Heather catches herself watching and busies herself with work. Longing crashes in waves, then retreats. A rip current of fantasy. She steals another glance.
Ginny holds the conch to her ear.
“Can you hear the ocean?” Heather asks.
“Kind of. The beach is better.” Ginny moves the shell so Heather can listen.
Heather’s hand finds Ginny’s. The tide shifts.
“We should go to the beach sometime,” Ginny says.
“Together?”
Ginny’s smile answers every unspoken question. “Together.”