In between bites of my burger and telling the table about some of the tattoos we inked today, I answer the questions Elsie has for me. She wants to know my favorite place I’ve lived – Boston, by far. When she asks about my family, I tell her that my mom lives in Portland and my grandparents moved south for the warmer weather in Virginia, but they come back to visit often. Thankfully, she doesn’t ask about my dad or any other family, which I don’t have.
Then she asks me my favorite thing about Port Myles so far.
“Would you believe me if I said it’s you?” I toss in a wink to lighten the blow, but her blush comes on quickly, and fuck if it isn’t becoming my favorite sight. Pink looks good on her.
Elsie rolls her eyes and takes another sip of her mojito. “Real smooth, Casanova.”
I don’t push my luck. I don’t let on that I actually mean it.
“The seafood is pretty great,” I tell her instead. “It’s at least as good as I’ve had in Boston.”
“It’s better,” she shoots back immediately. She takes another sip of her drink and leans closer, like she’s about to share a secret. “Lobster rolls are great, don’t get me wrong, but there’s this guy who’s down at the fishing pier every Wednesday and he sells clams right off his boat. Grab a couple dozen and thank me later.” She leans back in her seat and grabs a fry, dunking it into the aioli – which is fuckingdelicious, by the way – and tosses it into her mouth. I watch the way her jaw works, completely mesmerized by such an innocuous detail.
“What about the beach?” she asks, reaching for another fry. “Have you gone yet?”
“Uh, no. I’m not really the beach-going type.”
I don’t think I’ve been to a beach since I was a kid living in Portland. My grandparents used to take me sometimes, but I hated seeing all of the happy families, the kids playing together and parents doting on them, buying them ice cream from the truck parked nearby and splashing in the water with them. With memories like that, I never bothered to go again after my grandparents stopped taking me.
“They make black bathing suits, you know.” Elsie’s teasing snaps me out of my depressing memories. “I know you have this whole tough guy aesthetic going on, but you can still enjoy the beach. The beach is for everyone, Declan.”
“Is that so?”
I’d like to seeherat the beach. She probably sprawls out in a skimpy bikini, sunbathing while she reads a book.
When Elsie licks a drop of aioli off her lip, it does nothing to stop the wayward path my thoughts are headed down. My eyes zero in on the movement, watching the way her tongue swipes across her pouty lower lip. Thankfully, she’s oblivious to my ogling. She reaches for her drink again, downing the rest of it.
I wonder what kissing her might be like. Would her lips be soft under mine, or would she kiss hungrily, the way I’d like to devour her if given the chance?
I bet she’d taste like blueberries and mint.
“I think you’d like the beach in town. It gets crowded in the summer, but it’s nice.”
“Are you just trying to get me to take my shirt off, Elsie?”
She whips her head over to look at me, eyes widened in shock. “Excuse you?”
“It’s okay if you just want to see me shirtless,” I tell her with a wink. “That can be arranged.”
She mutters something I don’t catch over the noise around us.
“What was that?” I lean in with my hand cupped around my ear.
“I said,” she yells, leaning over so her mouth is inches from my ear, “you’re a pain in the ass.”
At the tail end of her sentence, the song that had been playing cuts out, causing a few seconds of quiet before the next song begins. I think everybody in the building – kitchen staff included – just heard Elsie say the wordass.
“Elsie!” Grace yells, shocked.
“Do I need to separate you two?” Ty chides from Elsie’s other side.
“Declan might fight you if you try,” Eddie says, loud enough for the whole table to hear. Everyone laughs at our expense and I ignore them, looking at Elsie. She’s embarrassed, furiously sipping her water and staring at the plate in front of her.
I settle my arm on the back of her chair and lean over, the tips of my fingers just barely grazing her bare shoulder. She takes a shuddering breath and holds it for a couple seconds before exhaling slowly.
“You good?” I ask, low enough that only she can hear. I’m a sucker for a blushing Elsie, but I don’t want it to be because she’s embarrassed.
I fight the urge to rest my arm on her shoulders and tug her close, though I’m itching to do it. We’re not there yet, even if on some strange level, it feels like she’s supposed to be mine.
