The world felt right for once. They were anchored to the sand, to the earth, to the wind and sun and sky; there was no gender, no internet, no timelines—just skin and muscle and salt.
London could feel Dahlia folding herself into them, somehow, wrapping her hands around the back of their neck, her body inching as close as it was possible to be. It felt natural to hold her in this way, to become extensions of each other. Their body felt good, holding hers. God, Dahlia felt so good.
After an indeterminate amount of time, Dahlia’s tongue disappeared from their mouth and London exhaled, their head drooping as Dahlia planted kisses along their jawline, up, up, until she sucked their earlobe into her mouth.
A strangled sound escaped London’s lips.
Against every instinct, they broke away.
London and Dahlia stood staring at each other, cheeks flushed and mouths hanging slightly open, breathing heavily, while the waves crashed against the surf. London could feel the pulse of the sea in their chest, like they were connected, the force of the ocean pounding in an incessant rhythm against their rib cage, primal and wild.
They took another deep breath and wrung their hands through their hair.
The transcendent moment of peace and lust of mere seconds earlier began to shatter, reality smashing back into London’s brain. Was this a pity kiss? Dahlia had read the mean things people were saying on the internet and dragged them to this beautiful place to try to make them feel better? And plus—
“Dahlia, are you straight?”
They had been trying to puzzle it out for a while now, but this kiss, the way she’d touched them—it was too much.
All they knew about Dahlia was that she had been married. To a dude.
Which, of course, didn’t necessarily mean anything. But they also knew they were pretty masculine presenting, and . . . well, London didn’t know anything, really, just then. Except for the fact that they knew they couldn’t be some kind of experiment or fetish for her. They wouldn’t survive it.
London wanted to explain all this. But Dahlia had just kissed them, and they had lost the ability to form at least eighty-five percent of the words they knew were in their vocabulary somewhere.
Dahlia looked at them, her eyes as clear and true as ever.
“Oh,” she said. “London, no. I’m queer.” She paused. “I . . . I guess I haven’t mentioned that before.”
London had to close their eyes. This was what they had wanted to hear, but irrationally, they felt like punching something. They wanted to grunt at Dahlia louder than they had ever grunted. “Nope.”
“I’m sorry.” She bit her lip, looking almost nervous now. “Although, I’ve only ever been with David. Before . . . ” She waved a hand between them. “You’re the only person I’ve ever even kissed other than David. Which . . . might be embarrassing. But I’ve known since college that . . . yeah, that I’m not straight.”
Dahlia took a breath before stepping toward them again. She reached for them, but then apparently thought better of it, sticking her hands in the back pockets of her shorts.
“London,” she said, at the same time that London said, “Dahlia.”
She looked up at them. “You first.”
“This isn’t a good idea.”
It was the worst sentence that had ever twisted out of their mouth, this sentence. They watched as it deflated Dahlia’s face, before she looked down and away from them, stubbing the top of her sandal into the sand. London’s skin wanted to physically repel the words, take them back. They wanted to throw her down on the beach and never let her go.
Instead, they said, “You haven’t been with anyone since your divorce; I haven’t been with anyone since I came out as nonbinary. That’s messy enough. But more than that, Dahlia . . . one of us could go home next week. And I can’t . . .”
Now London looked down at the sand.
“Yeah,” they heard Dahlia say, just barely, over the wind, her voice sounding so small that London could disintegrate into dust, right here. Disappear with the tide.
I can’t, they wanted to say, because even after that one kiss, I don’t know if I can stand to be around you anymore. Because if you kiss me again, I will literally never be able to stop. I will take you right on this beach, I will consume you until I know every inch of you. Once I start with you, I won’t be able to stop. I need you in a way that can’t be temporary.
Dahlia turned away from them, and she stared out at the sea.
London watched her profile, barely breathing.