work.”

He grins. “A good librarian makes all the difference.”

I angle myself toward him. “You joke, but it’s true.”

“I’m not joking,” he says. “If you’d been my librarian, I would’ve read a lot more.”

“Because I would’ve told you audiobooks count?” I say.

“For starters,” he says. “Also I would’ve wanted to impress you.”

My face tingles. “Julia’s great,” I say.

“She is,” he agrees. “She’s the best.”

“Have you always been close?” I ask.

“Pretty much,” he says. “I mean, I was, like, thirteen when she was born, so I was out of the house a lot, but when I was home, she followed me like a puppy. Like literally just crawled around after me.”

I grin, picturing it. A brown-eyed, dark-haired baby Julia scooting along after a scrawny brown-eyed teenage Miles.

“She was only five when I moved to the city,” he says. “But I tried to make it back to see her as much as I could.”

“She said you visited every Saturday, took her out.”

I catch a subtle grimace. “Just needed to get her out of the house every once in a while.”

There it is again, that crack in the box. Just as quickly, though, it’s flipped over, its contents hidden.

We fall back into silent paddling. Sweat rises along my hairline, drips down the seam of my rib cage and the ridge between my shoulder blades. “You can talk about it, you know,” I finally tell him.

“Talk about what?” he says.

“Anything,” I say. “Whatever’s bothering you. I’m actually a better listener than talker.”

“You’re a great talker,” he says. “But nothing’s bothering me. I’m fine. I just need to figure out what she’s running away from.”

“Did she say she’s running from something?” I’ve only just met her, but it’s hard to imagine Julia running from anything. “Even if she stumbled upon that black bear who was addicted to cocaine, I picture her fighting back and faring pretty well.”

“She keeps insisting she’s here to ‘be there’ for me,” he says.

“Well,” I say, “maybe she is.”

He gives me a look. “She never tells me when things are bad, but she’s not good at hiding it either.” He looks away, out toward the island, and shakes it off. “I’ll figure it out. It’s fine.”

When he looks back, he’s grinning, seemingly unbothered, though this time I’m not totally convinced. “You still good, or you want to turn back?” he asks, clearly done with the topic of Julia.

So I let it go. “I’m good.”

When the sun is high enough for the water to settle into its usual brilliant crystal green, Miles stops paddling and takes off his sweatshirt and shirt in one move, dropping them into his lap. I hold out for another twenty minutes until I can no longer stand the way my tank top sticks to me, then relent and peel it away from my bathing suit.

“It’s pretty amazing,” Miles says.

I pull my shirt off and glance over at him as I slip my life vest back on. He’s gazing toward the forested island, the last morning remnants of mist clinging to it, his kayak bumping into mine.

“It is,” I say, feeling the need to whisper it, for some reason.

He looks. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” I say.

He tucks his chin, a teasing curve to his lips. “Even though you hate it?”

“I don’t hate it,” I say.

He seems unconvinced.

“I actually think I like it,” I say. “I’m just not good at it, and it stresses me out feeling like I’m making someone wait on me.”

“Why?” he says.

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

“But I don’t mind,” he says.

“You say that,” I reply.

“I’m not training for the Olympics, Daphne,” he says. “Why would I give a shit?”

“When we used to try to hike together, I’d get out of breath and Peter would—” I realize my mistake too late.

Miles probably would’ve missed the slipup, if not for the way my sentence screeches to a halt.

The corner of his mouth quirks as he reaches toward my kayak.

I shake my head, but he doesn’t slow his progress.

“No!” I shriek as he knocks me to one side. “I didn’t say it!”

“You one-hundred-percent said it,” he argues.

“Different Peter!” I cry, laughing as we struggle against each other for a minute. “Different Peter!”

“Should’ve called him Pete, then,” Miles says.

He gives the kayak one more hard shove, tipping me over into the cold water. It sloshes over my face for just a second before my life vest pops me above the surface. “Are you kidding me?” I shriek, swimming toward him, grabbing the side of his boat now.

“I didn’t break the rule,” he argues.

“You dumped me in the lake,” I say, trying and failing to tip him in. “That’s so much worse.”

“Fine, fine,” he says. “I’m getting in.” But as he says it, he’s grabbing his paddle, slicing it into the water, trying to get away.

I grab hold of one side and yank as hard as I can.

It takes a few seconds of struggle, but in the end, I manage it.

Miles crashes into the lake. He resurfaces, soaked and sputtering, and slicks his hair out of his face, eyes crinkled against the sun. “Didn’t even check if I could swim or not,” he tuts, pretending to be aghast.

“I would’ve saved you,” I say.

“You?” he says. “I’m, like, forty pounds heavier than you.”

“First of all,” I say, “you’re absolutely not. And second of all, I have a life vest. We would’ve been fine.”

He swims toward me, loops an arm around my back, my stomach lifting into my chest at the feeling of his skin on mine, his weight pulling us downward as my heart buoys into the back of my throat. “Your physics are off, Daphne,” he says against my ear as we start to sink.

I wriggle around to face him, pushing away before anything can keep me there. “I knew you could swim, Miles.”

“How?” he asks.

“One, everything about you,” I say. “Two, I’ve seen pictures.”

“When you and Ashleigh were snooping?” he teases.

“Yes, when we were snooping,” I admit.

He nods, treading water in front of me. “Thought so.”

“Have you ever snooped?” I ask.

“No,” he says.

I study him until he laughs, glances toward the island again, then meets my eyes. “Fine, a couple of times when you’ve left your door open, I’ve peeked in. But it’s not like I’m digging through your drawers.”

“Excuse me,” I say. “I did not dig through your drawers. Not that I would have needed to, since they were all open.”

“You looked in them.” He swims closer.

“I didn’t,” I say.

“In case you were wondering,” he says, “your drawers have never been open while your door was.”

“I wasn’t wondering,” I say.

“It’s been spotless,” he says. “Not a single hint as to who you are.”

“Pretty boring of me,” I say.

“Mysterious,” he counters. “Like a puzzle.”

“Or a highly organized silverware tray,” I say.

Under the water, our calves brush against one another. A thrum travels straight up my thigh into my abdomen. “The same way you dress.”

“Like a silverware tray?” I say.

He shakes his head. Another graze of our legs, a little higher this time. “Like a secret.”

A heady rush of tension. To defuse it, I say, “Like I’m hiding an extra set of arms.”

“Think I would’ve noticed that,” he says.

Our hands brush under the water. The second time, our fingers slip together, knuckles briefly sliding against each other before we pull away.

I backstroke away from him, turning my face up toward the sun. When my pulse has settled, I ask, “Should we paddle a little longer?”

“If you want to,” he says.

I stare across the glistening turquoise water toward the shore of the island. It’s not as far as I thought. It feels possible now, that we could make it.