It’s three p.m. and my feet are planted firmly on the ground, my toes digging into the sand, but I’m floating. Since Chelsea’s engagement party, I’ve been coming to the beach often in search of peace. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t. Today, three days before the end of term, my stomach is a bundle of nerves.

The wind grabs my hair, wraps it around my neck, and glues it to my glossed lips. My heart is racing. No amount of deep breathing or positive self-talk is helping at all.

I step over a neglected red flip-flop and force myself to focus on the sounds of the waves, desperately needing them to drown out the voices inside my head. They only get louder.

Seagulls cry from somewhere in the distance, the squawking sounds breaking through my thoughts. I follow the sound with my gaze, but I do not see them. Raking a hand through my hair, I sink to the ground and wrap my arms around my knees. I rock back and forth, dreading my date with Milton this evening.

When I agreed to go on a date with him, I was so sure I could handle it, that I’d be able to leave Judson behind and focus on someone else for a couple of hours. Now I feel like an animal about to be taken to slaughter. I’m so not ready. I don’t see a future, near or far, with Milton. I don’t see the evening going beyond a kiss, if that. When he kissed me last time, I felt nothing. I don’t expect that to change just because he’s cooked me a meal in a romantic setting.

I’m leading him on by promising him something I cannot deliver. There’s no way I’ll be able to give him my full attention when I’m thinking about Judson, wondering every second whether he’s okay, if he’s killed himself. I haven’t read anything in the news concerning his death, but I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I spend thirty minutes on the beach, inhaling suntan lotion and brine, but I don’t come any closer to feeling better. The knot in my stomach refuses to unravel. I won’t cancel the date with Milton, but as soon as I see him, I’ll be honest: I’ll tell him once and for all that I don’t see us becoming more than friends. After that, he can decide whether he wants to continue with the evening he’s planned, or call it off. It would be cruel to let him put so much effort into an evening that’s going to hell.

When I finally stand, the sky has clouded over and it’s drizzling softly. The few people who were on the beach when I arrived have disappeared, leaving me alone with nature. With eyes closed, I turn my face up to the sky, allowing the fine drops of rain to mist my face for a few minutes. Then I turn around and head back to the dorms.

In my room, I glance at my phone screen. A missed call from Milton. I don’t call back, but glance at the time. Quarter to four. Plenty of time to get ready.

I had initially planned on wearing a sexy black dress with a lace trim, but now, as I open my wardrobe, my hands move past the dress and wrap around an ivory lace crop top.

After a long, hot shower, I don the top with skinny jeans and camel wedges. No makeup, no jewelry.

My phone beeps and I pick it up off the couch. A text message from Milton.

A car will be waiting for you at the gate.

The back of my hand swipes at the sweat beading on my brow. Crap. He is really trying to impress me. I can’t let him spend money hiring a car. Taking a deep breath, I write back.

I don’t need a car. Send me the address and I’ll be there.

He writes back instantly.

No, you deserve the best. See you soon.

My fingers are tight around my phone as I draw in deep breaths. There’s no way he’ll take my rejection well.

I’m still holding the phone when it rings. This time Chelsea is on the other end, sounding breathless.

“It’s almost time, isn’t it? Are you excited?” Over the past few days, Chelsea has been more excited about my date than I could ever hope to be. She even went as far as discussing birth control with me, and how it will feel to have sex for the first time. I’m already on the pill, but only because it eases my killer menstrual cramps. I have no intention whatsoever of sleeping with Milton tonight. Or ever.

The phone is glued to my ear as I step into the bathroom and reach for my boar bristle brush. “I don’t know, Chelsea. I think I’m making a mistake.”

“You have to relax. The guy isn’t going to propose. Go ahead and let your hair down for a change.”

“I’ll try.” I put Chelsea on speaker so I can use both hands. I run the brush through my hair and let it tumble down my back. Instead of leaving it that way, I pull it into a ponytail.

“Anyway, I’ll call later to find out how it went.”

Chelsea drops the phone before I can tell her that Milton has rented a car to pick me up. It’s probably for the best she doesn’t know; her excitement would be too much to handle.

Fifteen minutes before my date, I should have already gone downstairs, but instead I switch on my computer to check my email. Nothing important, just messages from some classmates, arranging to meet up for drinks before the holidays. Since letting go of Judson, I’ve made a few more friendly connections with some students in my year. They finally treat me like one of them instead of a runaway model.

At five on the dot, I pick up my purse and walk out the door.

As I walk down the path, I glance in the direction of the beach. The sun has sunk lower in the sky. Soon it will be nothing but a glow on the horizon. I long to go back down to the water, but there is no way out of this date. I glanced down at the edge of the path, admiring the daisies that frame it. Someone’s folded navy cap is trapped in the bushes behind the flowers. I look up when I hear the distant sound of a car.

My throat dries up the closer I come to the gate. My legs want to stop walking, but I don’t let them. Milton has gone to too much trouble for me to leave him hanging at the last second.

I finally step out of the gate. I exit it completely before I see the car, parked almost a block away.

I come to a screeching halt on the sidewalk as I stare open-mouthed at the black limousine.

“How the hell…” I swallow hard, my throat parched. How in the world can Milton afford to hire a limousine? No way. There has to be a mistake. This can’t be the car he sent for me. I pull my gaze from it and study the street, in search of another, much cheaper hired car, maybe a taxi. Not many other cars are parked here, and they all look unoccupied.

A woman in a sarong, holding on to a dog’s leash, stares at the limousine. A little girl of about two years points at it before the man holding her hand picks her up and places her in a stroller.

As I stand there, still waiting for what I believe to be the right car and digging in my bag for my phone, a smooth honk comes from the limousine. My head snaps up. The driver’s door opens, but instead of the driver stepping out, a hand stretches out, beckoning for me to approach the vehicle.

My knees weaken as I walk toward the limousine. Well, if Milton can afford to pay for a car like this, maybe he has some hidden fortune no one knows about. He said his father was a well-known chef.

I hold my breath as I walk closer. I look around but the few people who had been on the street are gone.

The driver’s door opens wider, and a man with a full black-and-gold chauffeur uniform, complete with a black cap and dark sunglasses, steps out.

“This way, Ms. Hollifield.” He walks around to the sidewalk and ushers me to the passenger door.

“I…” I stare at the car as he opens the door. “There has to be a mistake. Are you sure Milton sent this for me?”

“No mistake.” The man shakes his head gently. He gives off a feeling of familiarity, but I can’t see enough of him to decide whether I’ve met him before. “He’s waiting inside.”

I hesitate, then climb inside the cream leather interior. The door closes behind me. I inhale sharply, the smell of leather and expensive cologne filling my nostrils. I twist my upper body toward Milton.

“Hey, you didn’t…”

But the eyes that stare back at me are not Milton’s.

My heart jumps to my throat, blocking a cry of surprise. I feel dizzy as the man beside me removes the cap he’s wearing.

“Wha—Judson?” He looks distinguished in a dark gray suit; he’s clean-shaven and his hair is teased back from his forehead with gel. His scent intoxicates me.

“It’s me, baby. I promised we’d be together soon, didn’t I?”

“I… I don’t understand…”

He places a finger under my chin, raising it. “You don’t need to. I’m here, and you’re here. That’s all that matters.”

He gives the tinted glass partition in front of us a soft knock, and the car starts moving. He presses another button and a dark, sleek screen rolls up over both our windows, making it impossible to see out.

“Finally, we’re alone.” His face splits into a grin.