It's another one of those rare moments where Warren is right; the beach is absolutely breathtaking and I can't help but gape at how blue the Atlantic Ocean is or how white the hot sand beneath my bare feet is.

We would have arrived earlier than two P.M., but Hazel had forgotten that she'd scheduled an appointment at one of the local bakeries to pick out a flavour for her wedding cake. She came careening into our bedroom around eight, waking both of us up. Her intrusion caused Warren to let loose a train of vulgar words that fell in the four-letter category and toss a pillow at her. Hazel apologized for her mistake, but not until after she made a remark about how Warren was acting like a child.

Although I had no interest in sampling different flavours of sickeningly sweet cake, I had no choice but to endure it with Hazel and Greyson.

When I came downstairs, dressed and ready to go, I was surprised to see Greyson up so early, enjoying a hot cup of coffee. The real surprise, however, came just as we were stepping out the front door. With an annoyed look on his face, Warren walked up and declared he was coming with us. He looked like he had just thrown himself together, which only provoked Hazel to tell him to go back upstairs and go to bed. But Warren was insistent, saying that now that he was up, he might as well come.

The bakery we went to was typical: marble countertops, glass cases for display, walls painted a creamy white, and tables and chairs dotting the grey hardwood floor. The lady who worked at the bakery, as it turned out, was Greyson's mom, Shannon. Another surprise because they look nothing alike. While he's tall and dark-haired, she's short with blonde hair, tinged with a grey hue. They look nothing alike, but the one thing that is similar between them is their kindness.

While I didn't get to see the design of the wedding cake, I got to taste several extravagant flavours: red velvet with cream cheese icing, German chocolate cake with a fudge filling and coffee-flavoured icing, white chocolate cake with raspberry icing, lemon cake with lemon buttercream, vanilla cake with a bourbon vanilla icing, coconut and lime, and pink champagne.

They were all so delicious that I could barely vote at the end. The final decision was up to Hazel and Greyson, and the chosen cake ended up being coconut with lime filling and icing. Whether or not Warren's point of argument – that limes and coconuts go better with the nautical theme – had anything to do with it still remains a mystery. All I do know is that Warren walked out of the bakery feeling extra happy.

Now, here we are at the beach; me sitting on my towel and enjoying a can of sparkling water, and Warren basking in the sun while reading...whatever book he's been reading. I still can't comprehend him reading.

We've been here for a couple of hours, enjoying the salty air and heat, but we haven't said much to each other. So little, in fact, that I'm worried I've said something to offend him. And I've been trying to figure out what could have happened earlier. I don't know where the sudden awkwardness has come from, and, for some reason, I don't like it.

Rolling over on my towel, I prop my cheek on my fist and reach out with my free hand to tap him on the shoulder. "What are you going to university for?" I ask. "Other than volleyball."

Warren glances at me through his Ray-Ban sunglasses and then places his bookmark between the pages before setting the book down. He rolls over and removes his sunglasses.

"Master of Land and Water Systems," he replies.

Behind my own sunglasses, I blink in confusion. His response is something I was not expecting. On top of that, I'm unfamiliar with the other programs offered at UBC. "So...is that like some type of science?"

He laughs at my blatant question. "Yeah," he smiles. "I'm basically getting my master's in addressing environmental issues of food security, maintenance of ecological services, restoration of degraded lands, climate change adaptation, and resource conservation."

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Oh, wow," I say. "I never would have expected...Wow."

"Christ, Nova," he says in a mock-offended tone, "way to hide your shock. Just because I'm a man-whore doesn't mean I'm stupid and don't have certain passions besides getting a girl in bed and making epic, steamy love to her."

I jerk up into a sitting position. "Oh my God, Warren. I didn't mean it like that. You just...you..." I drop my face into my hands. "I'm screwing this up. I just never expected you to have interest in something like that. I thought you'd be more like a construction worker or something."

Warren laughs again. "Nova – calm down. I'm joking. It's fine. I would have expected the same thing as you, so don't take it personally. Besides, I shouldn't have expected anything else after all the shit you've heard about me. About probation and all that shit."

I frown. "Wait. What? You were on probation? What happened? How did I not know about this?"

He sits up, gaping at me. "Are you saying you didn't know that I wasn't supposed to be going out and partying on Friday nights? That my scholarship was at risk?"

Shock course through me. How could he be stupid enough to risk something so special by breaking the rules? And what could he have possibly done to deserve being put on probation?

"You know my friend Sven Kingsley?" he asks.

I nod. I've met him I couple of times.

Sighing, Warren scoops up a handful of white sand and watches it run through his fingers. "During grade eleven, back in high school, he associated himself with the wrong crowd. Went through some nasty drug-related shit and an arrest on top of that. Sven managed to clean himself up and stay sober until we moved to Vancouver. Again, he stumbled into the wrong crowd and succumbed to his addiction. East and I eventually found out, so we helped him by getting him into a rehab centre and steering him away from the wrong crowd."

He pauses to pick up another handful of sand. "There was this one night where the three of us decided to hang out downtown at one of the clubs. The night went fine up until we were on the street, heading back to our vehicle. We ran into some of Sven's old friends, and well, let's just say they weren't happy with him."

I'm smart enough to put the pieces together. A fight must have broken out and the cops were called. "I don't see how it's your fault, though," I say. "You guys didn't trigger the fight – the other guys did."

Warren looks at me, shaking his head. "Nova, I started the fight."

My eyes widen.

"One of the guys made a racist comment about East, and I snapped. I'm the reason the cops were called. And, in the midst of all the fighting, someone managed to plant a small plastic bag of cocaine in my pocket. So, after the fight was broken up, we were all searched. I was the only one in possession of illegal drugs and hauled off immediately."

"Oh my God, Warren," I say.

"Thank God for East," he continues. "Somehow, he convinced the police to take a look at the security cameras that had been outside a local store. They managed to catch the real criminal. I was let go, but because I initiated the fight and was mildly intoxicated, the campus was contacted. I was put on probation for the winter semester."

"Warren," I say, taking his hand. "Why didn't you tell me? You...You could have lost your scholarship. Seriously – I would've helped you."

"Christ, Nova," he laughs, lacing his fingers with mine. "You despised me when we met. My story would have made you hate me even more."

I want to protest, but I bite my tongue. He's probably right, to be honest. But rather than admitting that, I say, "That's so unfair to you. You were defending East; you did nothing wrong."

He shrugs. "I didn't think so, either, but when it comes to the law, we have little power in what happens. I'll take probation over being expelled." Warren looks at me. "Would you really have prevented me from going out if you'd known?"

"I would have tried," I reply. "I can understand why you kept going out, though. It was unfair for your privileges to be taken when you didn't do anything wrong. Any person that makes a racist comment deserves to be punished."

"Thanks, Nova," he smiles.

I squeeze his hand in return.

We lapse into a comfortable silence, both gazing at the beautiful view of the ocean and listening to the gulls.

"What about you?" he finally asks. "Why are you in Vancouver?"

"Journalism," I reply. Because I can feel Warren's eyes on me, I keep my gaze focused on the view. I'm scared that, after hearing his story, I'm going to make a decision I'll regret if I make eye contact with him.

"What can you do with that?"

"The options vary," I reply. "It's basically a degree in English. I could write. I could edit. I could even design if I wanted to. I guess it's all going to depend on the job options available when I graduate."

"Well," Warren says, "I think you're going to be fantastic at whatever you do."

Just like any compliment he's given me, it makes my cheeks flush. I want to thank him, but I can't seem to find my voice. So all I do is nod in appreciation.

Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I look in his direction. He's looking directly at me, his dark blue eyes soft and comforting.

"Nova?" he asks.

"Yes?"

"Wanna go for a swim?"

Looking out at the water, I think about the last time we went swimming together and what happened. The blood pumping through my veins is instantly accompanied by a rush of adrenaline.

"I've never been swimming in the ocean," I admit.

"Seriously?" Warren asks.

"Seriously."

"Well," he smiles, standing up. He tosses his sunglasses to the towel, and then leans down, scooping me up like a baby.

I frown, wondering what he's doing as he plucks my sunglasses from my face and throws them downs beside his.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Don't worry, baby," he smirks. "You look hot in that black bikini. Although, I do have to admit that your lacy bra and underwear were pretty damn sexy."

My mouth drops open. "Warren!"

"C'mon, Scotia. I thought you'd be used to my lingo by now."

I roll my eyes. "I guess you still surprise me from time to time."

"Look at it this way," he grins. "At least I'm not boring."

I snort. He's got a point there. Ever since meeting him, my life had been anything but boring. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be in Halifax or meeting new people or having, well, fun.

"I bet I can guess what you're thinking," he says as he walks to the shoreline.

"Is that so?" I muse.

"Uh-huh."

"Then prove it."

He looks down at me, grinning wickedly. My eyes focus in on his lips; the way the left corner of his mouth curves up a little more than his right. And at this moment, I wonder what he would do if I closed the space between us and pressed my lips to his.

"You're thinking about what it would be like to kiss me right now," he whispers.

I feel my cheeks turn a blazing red. "That's not true," I argue.

"Whatever you say," he smirks.