Carson clears his throat next to me. “You ready?”
“Sure.” But I’m really not. I haven’t ridden a bike in years and I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a disaster. Actually, I’m positive it will be.
“See you later, Dill,” Carson says.
I feel Dillon’s eyes on me as I follow Carson to the back of the store.
He leads me through a doorway with beads hanging down to the ground, past a bunch of surfboards and a pile of boxes, and finally to the very back of the store. Several bikes lean against the wall and he points at a light blue one and hands me a helmet. “You can ride this one.”
I stare at him, the helmet in my hand.
“What?” he asks. “You know how to ride a bike?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Then you’ll be fine.” He smiles and opens the back door. It’s getting dark but there are streetlights everywhere. He walks his bike out to the boardwalk. Lots of people are out even though it’s almost sunset. How would it be to live in a place like this forever? I don’t think I’d mind it.
“This is the boardwalk, which I’m sure you already know. It’s the same boardwalk across the street from your aunt’s house, but we’re about six miles away. It stretches from Sunset Beach, goes through Huntington Beach for about nine miles, and then you can go three or so more miles until you hit Newport Peninsula. It’s a great workout if you’re into that sort of thing.”
I nod. “Cool.”
“The pier’s right there. Past all those shops.”
I look where he’s pointing. There’re a bunch of shoppers and I’m pretty sure I’m going to kill someone.
“That’s where we’re going.” He smiles and puts his helmet on. “Don’t run anyone over, okay?” He grins and gets on his bike.
“I’ll try not to.” I feel really self-conscious but put my helmet on and swing my leg over the seat of my borrowed bike anyway. It’s a little big and my toes barely touch the ground. Carson stands up on his pedals and bounces next to me. He’s obviously a biker. My friend Emmy back home would get along great with him. I watch him bounce a few more times until he notices the look on my face and laughs.
“Don’t worry. I’ll stay with you.”
Not very reassuring, but I smile and pretend my heart’s not beating a million miles an hour. I push off the ground and while I’m a little wobbly at first, my feet find the pedals and we’re off.
We pass a lot of people, most with shopping bags, and they’re all super friendly. A lot of them have dogs and I try to maneuver my bike as far away as possible so I don’t hit one or get chased.
I swear it takes forever to reach the pier but it’s probably only been five minutes. I’m sweating and a little out of breath, which is ridiculous. We didn’t even go that far.
Carson jumps off his bike and wheels it over to a bike rail, pulls out two locks, and puts one of them on his bike. I wobble as I put my feet down to stop. My toes scrape the ground and I’m grateful I have real shoes on instead of flip-flops. That would have been a mess.
“Here,” he says, locking my bike next to his. He steps back and takes in a deep breath. “Let’s go get something to eat.”
People are everywhere. A lot of women wearing string bikini tops and short shorts. A few guys stand in front of a bar, tattoos covering half their torsos and arms, holding drinks and look like they’re having a good time. We pass a guy playing some little drums and another guy probably in his twenties singing while playing his guitar.
I take it all in since it’s nothing like back home. I know my parents sheltered me and it probably shows.
Carson stops at a hot dog stand. “Best hot dogs you’ll ever taste,” he says. “I figured I could show you around more if we got hot dogs. I’m going to have to take you to Ruby’s one of these days.” He gestures to a building with a red roof at the end of the pier.
I smile. “That would be cool.”
He walks up to the window and orders two hot dogs, then turns back to me. “What would you like on yours?”
“A little bit of ketchup and a lot of mustard.”
A few minutes later, we’re walking down the boardwalk, hot dogs in hand. And Carson wasn’t lying. It really is the best hot dog I’ve tasted.
“Mustard, huh? I’m more of a ketchup kind of guy. And relish.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not a fan of relish. Or pickles. Though I do like the smell of them. Which I’m aware is weird.”
He laughs and throws his wrapper in a garbage can. “You’re funny.”
I take one more bite and throw my wrapper away as well.
We keep walking.
“So, what do you like to do? I mean . . . do you have any hobbies or anything? Besides photography?”
“Not really.” I hesitate. “I play the guitar a little, but other than that—”
“Seriously? I’ve always wanted to play the guitar.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at the ground as we walk. “I’m not very musically inclined.” He catches my stare out of the corner of his eye and grins.
I feel my cheeks heat and clear my throat. I realize I’m twisting my ring around my finger and stop. Why am I so nervous around him? It’s not like we’re on a date or anything. “I’m not that musical either. My mom made me take piano lessons when I was little, but I hated them. She insisted I learn at least one instrument, or sing, which I’ll never do in front of anyone.”
He throws back his head and laughs. He has a nice laugh. Not weird or annoying, like some guys I know. Just . . . nice. “You mean you didn’t get roped into taking choir in school?” “They would have kicked me out. I suck.” And it’s the truth. Lucas never let me forget it. I take after my dad—totally tone deaf.
“I don’t believe it.”
“You should. I wish I could sing, but I just can’t. So, instead of making a fool out of myself, I decided to take guitar lessons.” I shrug. “I want to learn how to play the drums someday, but I doubt that will ever happen. I like the guitar though.”
“You’ll have to play for me sometime.”
Not likely. “Maybe,” I say.
“Or you could teach me.” He nudges me with his shoulder. “Guitar lessons for surf lessons? What do you think?”
I stop walking and stare at him. He looks hopeful. “Are you serious?”
He shrugs. “I think it’s an even trade, don’t you?”
I’m not sure what to say. That means we’ll be spending even more time together. I don’t know how I feel about that. Although, he is super nice. And he smells good. And he’s nice to look at . . . not that I noticed. “Sure,” I say.
We both smile and I try not to feel nervous again. But the way he’s looking at me makes me feel . . . weird instead. But a good weird. Which is bad news.
He finally looks away and clears his throat. “Looks like Ruby’s is busy tonight.” He gestures toward the restaurant on the end of the pier. Several people stand around outside. I watch a redheaded girl about my age snuggle against her boyfriend as they wait in line. He nuzzles her neck and she giggles before turning around and kissing him. They look so happy. Like nothing in the world would ever tear them apart.
I envy them. Not because they’re in love, but because they have each other. They have someone to laugh with. To hang out with. I think of Lucas and my mood drops. The world sucks.
“You okay?”
I look up at Carson and put on a smile. “Fine.”
We walk to the edge of the pier and lean against the railing. The sun reflects off the water as it sets. Reds, oranges, and yellows. It’s so bright, it’s almost blinding, but I can’t tear my eyes away.
“It’s beautiful here.” I breathe in the salty air and sigh. I wish Lucas were here. He’d love the beach. There I go again. Thinking about him. Again. I turn my attention back to Carson, determined to block my depressing thoughts.
He’s staring at the ocean with a small smile on his face. “I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. It’s
home.”
“I’d love to live on the beach. It’s so peaceful. And there’s so much to do here. Swim and surf, go boating. I’d love to have somewhere to run or ride my bike with a view like this. Not that I really rode my bike back home. I had a friend who was really into mountain biking, but I could never get into it. To be honest, the thought of flying down a mountain covered in rocks and dirt terrified me. If I could have ridden on solid blacktop right next to a beach though, I would have.”
“It really is nice most of the time,” he said. “The storms can be pretty crappy, though.” He rolls his shoulders and leans forward, resting his arms on the railing. “So, you’re just here for a few months then?”
I sigh. “Yes. My mom . . . uh . . . we’re here on an extended vacation. Just until summer.”
I wait for him to ask why, but he doesn’t. Which makes me like him even more. He respects my privacy, even though I know he can tell I’m hiding something. And I’m not really. I just don’t want to talk about me or Lucas or my parents and whatever’s going on with them.
“So, about those guitar lessons.”
I smile. I can’t help it. He seems to know when I need something light to talk about. It’s almost like he can read my moods. It reminds me of Lucas. He always knew my moods, even better than I knew them myself. “You’re really serious about those?”
“Of course!”
“I’m not very good.”
“You wouldn’t agree to teach me if you weren’t that good.”
I laugh. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
“We’ll see about that.”
An arm wraps around my shoulder then and I’m suddenly being squeezed into someone’s armpit. I didn’t realize how sore my shoulders are from my sunburn until now. They hurt like crap. I try to wiggle away.
“Hey, guys!”
It’s Dillon. I smile as he adjusts his arm, but he doesn’t let go of me. “Hey,” I say. It smells like coconut again, just like in the surf shop. So it was him! Are guys supposed to smell like that? I think of my coconut lotion at home and picture him slathering it on his arms and legs. He doesn’t seem the type.
Carson glances at us for a second and looks back at the ocean. “Close up shop?”
Dillon laughs and punches him in the arm. “Of course. No worries, bro.”
“Thanks. Get a lot of people in today?”
“Earlier. Not much tonight. A few people picking up their boards, but not much else. It’s a Friday night. You know how Friday nights go. It’ll be slammed tomorrow.”
Carson nods. “Who works tomorrow?”
“Me and Keilani bright and early. You and your dad have the afternoon shift.”
He groans. “Great.”
I’m surprised by his reaction. I’m not the only one with parental problems?
“You can at least hit the waves in the morning,” Dillan says. “I wish I could.”
Carson just shrugs. “You and Keilani can go later. I’m sure she’d love to kick your butt.”
Dillon frowns. “Dude. You don’t have to rub it in.”
Carson laughs. “Yes. I do.”
I wonder who Keilani is. I glance at Carson, very aware that Dillon’s arm is still around my shoulder. My skin is on fire. I’ll have to remember to put aloe on when I get home. “So, you work at that surf shop too, Carson?”
Dillon chuckles. “He doesn’t just work there. He owns it.”
My mouth drops open. “Really?” I should have remembered Carson’s last name was Nye, but obviously I didn’t.
“It’s my dad’s shop but he lets me run it.” He shrugs. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Whatever,” Dillon says. “It’s the best surf shop around. With affordable and professional surfing lessons provided by Carson and yours truly. Tourists come from miles around to learn from us. Ask anyone.”
I swear Carson blushes, but he doesn’t disagree. He meets my eyes. “Are you ready to go or do you want to stay for a while?”
“I should probably be getting home. I haven’t really seen my mom all day.” I think about riding the bike again and try not to look worried. Riding a bike during the day is one thing. Riding one in the dark . . .
“Oh, come on, you two, I just got here. Let’s hang out for a while,” Dillon says.
“She’s right, Dill. I don’t want Jo to beat me up if I don’t get her back at a decent hour.” He smiles. “Because honestly? She could totally take me.”
Dillon snorts. “Fine. I’m sticking around here, though.” He squeezes my shoulder and even though he didn’t do it hard, my sunburn stings and I wince. “See you two later.”
“Sunburn?” Carson asks as we walk back down the pier.
I glance over at him, surprised. “How did you know?”
“You looked like you were in pain when he squeezed your shoulder. And your face is kind of red.”
I stop and touch my face. “How red?”
He smiles and reaches out, brushing his knuckles lightly across my cheek. “Don’t worry. Red looks good on you.” He pulls his hand back, his eyes on mine.
The skin on my cheek tingles where he touched and I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. Say something. Say something. “So . . . uh . . . should we keep walking? It’s getting kind of late.” I’m tongue-tied. I don’t even know what I’m saying.
And it’s not even that late.
He searches my face one more time before clearing his throat. “Yeah.”
I try to ignore my thumping heart as we continue our walk back to the bikes, but as I glance over, one tiny smile from him makes it speed up again.
No one’s ever looked at me like that before.
The ride back to the surf shop is uneventful. Except for almost running over a dog, I do pretty well.
Carson locks the bikes back in the store and we make our way to his Jeep and head home. We’re both silent, each lost in our own thoughts. I try to keep my eyes on the road but end up glancing at him every now and then. We’re so different. He’s kind and funny and everyone seems to like him. I wish I could be that comfortable around people. It occurs to me, not for the first time, that maybe I can be if I learn to let more people in.
He hums along with the radio as he drives and glances over at me with a small smile. I want to be that carefree and happy too.
Is it possible to find happiness when it feels like you’ve lost not only yourself but everyone you love? They’re all lost to me in some way, whether they’re here or in heaven. Mom and Dad, my friends, Lucas. A breeze touches my skin and I shiver as I stare out the window.
“Here. Put this on.” I feel something fall in my lap. A blanket. I don’t realize how cold I am until I feel the warmth through my jeans. I look over at Carson and he shrugs. “It gets a little cold at night. Especially in this thing.”
I pull the blanket up and smile. Seriously, can he be any nicer?
“I’m going to park at my house, if that’s all right?”
I nod. It’s next door, so it’s not a big deal if I have to walk home.
We pull into his driveway a few minutes later. He stops the car and jumps out. I reach to open my own door, but he’s already there, holding it open for me. He reaches out a hand and helps me down from the Jeep.
His hand is warm, and even though both my feet are firmly on the ground, he doesn’t let go.
“Thanks,” I say, slowly pulling my hand away, “for showing me around today.”
“Can I walk you to your door?” He smiles as I stare at him and raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“Was this a date?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Do you want it to be a date?”
“Uh . . . I’m not . . . do I?” My heart speeds up again. What do I want it to be?
“I think we should call it a date.”
“Okay . . .”
He chuckles at my terrified expression. “May I walk you to the door then?” He holds out his elbow and I hesitate only a second before taking it
.
“Yes, you may. Thanks.” I hope he can’t feel my body shaking. I’m so nervous.
The night is quiet as we walk up the driveway, so I try to think of something to fill the silence. “So . . . how did you get to be such a gentleman?”
“What do you mean?”
“Opening doors, walking me to the porch. Totally gentlemanly.”
He shrugs. “My mom.”
“I love her already.”
“Most people do.” He chuckles. “And she taught me well.”
“Obviously. Tell her thanks for that.”
We reach the porch and walk up the stairs, my heart beating a million miles an hour. I’ve never been good at doorstep scenes. Or whatever you want to call them. I never know what to say, or what to do, or . . . you know, if I’m supposed to let them hug or kiss me goodnight.
I feel my cheeks heat at the thought of kissing him. He wouldn’t do that on the first date, would he? Not that it would be a bad thing . . . but still. A little fast, I think. For me at least.
“This was fun,” he says as I let go of his elbow. “We should do it again sometime.”
“It was fun.” We both stand near the door, and I’m really not sure what to do at this part. “Thank you for taking me.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for coming.”
I glance up at him and we stare at each other for a second, each not knowing what to say. Or at least, I don’t know what to say. Or do. His gaze doesn’t flinch away until I see it flicker to my lips. My breath catches and I step back, faster than I realize, and almost fall off the porch.
“You okay?” he asks. There’s a glimmer of something in his eye, like he’s trying not to laugh.
“Yes. Fine.” Fine. That stupid word again. I look at the door and back at him. Pretty sure it’s time for me to go inside. “Um . . . goodnight?” I smile at my awkwardness, turn away and try to open the door, but it’s locked and I end up smacking my face into it.
“Forget your key?” he asks with a chuckle.
I rub my forehead and frown. “Yeah . . . please tell me you didn’t see that, even though I know you did.” Someone just kill me. Please.
Love, Lucas Page 6
