Page 46 of The Summer Show

He dropped the towel beside his shirt. “I can teach you to swim.”

I leaned sideways to look at the water. There was a lot of it, and unlike a pool, the bottom was nowhere in sight from this angle.

“What—in there?”

He laughed. “Generally people learn to swim in the water, yes.”

“But there are fish in there.”

“Scared of fish?”

“Not exactly scared. But I saw this one article a while back about fish pedicures. You sit with your feet in a special pool and the fish nibble the dead skin off your feet.”

“Must be why my feet are so smooth,” Nick deadpanned.

“Nick Merrick,” I said, delighted. “You just made a joke.”

“My baby-soft feet are no joke.” He half turned. “Come on. Get in the water and I’ll teach you to monkey, tree, banana.”

My toes scrunched inside my sandals. I could almost feel the fish licking their fish lips. “I’m afraid to ask what those things have to do with swimming.”

“It’s how I used to teach elementary backstroke.”

Someone was full of surprises, and it wasn’t me. “You were a swim instructor?”

“In high school, yeah. Level one swimmers. The little kids. If I could teach them, I could teach you. You’re more likely to listen to instructions.” He held out his hand. “Do you trust me?”

I cast a suspicious eye at the water. “And you’re sure fish won’t try to give me a pedicure?”

“Fish, no. But an octopus might try to hug you.” He took one look at my face and started laughing again. “I’m kidding. The worst thing you’re likely to encounter here is seaweed.”

I preferred my seaweed wrapped around rice and fish, not tickling my toes. But I didn’t tell him that. The man was generously offering to teach me how to swim. Me. An adult who went on an island vacation without a single swimming lesson under my belt.

Was it possible to learn at my age?

Nick seemed to think so.

“Okay. Teach me your ways, oh mighty merman.”

He cracked up again, wiping tears from his eyes while I debated the logistics of peeling off ninety percent of my clothing in front of a man who was chiseled out of marble. His physique was downright intimidating in its perfection. Even his butt was perky.

And here I was in all my mediocrity.

To use a phrase I disliked: It was what it was.

I peeled off my dress and dumped it on the ground. I cast a worried look at my bag. “I can’t leave my stuff here. What if it gets stolen?”

Nick raised his fingers to his mouth and let out an ear piercing whistle. A lifeguard jogged over. She kissed Nick on both cheeks, took my bag, kissed me on both cheeks, and jogged back to her lifeguard tower.

“What just happened?” I asked, bewildered by the whole exchange, which had lasted thirty seconds, tops.

“She’s my cousin.” He backed towards the water. “Come on. The water’s perfect.”

He was right, the sea was perfect. Gentle. No waves to speak of. No wacky currents to pull me away and feed me to the sharks. Before I knew it I was up to my chest in water so clear that I could see that I did, in fact, need a pedicure.

“Okay,” Nick said, moving into position beside me. “Lean back. I’ve got you.”

I paused.

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