Page 57 of Spring Break Fling

“What about those two?” I asked, nodding my head at an elderly couple.

Hannah followed my gaze and smiled gently. “Oh, those two have been married for fifty years,” she said without a pause. “They’ve weathered storms together—literal and metaphorical. Every year, they come to this same spot on the beach. It’s their tradition to celebrate another year of shared life.”

I grinned at her vivid imagination. “You’re pretty creative, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” she admitted, sipping her wine. “But all my stories could be true. Why not choose to see the romance in the world?”

“I don’t think there is as much romance in the world as you see,” I said. “Like that dude. Alone with his dog. I bet he’s divorced. His wife cheated, took the kids, and he’s all alone.”

Hannah shook her head, a playful look on her face. “Or he’s a widower. He loved his wife dearly. They had a long, wonderful life together. That dog? A gift from her to keep him company when she knew she wouldn’t be around much longer. He comes here to feel close to her again, watching the sunset they used to watch together.”

I laughed lightly, enjoying our little game more than I thought I would. “You always have to make it beautiful, don’t you?”

“It’s better than expecting the worst,” she said with a soft smile. “Besides, everyone has their story, and often it’s more complicated and beautiful than we can guess from just looking at them.”

We continued our people-watching game for a while, inventing lives and loves. Occasionally falling silent when a story seemed particularly poignant. I turned my gaze back to the water. A couple farther down the beach ran into the waves, laughing as the guy tackled the woman into the surf.

Hannah watched them, her eyes lighting up like fireworks. Something heavy settled in my chest. I wasn’t the guy who gave girls like her happy endings. I was the guy who crashed into their lives, left them a little scarred, and moved on.

But for the first time in a long time, I found myself wanting more.

Shaking off the thought, I stood and offered my hand to her. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” she asked, slipping her hand into mine.

“Just walking. Humor me.”

We strolled along the shore, the cool water licking at our ankles. The stars above seemed brighter here, away from the city lights.

“So,” I said, kicking at a wave. “What do you see out here? More love stories?”

“Of course,” she said, nudging me with her elbow. “This whole beach is a rom-com waiting to happen.”

“Yeah, or it’s a crime scene in progress,” I countered. “See that guy over there? Definitely burying something.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“That’s what they all say,” I teased.

She chuckled and swatted my arm playfully. “Let’s compromise. Maybe it’s a rom-com about a detective. He finds love while solving a major crime on this very beach.”

“I could live with that plot twist,” I admitted, glancing at her with a half-smile.

As we walked, Hannah paused to pick up a seashell, turning it over in her hand before showing it to me. “Look at this,” she said, her voice filled with wonder. “It’s almost perfectly intact. A little home that once housed something so small.”

I looked at the shell, then back at her. “You find beauty in the smallest things,” I said, not quite able to keep the admiration from my voice.

“That’s because there’s beauty in everything,” she replied, her eyes scanning the horizon. “You just have to look a little closer, see beyond what’s right in front of you.”

It was like she moved through a different world than the reality I experienced. She probably didn’t have a loser dad that was clearly attempting to drink himself into the grave.

“That must be the marketing genius in you,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“You see a shell and you see its backstory. Instead of a shell that most people would simply walk right by you find a way to make people see it. You’re marketing the shell.”

She laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”