[photo by Davide Sibilio from Unsplash]

Topher

I take a restorative breath. Not terribly helpful. But the hand resting on my arm is proof, isn't it? As are Leni's soft, entreating eyes. I haven't loused up my chance with her. She simply wants me to take her to the beach.

That, I can do. I point to the walkway separating us from the ocean. "Do you want the blanket or shall I stow it in my—"

"No, Topher. I need to swim.

Need. There it is again. "You say that as if swimming is literally something you require?"

"Exactly. Will you take me home so I can get my swim suit? And you can borrow Matt's..."

I nod, standing—although awkwardly, because I'm a bit stunned by her suggestion, an invitation to swim with her.

She plucks the blanket off the ground and gives it a graceful shake, allowing it to sail on the wind for a moment before she begins to fold it. She has the job half done before I realize I'm just standing there, staring at her.

Ogling if I'm honest.

And that is precisely the reason having a swim with her is a terrible idea. It's much too early in the relationship for moonlight and bare skin. Especially considering what I've just learned about her.

"Thanks for that," I say, reaching for the blanket. The walk to the car is silent. Which gives me a chance to sort a plan. Matt and Dee were at the cottage when I arrived—if the assortment of vehicles in their driveway was any indication. Perhaps the two them could be persuaded to accompany Leni and I to the beach.

She settles into my passenger seat, shifting her shoulders back and forth—much like a bear scratching its back on a tree. "Sorry," she says when she catches me watching. "This is why I need to swim. The salt water will take care of it."

"Right. So you're saying you need the ocean specifically?"

She nods, biting her lip. And there's vulnerability in the way her eyes keep making quick scans of my face and then darting off again. As if she's afraid of what she might find in my expression. She's not having me on, then. This is something she truly believes. "What other symptoms do you have—aside from the itching?"

"It becomes painful after a while."

"Just your back?"

"Everywhere."

"May I..." I switch on the Jeep's interior light and point to her arm. "Might I have a look?"

She places her hand in mine and I brush my finger over her forearm. Her soft skin reflexively prickles.

Ignoring that, I look for discoloration, dry patches, flaking. There is none. "Have you had anyone look at this?" I ask.

"I have now. What's your diagnosis?"

I huff out a breath. "You are literally addicted to the ocean. And you can hold your breath underwater longer than what would be considered normal. Are you certain your legs don't turn into—"

"Don't say it," she says.

But she's smiling now. And holding my gaze, her eyes warm and inviting, her lips...

No, scratch that. There is no invitation here. I release her hand and crank the car.

The short drive to the fisherman's cottage is silent, save the occasional rustle of fabric and the soft scraping of Leni's fingernails over her neck and shoulders. The substantial pickup truck that'd been parked on the road is absent. A purple Post-it affixed to the fridge confirms that Matt and Dee are out for the night.

Against my better judgement, I change into a pair of lime green board shorts and escort Leni, unchaperoned, to the water's edge. The night air feels different, but logic tells me this is fiction. This is the same moon, the same ocean I see from my back deck so often the sounds and smells have become common place.

The difference is Leni.

She removes her coverup and I make a sincere effort, albeit brief, to force my eyes to stay with the garment as it floats to the sand. This attempt is my justification for allowing myself to fully appreciate her long limbs and gentle curves. There is just enough ambient light to reflect her pale skin before she disappears under a cresting wave. She's only out of sight for a few moments—not enough to give me a heart attack—and when she resurfaces, there's no obvious change. Aside from her mood. Leni seems happier now, more relaxed. She really does look as though she belongs to the ocean.

"Topher," she calls as if she's lost my attention. Not bloody likely. "Come swim with me."

I shake my head. If it were any other woman, I would relish the opportunity. But with Leni, there is too much at stake.

And there it is—more proof. How long has it been, a week, ten days? Much too short a time to draw a life-altering conclusion. But I can't deny my feelings. I want this unbelievable woman in my future.

She walks back to the shallows, a look of determination on her lovely face. She captures my hands in hers and guides me into the water. And I have no idea how to proceed.

Distraction. That's the course. "Would you consider seeing a dermatologist?"

"No," she says simply. And then one corner of her mouth lifts as she looks into my eyes. It is pure seduction. Except it can't be. Leni is beyond innocent. She can't know how alluring this is. I have to stop her before I lose my mind.

"Leni, wait a moment."

She stops walking and her sexy smile is replaced with a look of mild concern—which is much better.

"Considering your lack of dating prowess, I feel compelled to tell you that this is a bit seductive."

Leni stills—save the sudden lift in her chest, a gasp I cannot hear over the rumble of shifting water. But she does not let go of my hands and I wrestle with my interpretation. It is likely that she is shocked to learn of her behavior. Dare I hope she's merely embarrassed to be called on it?

"I will follow your lead," I say.

Her forehead wrinkles. Perhaps I should make the question more clear. I open my mouth, but Leni releases my hands and steps back, eyes down. I have my answer. "Right," I say, forcing a smile.

It's almost surreal, the way the distance grows between us. But then, I realize it's me. I'm moving, taking backward steps toward dry land. And really, it's for the best, isn't it? Even if Leni wasn't innocent, if seduction had been her intention, it would be a mistake for me to allow it before I tell her that I don't actually believe in...whatever it is she and her family believe.

A wave curls over her head and I lose sight of her, but I don't worry. Instead, I count the seconds. I want to know how long she can hold her breath. I want to know everything about her. The next wave delivers her to shallow water. She rides it so gracefully I actually strain my eyes looking for a tail.

Honestly. I have completely lost the plot.

She walks onto the shore, long legs, bare midriff and it's impossible to suppress the thought that she looks bloody magical.

An idea comes as if summoned. A name, a situation. If I could see it for myself, would I believe it then? If there is any chance Leni can, in fact, heal broken bones, then don't I owe it to Emma Williams? I promised her I'd do everything within my power.

"Leni," I call out. "Would you be willing to drive into Nags Head tomorrow? There's someone I'd like you to meet."

She says, "Yes," without a moment's hesitation. That's how much she trusts me.

I sit in the sand. Collapse really, submitting to the gravity of this entirely spontaneous—absolute barmy plan. Am I really going to take Leni to the hospital with the intention of having her heal my patient?

Oh, but it's more than that, isn't it? I'm looking for proof—I mean to test her—and that makes the plan far too devious to execute. I should dismiss the idea completely.

I really should.

But what if this is the miracle Emma has been praying for and I am merely the conduit? Could it hurt to try—as long as Leni is willing?

She sits beside me. And I wait for questions that never come. She doesn't ask who I want her to meet or why.

And I, coward that I am, will not volunteer the information. Not until I'm convinced I can follow through.