I coast along the seawall and am effortlessly happy. Sundress, moccasins, and my hair still damp from showering after my run.

I text Russell my assessment of the sunset; we’ve developed a rating system. He tells me to wait, that he’ll be right out.

And there we are again, nestled up against each other, our backs to a warm, rough log. We talk for a bit. He pulls out a sleeping bag and we lay back and look up at the sky. His voice is close to my ear, and I revel in its tambour. We make out for a long while. Our bodies tangled up with each other, heady and impassioned, my toes dug into the cool sand.

“I wish the city would disappear,” I say quietly.

“I can see this, you and me pressed together on the beach, becoming a regular thing for us in the summers.”

I sleep in my own bed. Learning to pace this all, to pace myself. Time is abundant.

I wake to raindrops falling on my face through the open window. The gentle cool drops like kisses on my forehead. The air inside is exactly the same as outside, and it feels like summer camping.

And again, as I’m lying there in a state of well-slept bliss, Russell messages me and invites me over for brunch. And also to go climbing outdoors with him and his friends on Sunday. I gulp. Meet his friends.

I never want this to end. This time in my life.

Being myself. Being free. Being happy.

I fill my backpack with mangoes and strawberries, pull on my rain boots.

Something this going to happen today. I just know it.