“Because I’m such a prude?”
He looks startled. “No, that isn’t … Why do you keep doing that?”
I roll my eyes. “Please. I know what people think about me. I get it. I don’t goof off. I take things too seriously. But I’m not a total killjoy, either.” I swallow, finding it suddenly impossible to hold his gaze. I don’t say it out loud, but this is actually one of my biggest fears. That, in reality, I am a total killjoy. And these arguments sound defensive even in my own head, and I realize I’m biting the inside of my cheek to keep from blurting something rude right back at him. Maybe if you’d ever showed up on time to class you could have taken five seconds to get to know me, rather than just asking what you missed and copying off my notes. “I know I can be intense. I know I’m not … silly or flirtatious or whatever, but—”
“Okay, stop!” Quint leans over the table. “You just put, like, a zillion words in my mouth that I didn’t say. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was a hitting a nerve here.”
“You did not hit a nerve.”
“Prudence.” He looks bewildered. “Ten minutes ago you almost took off my head for suggesting you were having fun while singing karaoke. Here. Just, give me a second.” He takes out his cell phone and types something into it. “‘Prudent. Adjective. Acting with or showing care and thought for the future.’” He turns the phone so I can see the definition from dictionary.com. “You care about stuff. Yeah, you take things seriously. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
I swallow, feeling simultaneously embarrassed and … strangely flattered.
“Anyway,” he says, putting away the phone. “It’s better than being named for a surly old sea captain.”
“Sea captain?”
“Yeah. Quint.” He eyes me speculatively. “Captain Quint?”
I shake my head.
“The shark hunter from Jaws?”
I shrug.
“Hold on. You’ve never seen Jaws?”
“Hold on. Your marine-animal-loving mom named you after a shark hunter?”
“My question first.”
I give him an exasperated look, then swing my arm in the direction of the boardwalk. “No, I’ve never seen Jaws. We live on the beach. I’m already afraid of sharks. Why would I make it worse?”
He drags a hand through his hair. “Exactly! We live on the beach! It’s like the best beach-town movie of all time!”
“No, thank you. I’m good.”
“I do not accept that. It’s a classic. You have to see it.”
“I do not have to see it. My life is perfectly satisfactory as it is.” I thump my palm on the stack of papers. “Also, are we going to get back to this discussion sometime today, or did you just lure me here for the nachos?”
“Speaking of.” Quint points at the plate, of which he’s devoured at least two-thirds. “Are you buying? Because if not, I might need that twenty dollars back.”
I make an annoyed sound, but Quint immediately starts laughing again. “I’m joking. I’ve got this. I’ll get your banana things, too.”
“How generous. Of course, you did eat most of them.”
His eyes twinkle. “Okay. Where did we leave off?”
I try to think back to our conversation. We covered bake sales and social media …
Quint snaps his fingers. “Have you ever been snorkeling?”
I stare at him. Clearly he’s just trying to irritate me at this point.
“Snorkeling?”
“Yeah. You know, with the tube and the goggles—”
“I know what snorkeling is. And no, I haven’t. What does that have to—”
“That’s what I figured. Let’s go. Today. You probably don’t have a swimsuit with you?”
His eyes travel down the top of my dress—not in a creepy way, but still, he does seem to realize the implication and quickly snaps his focus back up to where it belongs.
“No, I don’t have a swimsuit with me, and no, I am not going snorkeling. Did I not just tell you that I’m afraid of sharks?”
He snorts. “You know what the chances are of getting attacked by a shark?”
“Twelve people die every year!” I spout, recalling the statistic from that poster at the center.
“Out of how many billion people on the planet?”
I point toward the beach. “Yeah, but how much do your odds increase when you actually go swimming in water with sharks in it?”
“Prudence, I will protect you from the sharks.”
A bellow of a laugh escapes me. “Thank you. I was, in fact, hoping for a show of chauvinism.”
His eyebrows shoot upward. “I prefer chivalry, but go on.”
“Is this because you were named after a shark hunter?”
“You’re changing the subject. I’m serious. How