He left the Rumi book on the bedside table. For a self-proclaimed non-reader, I am impressed that he has respected the spine of the book by leaving it open face-down. He is in the bathroom, done showering, but I can’t help but pick up the book to check to see if it looks read. He hasn’t said anything since I gave it to him—which is fine—it’s hard to talk about poetry. You get it or you don’t. I can tell immediately that every page has been looked at. Flipping through it, I see that he has underlined many sentences from the introduction by the translator, and earmarked one page.

I hear him talking in the bathroom, probably on the phone. I have to see what page he earmarked. I flip to it and see that it’s my favorite poem, a tiny one. “The minute I heard my first love story…” and he wrote on the page: THIS

I put the book back the way it was on the bedside table, smiling and feeling warm all over.

The bathroom door opens, Vince walks out wearing nothing but his swim trunks, looking all shiny and new, and I feel warm all over in a completely different way. But when I hear Charlie’s voice through his phone, I sit up straight and get into Miss Parks-mode. I’m wearing a flimsy sundress over my bikini and need to make sure I don’t accidentally expose too much.

“Show me the room!” Charlie says. Vince turns his phone around to give him a 360 of the room. I wave at Charlie’s little face on the screen. “Oh hey!”

“Morning!”

Vince brings the phone over to me on the bed. His dad’s face pops into view.

“Hey Nina, we could use your help with something.”

“Hi Neil.”

Vince gives me his phone to hold, and immediately slides his hand up my dress, between my legs. I push his hand away.

“Charlie here is going to his friend’s birthday party this afternoon and we haven’t got her a present yet. He wants to get her a book. Thoughts? She’s eight.”

“Oh Charlie, is this the girl who gave you Matilda?”

“Yes.”

“Did you finish reading it?”

“Yeah, I liked it.”

“Well, maybe you should give her one of your favorite books.”

“She’s already read Harry Potter.”

“Okay, what else do you like? What other books do you re-read when you get the chance?”

“Holes, Phantom Tollbooth, I guess.”

“Great books! I love Holes but since I don’t know the girl it might be a little dark for her. You should get her Phantom Tollbooth and then you can talk about it.”

Vince is snickering and Neil rolls his eyes.

“I think you should talk to your girlfriend about holes.”

“Oh my God,” I punch his bicep. “You dork.”

“She’s not my girlfriend!”

“Where’s Gabe when you need him.”

“Okay, we gotta go to the bookstore. Thanks Nina. Have fun you guys. Stay outta trouble.”

“Not a chance.”

“Have fun at the party, Charlie!”

Vince ends the call and tosses the phone away before I can stop him from pulling off my dress, my lukewarm complaints about how we have to get out to enjoy the sun and let housekeeping clean the room go ignored.

It took another hour to get out of the hotel room, because we both had to ensure that the other was thoroughly covered in sunscreen. My body has never felt so adored and attended to, and seeing the man that Eve referred to as “Mr. Seriously Sexy” behave like an insatiable teenager at times, is flattering to say the least.

The resort is fully-booked, so it is not surprising to find that all of the recliners around the pools are taken by the time we circle the area. I notice about fifty different women of all ages—moms and grandmas, women on their honeymoons—checking out the delicious man I’m holding hands with. I do not blame them. He looks super fine in his swim trunks, tank top and aviators.

“Let’s go down to the waterfront. There’s a beach, right?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Hang on, I wanna get a picture of us with this view. Look at that. It’s gorgeous here.”

It really is. It’s a beautiful day, and the location of this resort, in the Adirondacks, on the lake, is perfect. It’s hard to believe I made these reservations for me and Russell. He probably would have insisted on spending the days seeking out antiques and dining. And I would have made myself believe that I like it.

I feel self-conscious when Vince holds up his camera to take a picture of us. This is the first time we’ve taken an “usie” together. He leans in, cheek pressed up against mine, and takes three shots. He looks at the pictures. “Damn. We look good together.”

I almost burst into tears, because, damn, we do look good together. He texts me the pictures, and I try to ignore the sinking feeling that those will one day be the only evidence of our summer together. I shake it off, and let him lead me down to the beach, where there are slightly fewer people, for some reason.

“Why would anyone want to sit around a pool when they could be by the lake?” he says.

“I have no idea.”

We place our towels and things on two side-by-side patio lounge chairs and look out at the lake.

“You want to go in the water?”

“Not yet, let’s get some sun first.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

He lays back and closes his eyes.

It isn’t anywhere near as humid here as it is in the city now, and I love it. I find myself wondering if we can squeeze in another weekend getaway before the summer is over.

The relative quiet is suddenly disturbed when a woman squeals as a man picks her up and hangs her over his shoulder then drops her into the lake. She splashes him before standing up, casually rearranging her tight little bikini over her lady bits.

As they walk back up the beach, I realize they’re heading for the two empty lounge chairs next to mine. They both stare at us as they slow their pace.

It takes my brain about five long seconds to recognize the man as my former fiancé. He looks like a Mad Man-era hot dad in his slim red swim trunks, or a vampire principal from a CW show (you know, the kind that can go out in broad daylight). He is frowning and wrinkling his forehead as he approaches, straining to see me in the sun and also probably formulating a strategy for how to deal with me.

The woman reaches for the towel on the chair next to mine, turning her toned backside to me as she dries off.

I realize my mouth is hanging open. Time has slowed down and I am not aware of anything else in the world except this woman who’s standing next to me.

I have had this image of Sadie the nanny in my mind. There, she is blonde, blue-eyed, buxom, with creamy skin and she smells like strawberries. A sexed-up Julie Andrews. Essentially, the opposite of me (a not sexed-up Julie Andrews)—although I do sometimes smell like strawberries.

The real Sadie is indeed blonde, bleached with hot pink streaks in her hair, a lean lithe yet somehow also curvy body, and an elaborate lower back tattoo that basically looks like an exposed black lace thong. I mean. I could see why guys would find that attractive. But why not just wear a black lace thong? They always end up creeping out of the top of jeans anyway. Wouldn’t it look dumb if she wore patterned boy shorts one day and then the tattoo peeked out behind that? And then I realize: she doesn’t wear underwear. Of course. Why would twenty-two year-old blonde tattooed Sadie wear underwear? Therein lies the main difference between Sadie and me. You take one look at her and start obsessing about her underpants situation, you take one look at me and you think: “I bet she’s really good at reading Captain Underpants books out loud.”

I feel sick. It’s not a judgment on Sadie, it’s the insidious realization that the two men that I’ve most recently had sex with have also recently had sex with this super sexy sexbot. I had somehow managed not to think about it for thirty glorious seconds and now I can’t imagine ever not thinking about it. I don’t have self-esteem issues, but let’s get real here: I could totally understand why a man would want to procreate with me, because obviously I will be an amazing mom, but why would anyone want to have recreational sex with me after doing it with her? That must be like going from snorting cocaine to drinking a warm can of Coke. There’s no way Vince wanted to have sex with me for any reason other than revenge. It doesn’t make sense.

As he towels off, Russell says, as casually as if he were greeting a stranger: “Hello, Nina.”

Sadie turns her head to look at me just as Vince raises himself up on one elbow, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand.

“Vince?” Her voice is deep and Slavic. Also not what I expected. “What the fuck?”

“Shit,” he says, under his breath. He sits up and reaches for my hand.

“Wait, what?” Russell’s voice remains ostensibly calm, but I can see and hear the tension. “What’s going on here?”

I refuse to feel like a couple of kids who have been caught fooling around under the bleachers, because that is the tone he’s using right now.

“Hello, Russell,” I say. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Wait, so…That’s your Nina?” Sadie says to Russell. “That’s my Vince.”

“Not anymore,” Vince says, squeezing my hand.

Russell holds his hand up in the air. “What is happening here?”

“Not much, what’s happening with you?” Vince removes his sunglasses and looks Russell straight in the eyes.

“Nina, did you follow us here?”

“Are you kidding me? Did you follow us? Because I made reservations like three months ago, you can ask the front desk.”

Russell’s jaw tightens, but his shoulders relax. “Well, so did I.”

A look passes between us, barely anything, but we silently realize that we both made surprise reservations for our three-year anniversary here.

“Imagine that,” I say.

“So…wait,” says Sadie, dramatically rubbing her temples. “So you guys are together? How did that happen?”

“It’s really none of your business,” mutters Vince.

“You sure about that? Because it seems like it has a lot to do with me and Russell. Don’t you think, Russ?”

Russ? He doesn’t let anyone call him ‘Russ.’ He is so not a Russ.

He considers before responding, and then comes up with this jewel: “I think it’s their business how they choose to deal with things.”

Vince guffaws. “Wow. You really are a principal.”

“Okay,” says Sadie. “Okay. Whatever. So you guys are together and you’re here and we’re here. Okay. Hi, I’m Sadie,” she says to me, extending her hand.

I shake her hand. “Nice to meet you, Sadie. I’m Nina.”

Vince and Russell just stare each other down and I feel like I’m in Call of the Wild for a second.

“So anyway. Good to see you, Vince.” Sadie sits down at the edge of the lounge chair and proceeds to towel-dry her hair. “How’s Charlie?”

“Fine. He’s great, actually.”

“I miss him.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I bet he doesn’t even remember me.”

“He remembers you. He missed you for like a week, but he’s okay.”

“I wish he had a phone so I could text him.”

“Yeah, well. He’s eight.”

“Right. God forbid a Devlin man should keep in touch with a girl.”

“Right. That’s the point.”

“We should probably get back to the room,” says Russell, folding up his towel.

“Yeah, hey Babe?” she says to Russ. “When’s our dinner reservation for? Seven?”

“Yes.”

“You guys should join us. We got a table at the restaurant here, out on the deck.”

“I’m sure they have other plans, Babe,” says Russell.

“Not for dinner,” someone says, and I am shocked to realize that it is Vince. “Right, Baby? We’d love to join you guys, thanks.”

I feel Vince tighten his grip on my hand, briefly. “Sure, why not,” I mumble.

“Cool. It’ll be good to catch up, clear the air and all that, yeah?” She picks up her flip-flops and starts to walk away with Russell. “See you there at seven!”

When they are out of sight, Vince lays back and covers his face, laughing. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Why did you say ‘yes?’”

He sits back up and takes my hands in his. “If you don’t want to go we won’t go. That guy was just so uncomfortable I couldn’t help it.”

“Vince. I still have to work with him every day starting in September. He’s my supervisor.” I feel sick again. And suddenly angry. Not at them—at Vince. “Is this still all about getting back at Russell for you?”

He seems genuinely shocked by this question. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

“Yes, I’m asking you, instead of wondering about it silently to myself until I throw up.”

“Nina. It hasn’t been about that since I met you. It’s definitely not about that now. I just don’t like the guy and I wanted to piss him off. I have a thing about principals. Baby, I’m sorry. We don’t have to go to dinner with them. We can leave if you want to.” He rubs his lips together, thinking. “I can try to find another resort around here. I know a guy who owns a resort at Lake Placid. It’s not as nice as this, but…”

“No, I like it here. I don’t want to leave. They should leave.”

“I agree.” He moves over to my lounge chair and wraps his arms around me. “Come on. Don’t you think it would be fun? They’re the weirdest fucking couple ever and we’re amazing.”

“Yeah, but…I just don’t want to make this about them.” I also don’t want you looking at Sadie and remembering how awesome it is to fuck her.

“Nothing’s about them. Everything’s about us. Come on, it’ll be fun. If it’s not we’ll leave.”

I wrinkle my nose. “It is so weird seeing them together.”

“Right? But what’s weirder is seeing you and him together. I mean, Sadie’s got daddy issues, but you?...”

“I know. I’m not going to explain it again, it just made sense when it made sense.”

He kisses my shoulder, then wipes his mouth because sunscreen doesn’t taste good. He puts his aviators back on and rests his hand on my thigh. I stare at his beautiful face. I love that face. I want that face all up in my face. When he looks over at me, I can tell he’s feeling the exact same rush as I am, all of a sudden.

“Is it just me or are you also feeling super horny right now?”

“Race you back to the room.” He hops up, and we speed-walk past families and other couples. “Felt good being outside for a minute, though. This is a special place.”

“Yeah I’m really glad we came.”