“No.”
She laughs, wrapping her arms around my waist. “So, you just made me leave the party early for nothing?”
“Not for nothing.” I swoop down and kiss her, wanting nothing more than to do this for the rest of the night. I don’t care where we are or what else we’re doing as long as I can keep doing this. “Iamcraving some waffles though.”
Her face lights up. “And Coke floats?”
“Absolutely.”
* * *
There’s something comforting about the mundane. I’ve had Marie’s more than once since Teeny introduced me to the place, and I’ve grown familiar with the warm syrupy taste of the waffles and the creamy fizz that comes with every sip of their Coke floats, but I’ll never get over how soothing and relaxing I feel with every first bite and sip.
While Teeny and I usually settle ourselves inside a booth, letting the high back seats create a small protective bubble away from the rest of the world, we opted to take our bubble elsewhere tonight.
“I’ve never had a nighttime beach picnic,” Teeny says, her hand slipping into mine as we make our way toward the lifeguard tower I’ve embedded into my memories.
“Neither have I.” I’m dangling the crinkly plastic bag, heavy with our late night treat, and a Styrofoam cup holding a Coke float in my hand. Teeny has her own cup, and she takes a long sip as we come to a stop at the base of the steps leading up the tower.
“Are you sure this is okay?” she asks as I take the first step.
“Who’s going to tell us no?” I look over my shoulder, a towel that Teeny had in her car draped over it, urging her to follow. “Besides, you want to get sand all over the waffles?”
She gives an agreeable shrug and follows. I lay the towel down, right along the edge where the railing sits, and we both plop down.
“I always thought the lifeguard patrol would come out with their blow horns and whistles if I even stepped foot on here.”
I nudge my shoulder to hers. “Got to learn to live a little, Teeny.” I open up our to-go container and hand her her fork. She waits patiently while I pour a healthy serving of syrup over it, and she dives in. An enthusiastic giggle widens her smile, and I watch as the breeze picks up her hair and the moonlight glows against her skin.
I don’t know why it happens just then, with her focus on sawing through the crispy edges of the waffle and getting enough syrup to douse her piece, but it does. I realize I’m falling completely and utterly head over heels for her. It starts to spread through my chest, to my stomach, and all the way down to my fingers and toes, and it’s nearly debilitating. I can’t even pretend to act cool, like she doesn’t make the air move in and out of my lungs or that I find every single thing she does fascinating. Even something completely ordinary, like the way she drives or how her lips pucker and her cheeks puff out when she chews.
“What?” she asks, her mouth full.
I shake my head and smile. “Nothing.”
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Teeny
NOW
I’ve never taken growingup near the coast for granted. I know for some it’s a part of life to the point that it becomes routine. A quick commute through Pacific Coast Highway, an annual summer bonfire, the constant smell of salt air and squawking gulls. Not me. I’ve always stood in awe of it all.
With the long winding coast to my right and the San Diego hills to my left, I’m taking my time driving to El Cielo to meet Mr. Lang for a quick tour of his newly acquired property and to discuss whether or not I would be a good fit for his vision.
I pull into the parking lot of El Cielo, finding that it’s still considerably full given the change in ownership, and hook my leather tote bag over my shoulder before walking to the main entrance to the lobby. I wasn’t sure how formal this meeting was so I decided to play safe. A tan knee-length pencil skirt slit up the back and a white button-down blouse, low slingback heels and subtle touches of gold in my bracelets and earrings.
As soon as I reach the reception desk, I’m greeted by a man in his mid to early forties in a steel gray suit, no tie. “How can we help you?”
“I have a meeting with Mr. Lang,” I tell him. “I’m Christine Diaz.”
He smiles warmly at me, extending his hand in my direction. “I’m Eric. Nice to meet you.”
“Hi,” I respond cheerfully with a firm handshake in return.
He quickly turns to the woman manning the front desk, telling her something discreetly, before rounding the counter and meeting me. “Why don’t we have a seat at the bar?”
I nod and follow his pace. “This is a beautiful entryway,” I tell him, peering over me at the tall ceilings and abstract chandelier hanging above the main lobby.
