“Is there anything you can’t do?” he asks me softly. “I can’t swim,” I remind him. He kisses me again. “I’m glad you’re not mad at me anymore. I’m sorry—I wasn’t trying to be a lurker. It’s just that I’m not used to needing someone. I don’t know how to handle it.” “You weren’t being a lurker. Our circumstances here are extreme. I want you to need me. I don’t ever want you to stop needing me.” He kisses me; my insides warm as if I’m drinking sunshine.
