Page 55 of Worth the Trip

She picked up a slim poetry collection.

“You read poetry?”

“I read everything.”

“That ain’t an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting until I know whether you judge people by their bookshelves.”

“I absolutely judge people by their bookshelves.”

She looked over the book. “See? This is why I’m protecting myself.”

“I allow appeals.”

“How generous.”

“Due process matters.”

She bought the poetry collection and tucked it into the bag with the novel she’d brought to lunch. We kept walking until the marina opened into wider water and stopped near the railing.

For a while, we didn’t say anything.

I didn’t mind it.

Nolani leaned against the railing, curls moving across her cheek when the wind picked up. Her hands stayed relaxed against the wood.

No pendant.

I noticed because of course I did.

I also left it alone because I was learning something important about her. Nolani didn’t need every internal shift narrated back to her like I was providing live analytics.

“You ever have days like this at home?”

“Days where nobody needs anything from me?”

“That answer told on you.”

A small smile appeared. “I’m trying to learn.”

“Same.”

She looked toward me.

For a second, it felt like we were both standing inside the same realization.

I resisted the urge to write a dissertation about it.

Growth.

We stayed there until the sun dropped lower, and the wind picked up off the water. Eventually, Nolani checked the time.

“I should get back before Nana sends Mr. Calvin to find me.”

“The cornmeal man?”

She laughed. “The very one.”