Free I Now Pronounce You Someone Else by Erin McCahan Page A

cottage,” I said.
    “Anything else?”
    “This sweatshirt.”
    “I feel so cheap.”
    We laughed.
    “You know,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning close to me. “We’re missing the sunset.”
    He pushed a piece of my hair off my face that the wind had blown across it. He tucked it behind my ear and traced his finger along my cheek.
    “Isn’t that better?” he whispered.
    “Better,” I could barely manage to say, and he kissed me.
    At last I felt the gentle pressure of his mouth against mine, his soft, warm lips and tender tongue. His hand lingered on my cheek and neck. I had no idea where my hands were—where the rest of me was—while minutes passed. Finally, Jared leaned back a little and looked into my eyes and called me beautiful. Quite spontaneously—happily, though—I began to cry. Again! With his thumb, he pushed a tear out of the way.
    “You’re like no one I’ve ever met, Bronwen,” he said. “I’m falling in love with you, you know.”
    “I know,” I said.
    “Should I?”
    “Should you?”
    “Fall completely?” he asked.
    “I have,” I whispered.
    “Have you?” he asked.
    And I thought a moment, really considered it, looking at him, his eyes—those beautiful eyes gently searchingmine. It hadn’t been three months, but this time, I knew—this was different.
    “Yes,” I said. “I love you.”
    And a smile, his smile just for me, slowly spread across his lips.
    “I love you, Bronwen.”
    And we kissed until the orange glow of the horizon cooled to an inky blue.
    That became our spot, and we kissed our way through the next two sunsets. We stole other kisses throughout the day when we thought no one was looking—swimming, back at the cottage, in the morning outside our rooms.
    “You guys are so cute,” Spence said one morning, startling us as he walked out of his room and started downstairs.
    “So are you,” Jared said.
    “I try.”
    We swam in the Lake all day every day and made bonfires every night and cooked dinner together—burgers, steaks; I lost two pounds—and stayed up too late playing games. The weekend passed in a delirium of sun, water, sunsets, and kisses. Mrs. Sondervan and Lauren even took to kissing my cheek good night—a real kiss, sideways and a peck, but not faked. Not air kisses. Not here.
    Mr. Sondervan swam a little in the Lake and splashed around some with Lauren and Jared. They threw a spongy kind of ball around and cheered one another’s goodthrows and acrobatic catches. One afternoon, I lost myself just watching, taken back at once to memories of my dad, Whitt, different beach, same Lake, different family.
    Entirely different family.
    My dad took us to the beach every weekend in the summer, where he taught us to swim and tirelessly played with us for hours in the water, where he kissed Mother’s cheek as she sunbathed and called her You Gorgeous Thing, which made her blush.
    We only went to the beach a few times after he died. It just wasn’t the same for a while.
    And then came Whitt. He loved the beach the way my dad loved the beach, and he made it fun again, and he nearly made us a Real Family again, doing the beach things Real Families do. He swam with Peter and me, threw a spongy ball with us, helped me build sand castles. He took walks down the shore with us and often held Mother’s hand and sometimes held mine. He insisted on sunscreen for me and made a game of pretending to forget my nose. He carried all the heavy beach accessories—chairs, umbrella—and taught Peter to do the same.
    I sat on my towel between the Sondervans’ cottage and the Lake, looking out over the water, seeing Jared and his sister and his dad but not seeing them. Seeing the clear horizon, two white dots of sailboats, and shades of blue and my dad and Whitt and don’t forget my nose.
    “Hey,” Jared said, a little breathlessly.
    I looked up at him, silhouetted by the sun that I squinted into. He dried himself quickly with a towel, then spread it next to