“Not much different than now, although none of us were glued to our devices in those days. I hate to say it, because it makes me sound like a grouchy old man, but kids used to spend more time outdoors than they do now.”
“Preaching to the choir,” I said.
“Annie’s not like that, though. She’s smart and curious. And absolutely killing it at the shop.”
“She always loved to read, so it doesn’t really surprise me. Although, it’s odd to think of my baby girl with an actual job. Time’s gone too fast.”
He turned toward the beach. We traveled down the two lane road until we reached a small gravel pull-off above the water. I got out of the car, stretching, taking in the familiar scents of pine, salt and kelp, and maybe eucalyptus while he popped open the back of the car. I turned to see him pulling a large wicker basket out of the trunk.
We carried everything down the wooden steps to the sand. He found a spot above the tide line, sheltered by a curve in the dunes, and shook out a thick cotton blanket.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Dorian said, as he opened the basket.
I watched with increasing delight as he produced: a wooden board already arranged with cheeses, salami and crackers and a small bunch of grapes; two proper wine glasses wrapped in cloth napkins; a bottle of bold red that I happened to know was extremely good; a container of pasta salad with roasted vegetables that smelled of good olive oil and fresh herbs; and, at the very bottom, a small paper bag that held a half dozen dark chocolate salted caramels.
I stared at the caramels for a moment. “These are my favorite,” I said. “And I love a bold red wine.”
“Yeah, I remembered.”
“How? I’ve never told you either of those things.”
He looked like he might deflect but seemed to change his mind. “Annie showed me your profile.”
“But it’s not up anywhere.”
He popped the cork out of the wine. “She logged in so I could see it.”
I stared at him. “But why?”
“She suggested I take a look. I’m not sure why.”
I did. She was a meddler. “And you remembered all the things I like.”
He tapped his temple. “Remember what I told you about my memory?”
“Yeah, right.” I sat with that as he poured us each a glass of wine.
“Are you angry?”
“Not angry exactly. But it hardly seems fair that you’ve seen mine but I haven’t seen yours. How am I supposed to compete?”
He chuckled. “It’s not a competition. I’ll show you mine, if you want?”
“I might like that, yes.” I shrugged like it was no big deal when actually I really wanted to see what he’d written about himself.
“Let’s eat a little something first and then I’ll pull it up on my phone,” Dorian said.
I took a long sip of wine and looked out at the water turning deep blue at the horizon, catching the last light. Gulls circled above us, waiting for a dropped morsel. We ate slowly, nibbling bits of this and that.
“This was a good idea,” I said. “Thank you for going to all the trouble.”
“It’s my pleasure. You deserve to be pampered a bit from time to time.”
“How do you know what I deserve?” I asked, lightly.
“Are you hiding something from me that would make that statement untrue?” Dorian asked, in a teasing tone. “Dead bodies in that garden of yours? An underground business in forged art? Membership in a secret cult?”
“No dead bodies that I know of, but I can’t speak for the previous owners. I’m not clever enough to run a forged art business. And heck no on the cult. I can’t even join a local book club, let alone a cult.”
