He grabs my hand. “Because it doesn’t matter. Because, when all is said and done, we’re just two people. Are we really so different, despite the decades between us?”
My stomach flutters like crazy. It’s almost impossible to meet his gaze. “I guess not.”
He says nothing but keeps his eyes fixed on me. I release a slow breath. “Maybe…it would be okay to meet one more time.”
An irrepressible smile breaks across his face. “Sure. No harm in that.”
“But we have to be careful.”
“Absolutely.”
I puff out a sigh. “I think we’re probably crazy.”
“Crazy’s not always a bad thing,” Lawrence says with a grin. “Let’s meet tomorrow night. After the others settle down for the evening.”
“I can probably do that. What do you have in mind?”
He raises his eyebrow in a mischievous way. “You’ll see.”
I point at him. “If it has anything to do with swimming, I will punch you.”
• • •
Luckily for Lawrence, when I arrive at the beach the next evening, just after sunset, he’s dressed and seems to have no intention of jumping into the ocean. He’s built a small bonfire and set up four green-and-white-striped beach chairs.
“Hello!” he calls as I approach, waving cheesily.
I suddenly feel embarrassed. I got ready like this was a date or something. I put on my cutest jeans, a black tank top, and a chunky beaded necklace. I even curled the ends of my hair. Lawrence looks sharp and slightly fancy, as always, but that’s just how he dresses. Those two other beach chairs make me think he doesn’t intend for this to be romantic though.
“Did you…invite some friends?” I ask, approaching with hesitant steps.
Lawrence follows my gaze to the chairs. “Oh that? No, no, I was just trying to make Ned think I was having some others come tonight. Didn’t want him to get suspicious. You know.”
A twist of pleasure tightens in my stomach. So we will be alone.
“What did you tell your parents?” Lawrence asks, pushing a fresh log onto the fire.
“It was just my stepdad who was home. Frank’s pretty easygoing. I told him I’m taking a walk.”
Lawrence examines me and smiles. “I like your trousers. They’re very avant-garde.”
“Not so much in my time,” I say. “Though they are skinnier jeans than I normally buy.”
“Well, you’re a dish either way.”
The nervous-but-happy feeling crackles inside me again. “Thanks.”
“Have a seat,” he says, motioning to the chairs.
I sit down and Lawrence takes the chair beside me. We’re quiet, both mesmerized by the orange glow of the fire. I guess first-date awkwardness transcends time. I cross my legs, searching for some shred of conversation.
“So, are we going to roast some marshmallows?”
Lawrence grins. “Sure. If you want.”
“You know what’s really good is roasted Starburst.”
“Is that a type of marshmallow?”
“No. Starbursts. You know…the candy?”
He gives me a shrug.
I sit up. “Get out! Are Starbursts not invented yet in nineteen twenty-five?”
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“Oh man! That’s just sad. They’re infinitely superior to the marshmallow, as far as roasting is concerned.”
“What on earth are they?”
“I have to show you. Words can’t really do them justice.”
Lawrence lifts an eyebrow. “I think you might be overselling them a tad.”
“Okay,” I say, standing. “Now I have to go get some. My credibility is on the line.”
Back at the house, it takes some ransacking, but I find a pack tucked in Mom’s “secret” candy stash behind the flour container. I’ll repay her later. I grab some roasting sticks and head to the bonfire again.
“Do you have them?” Lawrence asks.
With dramatic flair, I present the Starbursts. “Ta-da!”
He picks up the slim rectangular pack, looking somewhat disappointed. “That’s it? It looks like chewing gum.”
I laugh and pat his head. “Oh adorable, nineteen-twenties Lawrence. You have so much to learn.”
He folds his arms with a smirk. “I’m waiting to be impressed. You’re stalling.”
“Just wait, just wait. Let the fire do its magic.”
Lawrence watches me as I prepare the stick with two gleaming, square candies and search for the hottest part of the coals. Then I begin my time-crafted process of achieving the perfect caramelization.
“You’re quite intense about this,” he says.
“You’d better believe I am. I take my treats very seriously.”
“I can respect that.”
I give him a sidelong glance. In the soft glow of firelight, he looks as warm and gorgeous as ever. It seems so strange to be sitting here with him—a guy from 1925. I shouldn’t think about it. That’s what we agreed on yesterday. But it’s not the sort of fact that slips from your mind.
“Okay,” I say, bringing the perfectly roasted Starburst away from the red embers. “It’s ready.” I present the gooey deliciousness to Lawrence with both hands, formal Asian style. “Be careful. It’s hot.”
With a skeptical eyebrow raised, Lawrence examines the admittedly strange-looking candy creation. Then he pops it in his mouth. He winces at the heat and then chews thoughtfully. I watch him, biting a fingernail with anticipation. He chews with unnecessary care. Then swallows.
“Well?” I ask.
“You shouldn’t have let me taste that,” he says. “Now I’m more determined than ever to travel to your time.”
I laugh. “Starburst pushed you over the edge, huh?”
He smiles wryly. “You’re not a bad motivator yourself.”
And like that, the magic of the Starburst has made the first-date awkwardness disappear. The rest of the night only gets better. We laugh, talk, gorge on candy, and then, when the fire is low and the stars blaze bright, we wrap ourselves in blankets and search out constellations above us. Everything is so perfect that I don’t want to ever leave.
But I know that can’t be. Real life—boring, frustrating 2015—is waiting just beyond those bushes. As Lawrence and I fold up the blankets and chairs, despair cuts into me like a blade. I try my best to keep things light, to squeeze out the last bits of pleasure from this first and final date of ours. Lawrence lingers as well. Does he not want the night to end either?
“Well,” he says, looking around the beach. “I guess that’s that.”
“Yeah.” I let out a breath that sounds a lot like a sigh. “I had a good time.”
“I did too. Those Starbrights were ginger peachy.”
I chuckle. “Sure were.”
“Of course, they have nothing on my Aunt Eloise’s lemon meringue pie.” He digs the tip of his shoe into the sand. “You ought to come back tomorrow so I can bring you a piece. One treat for another. Seems only fair.”
“Oh, you’re sneaky, Lawrence.”
“Nothing sneaky about it. I ought to return the favor, that’s all.”
I should refuse. I know this. I’m being careless with my heart. This is a guy I can never really date. Not even close. And yet…
“One more day. That’s it.”
Lawrence beams. “Swell. Meet me here for lunch? I’ll bring us out a picnic.”
“Sounds ginger peachy.”
Chapter 10
Cassandra
Aunt Eloise’s lemon meringue pie lives up to the hype. At the picnic with Lawrence, we pick up right where we’d left off the night before. We’re so absorbed in conversation that a sudden clap of thunder makes us both look up at the sky with a start. A blanket of rain-laden clouds
hang above us. Droplets turn to sheets of cold wetness in a matter of seconds.
Lawrence and I jump to our feet.
“Where did this come from?” I ask, holding my hands over my head as a weak shield.
“Snuck up on us,” he says. “If you weren’t so darn interesting, I might have seen its approach.”
The compliment makes my heart swell. I want to keep talking, but the rain pours harder. Lawrence isn’t running inside either. Our eyes meet. It’s as if neither of us wants to be the one to leave. I wipe the rain from my face, though it doesn’t help.
“Well,” I say, “I guess we’d better…”
Lawrence sets his hand on my arm. “Wait.”
His touch sends a ripple of energy down my arm. He bends down and collects our plates and forks. Then he lifts the blue wool blanket, gives it a firm shake to loosen the sand, and sweeps it over the tops of the bushes.
“I’m not ready to go in yet,” he says, ducking beneath his makeshift tent with a grin.
I slip under the blanket and join him. “Not bad,” I say, examining our little shelter. “Well done, Boy Scout Lawrence.”
“It won’t keep us very dry, but it ought to help. It’s a warm rain anyway.”
“And now that you’ve said that, we’ll both catch pneumonia and die.”
Lawrence laughs. “I’m fairly certain that won’t happen. But then, I’m headed into law, not medicine. Maybe they’re writing our death certificates as we speak.”
I shake my head. “Sorry, but if we both catch pneumonia, I’d be significantly better off than you. One of the few perks of my era.”
I expect Lawrence to carry on with the banter, but when I look at him, he’s watching me with an unexpectedly soft smile. His eyes drift down to my lips.
“I wouldn’t mind dying today,” he says. “Might as well end on a high note.”
A current of electricity runs through my body, but hearing him talk about death pulls me back to reality. Technically speaking, whenever I leave this beach, Lawrence already is dead. In my world, in the real world, he’s probably been dead for at least twenty years. The thought spreads through me like ice. I rub the chill from my arms. “No more talk about dying. It’s too…creepy.”
“You’re trembling,” Lawrence says, noticing my shiver. He puts his arm around me. “Better?”
You have no idea, Lawrence. I try not to let him see me flush with pleasure. “Isn’t this what they call getting ‘fresh’ in your era?”
“My intentions are innocent!”
“Suspect.”
“Only sometimes.” He brushes a hand across the roof of our dripping shelter. “We should probably go in and get dry.”
My heart sinks a little. “I guess so.”
“Do I need to concoct another excuse to see you again, or will you meet me for meeting’s sake?”
“You’re welcome to concoct an excuse. For my amusement.”
“All right then. Cassandra, will you meet me tomorrow morning so that I can give you a surprise?”
“A surprise, huh?” I tap my chin, pretending to mull over the pros and cons. “Intriguing…”
Lawrence winks. “I promise it will be worth it.”
“Tomorrow it is, then.”
• • •
I’m up early. I feel silly admitting it to myself, but I’m too excited to sleep. It’s probably better to get out of the house before everyone is up though. I’m sure Mom has noticed how much time I’m spending on the beach. Better to minimize her awareness. I’ll meet Lawrence and be back before she even notices I was gone.
After picking out my favorite blue cotton dress, I pull my hair back into a curly ponytail and head downstairs. But Mom’s in the kitchen, pouring Eddie some cold cereal. I freeze in the doorway, my plan foiled. Then I feel a pair of big, brown eyes latch on me.
“Cass,” Eddie says, pointing his chubby toddler finger at me.
Traitor.
Mom looks surprised. “What are you doing up this early? I thought teenagers were clinically dead before ten a.m. during the summer.”
“Funny. You should consider a career in comedy.”
“One day I’ll live my dreams.” She motions to the kitchen. “Do you want some breakfast? Frank’s going to fry some eggs.”
I shoot a darting glance to the backyard. “Actually, I was thinking I would go for a run. Clear my head a little.”
Mom’s eyebrows rise. “You’re going for a run?”
“Yes. Don’t sound so incredulous.”
“Hey, I think it’s a great idea. Definitely. Give it a try. See how you like it.”
I fold my arms, feeling defensive, even though we both know I’m the least likely person on this planet to be a runner. “I really am going to do it.”
“Wonderful. Then before you start, you should have some breakfast. Let me make you some oatmeal.”
“Can’t. Don’t want to exercise on a full stomach.”
“At least take some fruit.”
Seeing that I must appease her motherly concern, I grab a banana from the counter, peel it, and cram three bites into my mouth.
“Satisfied?” I ask, my cheeks full of banana.
She smiles and I head off.
“Aren’t you going to change out of that dress?” Mom calls as I disappear around the corner.
I could smack my forehead. Instead, I yell back in my most confident voice, “I like exercising in dresses.”
I wince, waiting for her radar-like senses to pick up on the abnormality of this. There’s a tense pause.
“Just make sure you have your pepper spray,” she calls.
I release a silent breath of relief. “Yep. I’ve got it. Love you. Bye.”
When I finally hit the cool, salty air of the back patio, my stomach does a little backflip. I’m way too eager. It’s truly lame. But I’ll own that lameness today. Quite proudly. I jog down the path. In spite of Mom’s skepticism, I probably could run a marathon today. I have all the energy in the world.
But when I arrive at the beach, it’s empty. I scan down the shore for any sign of him, but only the crashing waves move in the stillness. I go down to the shore and touch the cool water. The wind blows my hair and dress back lightly. This is good. Now I’ll look ethereal and romantic when he comes.
After a few minutes, however, I start to get impatient posing there. Where is he? I walk back up to the pathway, peering through the green branches. But there’s nothing.
A sudden rustle of the branches makes my stomach leap into my throat. A white seagull pushes out of the bushes and flutters away. I frown. It seems strange to see a gull there.
A sinking feeling comes over me. Something’s wrong…
Maybe it’s over. Maybe whatever anomaly of science or nature allowed us to see each other has finally repaired itself. I stare down the empty path, not breathing, as if I could will Lawrence to come out with the sheer intensity of my desire. As if I could call to him across a hundred years with only my heart.
Lawrence.
The bushes shiver with movement. Drawing in a sharp breath, I rush forward.
“Lawrence?”
But then, right in the middle of the brush, I feel the strangest tingle down my spine.
My ears prick up. The sound of faint footfalls and voices pierce the wind. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I spin around. My gaze canvasses the path behind me with swift strokes. And then I see it. The muted glimmer of two forms.
They’re obviously from Lawrence’s time, but I’m not sure it’s him. It could be anyone.
I have a split second to decide. Trying to pass them and run back in the house seems like the safest option. But then the forms get more defined and I impulsively dive back toward the beach. Being seen by these strangers would be bad enough, but having them see me mate
rializing out of thin air would be even worse.
I tumble forward onto the sand and scramble to get back on my feet. My heart’s racing in my throat. I’m turning for the point when a deep, male voice snaps, “Hey! What are you doing out here?”
Chapter 11
Cassandra
I’m caught. I’m seriously screwed. In a panic, I make a break for it, sprinting.
And then a voice rushes through my body like tingling heat. “Cassandra?”
Looking over your shoulder while running on sand isn’t a great idea. I trip and fly face-first to the ground.
“Cassandra!” Lawrence calls, rushing to my side. He helps me up, brushing the sand from my shoulders with a look of concern. “Are you all right?”
“Um, I’ll live.” My gaze shifts to the other man. He’s terrifyingly huge. Tall, with a big belly and jet-black hair. All the blood in me runs cold.
“You know this girl?” the big man asks, coming over to us.
Lawrence retracts his hands suddenly, as if not wanting to be seen touching me. “Sure,” he says with a forced tone. “She was at the party the other night.”
He holds his hand out politely to help me stand. “Cassandra, this is my Uncle Ned.”
The famous Uncle Ned. He looks way more intimidating than how Lawrence described him. Both he and Lawrence are dressed in expensive-looking suits, as if they are headed to church or something.
“This is Cassandra,” Lawrence says to Ned, moving subtly away from me as he speaks. “Cassandra… Can’t remember your last name,” he adds with a laugh.
“It’s—” I start to answer, but Lawrence noticeably jumps to speak over me.
“She lives up past the point. The summer crowd.” He turns to me and there’s a flash of seriousness in his eyes. “Do you have that card, Cassandra?”
My mind scrambles for a second, but I figure it’s best to play along. “Yeah. I mean, yes.”
Lawrence nods. “Ned and I are about to leave, but I told him you needed me to deliver your condolences.”
“Ex-exactly,” I stammer, hoping against hope that he doesn’t expect me to know what he’s talking about. “Thanks again, Lawrence.”
Until We Meet Again Page 8
