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“Well, and I can always carry you. These muscles are good for something,” he said, jokingly making a bicep. Except his bicep was truly no joke. I told myself not to blush.
“All right, then,” he said. “It’s a plan.”
“All right, then,” I replied. I smiled at him and then glanced back out at the crashing waves, feeling like I was excited for the next day, something else I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
Chapter Twelve
My arms were tired, and the sand wasn’t great with the crutches. But Leo, clad in his signature ball cap and sunglasses, lugged all the tote bags as I half hobbled, half tripped along. I’d turned down his offer to be carried out to the sand, mostly because being in Leo’s rippling arms would definitely cause me to blush, and there would be no denying it. Plus, well, there was my pride.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Leo said, trying to help me maneuver the sand but not able to really do much. My cast was covered in a trash bag that was elegantly duct taped above the knee to avoid any sand getting in anywhere—my mother’s insistence after her horrified reaction to my beach day plans. I had told myself that this was, in fact, a bad idea for ninety reasons the entire way to the sand. Still, once we finally, laboriously reached an open spot, Leo spread out the blanket and popped open the chair. I settled myself down with a sense of peace. I breathed in the salty air, absorbed the sun that was hot but not scorching, and exhaled. It had been so long since I’d had a beach day, too long in fact.
I forgot about my sweating foot in the trash bag for a moment. Leo went to rent an umbrella, and I just sat back, closed my eyes, and felt peace I no longer knew.
Being unemployed and all the stuff I had escaped from New York wasn’t something I’d want to do over. Still, in a weird way, it was all coming together in that single moment, a moment where I could slow down and just relish existence. How long had it been since I’d done that, if ever?
Leo returned with the umbrella, and I helped direct him to get it properly installed. He was sweating by the time he finished, and he plopped down on the blanket beside me, stretching out. After a few moments, he stood and took off his shirt, revealing the six-pack abs I knew were hiding underneath but didn’t think I’d see in person. I averted my eyes and told myself yet again not to blush. It was difficult not to.
“So, do you ever go to any beaches back home?” I asked, truly unsure of UK geography and not wanting to show it. And needing to focus on anything but those perfect abs.
“I haven’t been to the beach since I was a boy,” he replied, sitting up and looking at me.
“Really?”
“What, you think us popstars just lounge around drinking cocktails with girls all day?” he asked, mocking but with a lighthearted smile.
I grinned and shrugged. “Well, don’t you?”
“Are you kidding? I don’t think I’ve actually had a day off since I was twelve. And when I do, it’s not like this. There’s always security lagging along, and my agent wanting to know how long I’ll be gone for, and PR worried about my image. What I wear, what I do. It’s nothing like this.”
I looked at him, thinking about how sad that was. Such a simple day, really. I’d had countless days just like this. Nothing extraordinary. Just sunshine, sand, and the smell of sunscreen floating on the breeze. Kids played some football, and babies dipped their toes in the water for the first time. The chaos of the boardwalk behind us, the gulls dove for French fries in the distance. Home. Simplicity. Chaos and peace mixed into one.
He was escaping from a life everyone wanted. I was escaping from a life no one wanted. But there we were, sitting on the same blanket, soaking in the same sun.
“So, enough about me and my boring story. What about you? Do you have many beach days?” he asked.
“Not lately. I left Ocean City at eighteen and really haven’t been back much since. Until January.”
