August 3 — Horseshoe crab
Her sisters had gone inside, which left the two of us to go for a beach run. About a mile down the Hilton Head coast there was a small rock cropping where the beach curved to the left. Almost no beachgoers had wandered past these rocks, and when we passed them we threw ourselves into the surf with reckless, flirtatious abandon. I held her in my arms and we swayed in the swells as the undertow gently pulled us north. We started talking about the rhythms of nature — tides, lunar cycles, the seasons, the rising and setting of the sun. After a few minutes the conversation idled into a contemplative silence.
“I think I would be really happy if your lips were the only ones I kissed for the rest of my life,” I said, and kissed her.
“Yeah, I think I would really really like that,” she said, and kissed me back.
