Unbroken

past county lines.
    I grab the bag of lenses hanging from the door, then turn on my heel and stride back to the house. I stop only to pull on my bikini and a pair of denim cut-offs, then I quickly lock up the house and slide into the Camaro, my camera resting in the passenger seat.
    Study and packing can wait. I need a break, and I know just the place to go.
    I drive out of town for about five miles, bumping along a dusty back road. The popular beaches are all back by the Cove: sheltered flat golden sands, and easy access to frozen drinks and ice-cream treats. Out here, the dunes are wild and untamed; waves whipped by the wind, unprotected. I climb out of the car and leave my sneakers in a heap on the sand, feeling the grains between my toes. I take another deep breath, feeling the tension flow out of my tired limbs. This is what I needed: away from everything, just me and the ocean.
    I load a fresh film into the camera and lift it to my eye. It feels odd at first, like trying to use your hand after you’ve been sleeping on it and it’s all numb, but I click and wind on the film, and slowly, it all comes back to me. Color, and texture, and the twist of focus. And more than anything, the clarity, from looking at the world one step removed.
    I clamber up the dunes and then race down to the beach in a rush of energy. The morning haze has lifted, and the sun beats down, warming my bare arms and whipping my hair around me in a tangle. I reach the ocean, and wade in, shrieking a little as the cold water surges against my legs.
    There’s a bark from further down the beach, and then a golden Labrador joins me in the shallows. He jumps and splashes around me, panting.
    I snap a few photos of him, laughing.
    “Hey buddy!” I reach down to pet him. He’s got a mangy old tennis ball in his mouth, so I lever it out and then fake throw it. “You want to go fetch?” I tease him, pretending to throw it a couple more times. He’s eager and bouncing, a ball of shaggy energy. “OK, go!”
    I toss the ball in to shore, and the dog takes off, bounding after it. I follow his path, zooming in to shoot more photos. Then my viewfinder lands on his owner in the distance, striding down from the dunes.
    I freeze.
    Emerson.
    I zoom in even further to check, but it’s him alright: casual in cut-off denim and bare feet, his naked torso tanned and cut. He bends down to pet the dog, grinning affectionately, then sends him racing off down the beach to fetch a piece of driftwood. He looks like a different person to last night, relaxed and carefree. More like the man I used to know.
    But that’s just because he hasn’t seen me yet.
    I lower my camera, my stomach suddenly tied up in knots. I want to run and hide, but out here on the windswept beach, there’s no hiding. I watch anxiously as he straightens up, scanning the shoreline. His eyes land on me, and even from here, I can see his body stiffen.
    There’s a long pause. For a minute I think he’s going to just turn around and leave without a word, but then he raises his hand in a hesitant wave.
    I wave back.
    Keep it together, Juliet, I tell myself. No more melting into a puddle of desire like last night.
    I slowly wade back towards shore, as Emerson walks out towards the ocean. We meet in the shallows, standing ten feet away from each other with cool water slipping around our feet.
    “Hi.” I say quietly. I feel even more naked than the night before: a bikini top, and my tiny shorts, but this time, Emerson isn’t devouring me with his eyes. He looks away, like he doesn’t even want to see me.
    I wish I could pretend like I felt the same, but it would be a lie.
    I can’t bring myself to look directly in his eyes yet, but my gaze can’t help roving over him, absorbing every detail all over again. In the bright sunshine, I can make out things I didn’t see last night—like the faint line of pale scar tissue running across one shoulder, and the freckles on his forearms that have multiplied over the years.
    “Hey.” Emerson’s voice is awkward.
    I brace myself, gathering all my courage. Then I look up, into those dark blue eyes. I feel a shiver through me, just as sharp as last night. This time at least, I’m prepared. I don’t flinch, or gasp, but still, I feel my skin prickle with his nearness. My nipples harden, and I thank God my bikini top is dark and padded to hide the evidence of my desire.
    How can he do this to me, just by existing?
    “You got a dog.”
    The words