“We moved on from that,” Tom said, blinking at me a few times. “Now we’re watching the James Bond movies.”

I looked from him to Clark, hoping for an explanation. “Why?”

“Well,” Clark said, pushing himself off the couch and coming over toward me, “we were talking about whether it was fundamentally wrong for a Brit to play Batman.”

“He’s the closest thing we American actors,” Tom said, clearly including himself in this group, “have to a classic part. He’s our Hamlet.”

“And then we were talking about how they’d never cast an American to play Bond.”

“Who’s they?” I asked, feeling like I didn’t have time for this, with four dogs waiting in the car.

“So we started watching them,” Tom finished, like this was the only logical explanation. “In order.”

“Shouldn’t you really be watching the Supermans?” I asked, then paused. “Supermen?”

“See, it’s hard,” Clark said.

“I wanted to,” Tom said, pointing in Clark’s general direction. “It’s not often you get a real live Clark in your midst. Especially one wearing glasses.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“But then we remembered that Superman is kind of lame.”

“Bond versus Superman,” Clark said, looking over at Tom, then stopping to yawn hugely. “Who wins?”

“Which Bond?”

“Which Superman?” Clark countered.

“Have either one of you slept?” I asked. Bertie trotted around the corner, and I saw my opportunity and grabbed him by the collar.

“Sleep is overrated,” Tom said, yawning as well.

“I’ve got to take him out,” I said, stumbling a few steps behind Bertie, who was whining and stretching toward the door.

“I’ll call you later,” Clark said, giving me a quick kiss, and even though he looked exhausted—his hair was sticking up all over the place and his eyes were bleary behind his glasses—he also looked really happy.

“Sure,” I said, giving his hand a squeeze. “We’ll talk then.”

And while I was glad that Clark had found someone to discuss all the different Doctors Who with, I realized I was also happy for Tom. Watching them crack each other up was making me realize that I hadn’t ever seen him with a guy friend before.

“I think they’re coming in,” Toby said now, her voice going immediately more high-pitched as she dug in her bag and emerged with a lip gloss. She uncapped it, then squinted out to the water, where Clark and Tom were starting to swim in with their boards. “Oh. Never mind. It’s just Tark.”

I rolled over on my side to face her, already shaking my head. “Please don’t give them a nickname.”

“I think it’s catchy,” Bri said. “It sounds kind of badass.”

“You have to admit, it’s better than Clom,” Palmer said, lowering her sunglasses. That had been Toby’s first attempt, and I had done my best to quash it.

“It’s not about what the nickname is,” I said, even though Clom had been pretty awful. “Why are you giving them one at all? Why not one with my name and Clark’s?” All my friends looked at me at once, and I focused on smoothing out the wrinkles on my towel.

“Hold the phone,” Palmer said, sitting up straight and looking at me. “You’re really in a couples-nickname kind of a place?”

“I didn’t read anything about hell freezing over today,” Toby said, shaking her head.

“I’ll check online,” Bri added.

“Never mind,” I said, hoping by now I’d gotten tan enough so they couldn’t tell I was blushing.

“Candie,” Toby pronounced triumphantly, and I made a face.

“Ark?” Bri supplied.

I shook my head. “Just forget it,” I said. “I shouldn’t have . . . um . . .” I lost total track of whatever I’d been about to say next, because Clark emerged from the water and started walking toward me, and all ability to verbalize left my head.

I had made it clear to Clark early on that all we would be doing was kissing. He’d been a little taken aback, but seemed okay with it. And for the most part, that was all that had been happening. All our clothes had stayed put, so today was the first day I’d actually seen that Clark was in way better shape than writers of fantasy novels were supposed to be, as far as I’d been led to believe.

“Shouldn’t have what?” Toby asked, then saw what I was looking at. “Oh.”

“I know,” I said, trying not to stare, but then giving up on that immediately. Clark’s arms were muscular, his abs were defined, and his shoulders were much broader than I’d realized, now that they were out in the open and not hidden under one of his T-shirts. I was suddenly rethinking my clothes policy.

Clark and Tom walked up to our spot and tossed their boards down onto the sand, both of them talking fast, overlapping each other. “Not cool, man,” Tom said, brushing his wet hair back. “You can’t just knock someone into the water like that. I could have died.”

“How could you have died?” Clark asked, laughing.

“Lots of ways,” Tom said, “like if I’d inhaled water . . . or if there had been a jellyfish . . .” He trailed off, then turned to his girlfriend. “Palmer?”