Page 13 of Summer Love

Stop, Summer. You’re not on vacation.

I open my eyes and bend to pull off my Converse. The sand’s already found its way inside. But my right foot needs a break too, still stiff from the flight and the rough night in the bungalow. I wiggle my toes. The warm sand molds to my arch, gentler than I expect.

In New York, my foot aches every night. Here, barefoot in the sand at Crescent Beach, the pain vanishes.

I push through the gate.

The beach opens up in front of me—wide, bright, almost white under the midday sun. The ocean is a deep blue, streaked with foam where the waves break. Farther off to the left, the curly-haired instructor is still in the water with her students. Their laughter carries all the way to me.

I take a few steps. The sand gives under my feet, warm on top, cool underneath. All my summers in Coral Bay come back to me.

Sell. Sign. Leav⁠—

A soaking-wet mass slams into me head-on.

I stumble and drop my Converse. I back up two steps—and a giant dog launches at me, all cannonball and shameless joy.

I don’t have time to react—his front paws are on my thighs, his nose against my chin. His dirty-white coat looks almost beige under all the sand. He smells of wet dog, dead seaweed, and the ocean. His tail beats so hard his whole back end seems to dance.

“Hey, easy there, you...”

I drop to one knee to get down to his level, my back to the ocean. He takes the chance to lick my face—cheeks, nose, chin. His eyes are soft, light brown.

“Who do you belong to?” I ask, scratching his ears.

He closes his eyes and tilts his head, like it’s the best thing that’s happened to him all day. No collar. Maybe he’s a stray. Or his owner just didn’t bother to leash him—which, in Coral Bay, is pretty common.

“You’re filthy, but you’re gorgeous.”

He rests his head on my shoulder. A laugh escapes me—a real one. My fingers dig through his coat, thick with sand and salt water. For a moment, kneeling in front of this big lug who’s decided I’m his best friend, I’m not thinking about anything. There’s nothing but the sun, the beach, and this ball of fur drooling all over me.

The dog freezes. His ears prick up. His tail goes wild and his whole body strains toward the ocean, like a magnet’s pulling him.

“Flip!” a voice calls behind me, from the water.

That voice... Low, a little rough—I’d know it anywhere.

No.

The dog springs up and bolts for the ocean. I stay kneeling in the sand, hands empty, heart pounding.

This is impossible. He can’t be here. He’s on the circuit. He’s far away. He⁠—

I get to my feet and turn around.

He comes out of the water, his board under his left arm, his wetsuit peeled down to his waist. His brown hair, too long, is slicked back. Drops roll down his golden skin—along his jaw, over his muscled chest, across his shoulders, broader than before.

Six years.

Six years, and he’s here, on this beach, thirty feet from me.

Flip jumps on him. He leans down, says something I can’t catch, and looks up.

His eyes meet mine.

Green. Direct. The same as six years ago.

Jace.