She stared down at the fish floating by, tears in her eyes. Everything she said was painfully true. She’d been through a lot with her family, but she thought they were all beginning to understand one another. What she’d done had ruined things between them for good.
Jordan moved closer and touched Emily’s hand. “You are so, so brave,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t do what you did. Not any of it.”
Emily blinked away tears. “It was really, really hard.”
“What was it like?” Jordan’s eyes were wide. “To be pregnant, I mean. To give birth. To go through something so … earth-shattering. I can’t imagine it.”
“Scary,” Emily answered. “But also amazing. My favorite part was feeling her kick. I would lie down at night and put my hand on my belly and just stay that way for hours. At first, it’s like this little flutter inside of you. But then, as she got bigger, the kicks were stronger. It was kind of mind-blowing.”
“Wow,” Jordan whispered.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she glanced at Jordan gratefully. “No one ever asked me that, you know. It was always about what I’d done wrong or what a horrible person I was.”
“You’re not horrible,” Jordan said. “You’re incredible.”
Emily peeked at Jordan bashfully. “I think you’re incredible, too,” she whispered.
Jordan placed one finger on Emily’s knee. Instead of pulling away a split second later, she let it remain there. Emily stared at Jordan’s pink, moon-shaped nail, then slid closer. Her heart started to pound. Before she knew it, their lips were touching. Emily’s nose filled with the heady aroma of jasmine perfume. She ran her fingers up and down Jordan’s bare arms. Her skin was as soft as petals.
They pressed close together, inhaling each other, and when they broke away, they stared into each other’s eyes.
“Yay,” Jordan whispered giddily. “I was hoping that would happen.”
“Yay for me,” Emily insisted, curling in Jordan’s lap and staring at the clouds.
“Yay for us,” Jordan corrected. And then she took off the captain’s hat, placed it on Emily’s head, and opened her arms again.
14
SPENCER’S UNEXPECTED SWIM
“Here you are!” A Latin waitress plopped down a large tray in front of Spencer and Reefer. “The six ceviche tasting menu! ¡Buen apetito!”
As she strode away, shaking her ample hips, Spencer stared down at the six small bowls. “I can’t believe you talked me into this. I’ve been to the Caribbean seventeen times, and I’ve managed to avoid ceviche until now.”
“Aw, a ceviche virgin!” Reefer pushed a fork at her. “C’mon. You have to try some. You’ll love it.”
Spencer looked up, stalling. It was Thursday night, and they were at an outdoor Latin restaurant in Old San Juan. Palm trees surrounded them, and every table bore a flickering votive candle and a vase of tropical flowers. A band played upbeat, wild music, and several couples were salsa-dancing near the stage. To add to the sexy vibe, a blue infinity pool rippled off in the distance. Spencer had already seen two couples strip down to bathing suits and dive into the pool as an alternative to dessert.
Before their dive that morning, the dive class had watched a film about Jacques Cousteau. For the rest of the afternoon, Spencer had prepared for their dinner out. Now her blond hair spilled down her back, her skin glowed from a body facial, and her nails had been painted a shade of red called Vixen. She’d pored through her and Kirsten’s cruise wear until she’d decided on a turquoise strapless linen dress that screamed I’m gorgeous, but I don’t try very hard. As soon as Reefer had seen the dress, he’d remarked that it was his favorite color.
She’d chosen this restaurant, too, clicking through San Juan nightlife websites and picking the place that seemed the most romantic. Other kids from the boat had the same idea: In the corner were two couples from Tate. Across the way, Lanie Iler and Mason Byers snacked on fritters. And Naomi Zeigler had just sat down with a bunch of girls from Rosewood Day, shooting Spencer a nasty look when she spotted her and Reefer together. Spencer gritted her teeth at Naomi’s clonelike turquoise dress. What, had Naomi spied on her while she was getting ready?
Then again, Spencer was the one on the date with Reefer, wasn’t she?
But on the heels of that dart of triumph came a stab of dread. Perhaps Naomi had followed her here because she was A.
Swallowing her worry, she took the fork from Reefer and daintily tried a bit of ceviche. A sharp, acidic flavor hit her first. Then she tasted something cool and mild. “It’s okay,” she decided.
“Have the one with the chilis.” Reefer pushed another bowl closer. “It’s amazing when you make it with real chilis, not the dried kind. I was on a ceviche kick for a while a few years ago. I’m trying to remember my favorite recipe …” He tapped on his iPhone, tilting it toward Spencer. REEFER’S RECIPES FROM A TO Z, read the screen. Ceviche, naturally, was filed under C.
Spencer snickered. “You’re so organized.”
Reefer covered the screen with his hand, looking embarrassed. But Spencer wasn’t surprised. He kept his pot supply in little individual, carefully labeled drawers. Earlier, when he’d opened his wallet for his fake ID, his cards were alphabetized, an AAA membership at the front, a business card for Justin Zeis, Personal Trainer, in the back.
“I like everything in its place,” he admitted. “I can’t stand it when things are messy.” He bit into a chip. “You can say it. I’m a dork.”