I stack Judson’s unopened letters on top of each other and lower them into an empty shoebox. I place the box inside one of my desk drawers. After slamming the drawer shut, I close my eyes.

“It’s over, Judson,” I whisper. “I’m not opening your letters ever again.” Chelsea urged me to get rid of them, but I can’t. Not yet.

Feeling as though I’m wading through water, I rise from the chair and head for my wardrobe. I smile as my fingers touch the soft fabric of the freshly ironed coral mini dress with the crochet neckline. No jeans and t-shirt tonight. Chelsea and Neil have been engaged for two weeks, and tonight they’re having an engagement party on the beach. Chelsea made me promise I’d wear something sexy, and I agreed. It’s her night, but it’s also my fresh start. Tonight, I’ll leave Judson behind and have some fun.

As I stand there with my dress draped over my arm, Chelsea walks out of the bathroom, breathtaking in a sassy, flowing magenta dress with fabric gathered in the back and layered in the front. It shows just a hint of cleavage. Her teased curly locks rest seductively on her shoulders. And she looks happy, her dark eyes sparkling with joy.

She eyes me with suspicion and waves the brush she’s holding in the air. “Please tell me you’re not thinking of wearing something else. That dress is perfect for you. Or are you thinking of not coming?”

“No.” I laugh. “I wouldn’t think of crossing you tonight. And nothing will keep me from celebrating my lovely friend’s special day.”

Chelsea closes the distance between us and folds me into a hug. “I want you to come out for you. You’ve been holed up in this place, and on campus, for far too long.” She pulls back, but her hands remain on my shoulders. “You deserve to have a little fun for a change.”

“I fully agree.”

Chelsea inspects her makeup while I get dressed. I go for my usual natural look, wearing no makeup but a bit of nude lip gloss. There is one change from my usual look, though. Tonight, instead of in a ponytail or braid, I give my long hair permission to tumble down my back.

Once we’re both ready, we pick up our purses and hook arms.

“Let’s go paint the beach red,” Chelsea says as she locks the door behind us.

I wrinkle my nose. “I never liked that expression. It sounds as if we’re going to spill blood.”

“You might.” Chelsea grins. “Given how many hearts you’ll break tonight.”

“If you say so.”

Ten minutes later, we sink our feet into the soft, cool sand. As the waves break on the shore, some of the weight slides off my shoulders. In the soft night, I promise myself that I’ll make more time to come to the beach.

We’re still arm in arm as we make our way toward the bonfire set up in front of the Misty Beach Club, a place many of the university students hang out on weekends. Tonight it’s reserved for Chelsea and Neil’s party. Romantic music is already spilling out into the night. My stomach rumbles at the aroma of steaks, hotdogs, and hamburgers on the grill.

Cheers, laughter, and congratulations reach us before we get there. As we come closer, Neil pushes his way through their bikini-clad friends and comes over to meet us. To meet Chelsea, actually. He’s tall, with an athletic body and sandy blond hair. He doesn’t look like a guy who sometimes cries after sex—or used to.

“My gorgeous fiancée.” Neil scoops Chelsea up into his arms and lifts her off the ground. As everyone claps, Chelsea throws her head back and laughs out loud, teeth glinting in the night. She really does love him. It’s easy to see they’re meant for each other. I have no doubt they will make it to the altar after graduation.

After a long kiss, Neil finally puts her down. Taking her hand, they head over to the long, white table covered with food, champagne, and flowers.

The party was supposed to be a surprise for Chelsea from Neil, but Chelsea found an invitation card in Neil’s pocket that let the cat out of the bag. Still, it didn’t take away from the joy she clearly feels tonight. She smiles brightly as people hug them, wishing them well. And then her eyes rest on the two layered, white cake in the center of the table, surrounded by white roses I bought this morning. I catch a tear glinting on her cheek.

All eyes are on Neil and Chelsea, but someone is watching me as well. I turn to my right to find Milton smiling at me, his teeth illuminated by the moon and firelight. His eyes are fixed on my face. He, too, looks different, wearing a crisp, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and black jeans. His hair is shorter and neater as well. The punk guy is nowhere to be seen. For the first time, I find myself thinking he really is handsome.

An unexpected glow flows through me at the open delight in his eyes when he sees me. I smile back and pick up a glass of champagne from a tray that passes by in the hands of a server.

I make my way through the guests, greeting them as I go. A lot of the guys are watching me, but I focus on Milton. It’s clear he’s made an effort.

“Wow.” He breathes out and takes a swig of his cider. “You look amazing. I can’t take my eyes off you.”

“You’re making me blush.” As my face heats up, I avert my gaze for a moment, looking out at sea.

He kisses me on the cheek. “I’m just telling the truth. No girl here is as beautiful as you.”

“You better not say that any louder.” I grin. Since the night he met me with the umbrella, I’ve shared a few coffees with Milton in the university snack bar. I still haven’t agreed to dinner with him, but I’ve also stopped brushing him aside as though he’s a nuisance. I’ve come to appreciate his company; he’s actually a really funny guy. I keep thinking if he didn’t keep hinting at wanting more, we could be really good friends. But once or twice, I’ve also found myself wondering how he might be in bed.

Milton drains his glass and places it on the edge of the drinks table. He reaches out a hand to me. “Can I interest you in a short walk before dinner is served, Ms. Hollifield?”

I gaze at Chelsea and Neil. A woman is handing them each a glass of champagne.

“Looks like they’re getting started with the toasts,” I say. “Let’s wait until they’re over, then I’ll happily join you.”

Not long after the toasts, people are dancing happily on the beach, while other sit at tables, eating grilled meat, fresh bread, and salad. Some of the guests who are old enough to drink are already swaying from too much champagne. Having forgotten about the walk with Milton, I grab a paper plate and fill it with sausages and potato salad, then break away from the crowd. A safe distance from the rabble, I sink onto the soft ground and place my plate on my knees. I eat as I watch the waves rolling onto the beach and then retreating. With my eyes closed, I inhale the fresh, salty air. I long for a swim.

Squeals, laughter, and shouts land on my ears, so I turn to look back at the group. Many of the guests have abandoned their food, and are now peeling off their clothes, running into the sea. Chelsea and Neil are among them. From a distance, Chelsea’s gold bikini sparkles in the night. I have a bikini under my clothes as well, but it’s hard to imagine joining in.

I don’t know how it happens, but a few minutes later, I find myself among the swimmers, allowing the waves to swallow me, spitting salt water from my mouth, pushing my wet hair from my face. The water is gloriously warm and yet refreshing; welcoming and invigorating. I laugh as I dive under the waves, taking deep breaths upon resurfacing. Flipping onto my back, I watch the stars glinting in the night sky. I feel alive and free.

I wish the feeling could last. I know it won’t.

After a long swim that leaves my arms aching, I, along with many others, emerge from the ocean, dripping wet, sand clinging to the soles of my feet, salt drying on my skin. We head back to the party, feeling ravenous again. I realize I’ve forgotten to bring my towel. As I wring the water from my hair, someone hands me one.

I look up into Milton’s eyes, take in his soft smile. His gray eyes are deep and dark, and his own damp hair is clinging to his forehead and scalp. With clothes on he normally looks a little too skinny for my liking, but without a shirt, he’s surprisingly well built—broad shoulders and chest, well-defined arms. Rivulets of water trail down his six pack. I want to look away, but find I can’t. Maybe I really do need some action. For a moment, my heart turns over. Does this mean I’m actually attracted to him?

Blushing, I finally look away and glance at the black towel. “Thanks.” I take it and dry myself off, trying not to focus on the masculine cologne clinging to the fabric. I hand it back to him.

“You’re welcome.” He winks. “Now how about that walk?”

I pull my dress on over my wet bikini. “Sounds good.”

“Perfect.” He tosses the towel to the ground, and we walk side by side along the edge of the water. We don’t get far before he starts talking about going on a date.

“You really don’t give up, do you?” My lips twitch in a smile. He must really like me to be this persistent. Surely, if all he wants is sex, he can easily get it anywhere. I know for a fact there are several girls on campus who’d love to get him into bed.

“Not when it comes to you.” He places a hand on my arm and brings me to a stop, then moves closer and places the other on my waist. I don’t move away. “Come on, Ivy. One date. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“If I say yes, will you tell me where it is you intend on taking me?” I take a step back and his hands drop to his sides again.

“Allow me to surprise you.” He pauses and drops his voice. “Actually, how about I cook you dinner?”

“At the dorms?”

“Nope. I have a friend who owns a restaurant. I’ll ask to use his kitchen. Only the best for you.”

“You can cook?”

“I happen to be the son of a well-known chef in Serendipity, Wisconsin. Everything I know I learned from him.” His voice is sexy and smooth as it glides over the sound of the crashing waves.

“Okay.” I raise my hands in surrender. “You win, Milton. But only one date. And you better be a good cook.”

“Are you serious?” His mouth drops open. “You’ll go out on a date with me?”

“Yeah.” I gaze out at sea. “If it will stop you from bugging me.”

Before I can stop him, he plants a kiss on my lips, then punches the air in triumph. “Jackpot!”