“Says the man who’s on red alert at a beachfront café.” I take a sip of the coffee when it arrives, surprised at its depth. “Why do you do it?”
He arches a brow. “Do what?”
“All this.” I wave my hand at him, at the world. “The job, the constant alertness even here.”
He’s quiet as he thinks. He keeps his eyes on the horizon. When he answers, his voice is lower. “Because if something happened to you, I’d never forgive myself. Or your father would never forgive me. Take your pick.”
I study him, trying to read the lines of his face, the way his mouth always hovers on the edge of a frown. “Did you grow up here?”
He nods. “My family’s from the next village over. But I spent all my summers here, working odd jobs. Surfing when I could and when the waves were right.”
“Do you surf?” The image is so at odds with the stiff-collared sentinel in front of me that I can’t help but laugh.
He shrugs, the ghost of a smile breaking through. “Everyone does here. It’s like a rite of passage. You learn to swim before you can walk.”
“I’d pay good money to see that.” I can picture it: Zane young and sunburned, laughing as the waves tumble him under.
“Maybe you will.” Something electric passes between us in that suggestion. Something old and forbidden.
I drop my gaze. “What about you? Did you ever want to come back after moving to the city?”
“Sometimes.” His thumb rubs at the rim of his water glass. “But this place always pulls you back. It’s steady. Even when the world isn’t.”
We sit in silence for a while, watching the waves inch closer to the sea wall. The sun is climbing now, pulling more people out of their beds and onto the sand. I notice the old woman has joined the kids, her dog barking at their sandcastle as if to defend it from invasion.
The barista returns with my croissant, flaky and still steaming.
I break off a corner and chew thoughtfully, savoring the butter and the way it almost melts on my tongue. “This is perfect. Are you sure you don’t want any?”
“I’m fine.”
“Suit yourself.” I eat another piece, then another, and the tension between us thins, replaced by something warmer, easier. I let myself imagine, for even just a moment, that this is all it is: a day at the beach, sun and salt and possibility.
But not the possibility of this finally turning into something more with Zane.
Thatwould be too wild, even for a summer fling.
Right?
I lean back, face tilted to the sky. “What do you think the summer will bring?”
Zane is quiet, thinking it over. Then, softly, he says, “Change.”
Before I can ask him to elaborate, a blur of white wings drops from the sky and snatches the rest of my croissant right out of my hand.
I yelp, half in shock and half in outrage, as the gull lands a few feet away and proceeds to tear my breakfast to shreds.
Zane bursts out laughing, the most unguarded I’ve ever seen him.
I glare at him, but it only makes him laugh harder.
“Welcome to Seamuse Village,” he says, grinning.
I can’t help it—I start to laugh, too, the sound rolling out of me in bright, messy waves.
The gull cocks its head. Does it approve of the joke? It then takes off into the blue, crumbs trailing in its wake.
Quite a welcome.
