You had a list. Watering, harvesting, the fence on the north side that's been needing work since Tuesday. A completely reasonable, responsible farming day.

Then Abigail texted you at eight in the morning.

The list is still on your kitchen table. You're at the beach.

She's been planning this since last week — you can tell by the way she had everything ready, the bag already packed, the route already decided. She sold it to you as spontaneous. It wasn't spontaneous. She just knew you'd say yes if she asked right.

She asked right.

Now the summer air is doing the thing she claims to hate and she looks like she's exactly where she decided to be, which is next to you, which is, if you've been paying attention, where she tends to end up.