Huffily, I resigned myself to shampooing my hair. Minutes later, when I felt the waft of cold air from the shower curtain being pulled back, I jumped.

“Jesus,” I gasped. “I thought you were—”

“My mother, coming in to soap your back?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Get in here.” I grabbed his arm to pull him in. Finally, things were getting back to the way they belonged: steamy.

But Mike looked around, as if his family could see us alone in the bathroom.

“I can’t,” he said. “I have to help my parents unload the car. Mom was hoping we could all have dinner.”

“Dinner?” I said. Dinner chez Diana’s was so not part of the plan. I needed alone time with Mike to gear up for our big week. “What about the lake?”

Mike took the loofah out of my hand, turned my body around with one deft movement of his wrist, and started lathering my shoulder.

“Don’t change the subject,” I moaned.

“We can’t exactly get out of it,” Mike said. “I’ll take you out in the boat after dinner.”

I whipped my head around. “Just the two of us?”

“On a school night,” he winked.

“Ooh,” I smiled. “What will Mother think?”

Clean enough and appropriately attired in the tennis dress Mike had even laid out for me on the bed — what, did he think I was going to wear the teddy to dinner? — I tromped down the hardwood stairs.

Through the French windows, I could see Mr. and Mrs. King relaxing on the terrace facing the glittering water at the west end of the Cove. Diana was cross-legged in her navy-blue skirt suit, reading the paper and sipping her token glass of Viognier. Her frosted hair was gathered in a low bun at her neck and, as ever, her foundation was flawless. Mike’s father, Phillip, who carried visible stress in every part of his body — and who Mike took after in looks alone — had his brow furrowed and was shouting into his cell phone. The toe of his polished leather dress shoe was making rushed circles in the air.