Page 95 of Hunger & Harmony

I huff on a laugh. Of course, he has no ideas.

“Hmm . . .”

The chair squeaks as I lean back, tapping my chin thoughtfully.

My hometown gets its first snow in December, and since my birthday falls close to the holidays, it always felt like everyone was out of town or busy with the season. I don’t hate winter, but I always wanted to wander downtown, get free birthday treats, and do whatever caught my attention. That’s hard to do with no one to join you, and ice and snow on the sidewalks.

“Let’s go to the boardwalk!” I say. “It’s nighttime, so you’ll be fine.”

I can see the gears clunking around in his head.

“Won’t everyone recognize us?”

Unlike him, I don’t have to think too hard. My grin widens. His curiosity swings back to terror.

“Who said anything about going as ourselves?”

We’re maybe the only people wearing sunglasses under a half moon, but no one has looked twice at us. A combination of hats, jackets, and‌ trusty sunglasses, and our disguises are working surprisingly well.

“See? Told you it’d work,” I say to him.

We walk side-by-side, ambling along the boardwalk with no plans and no urgency. Niko’s shoulders are relaxed, and through the scarf, hat, and sunglasses, I see his ease. Maybe I feel it, too. The rhythm of our bond has settled.

“I never come here,” he murmurs, and I follow his gaze to the ocean.

Saltwater ebbs against the sand, roaring gently amidst the hum of activity and sporadic music. Despite it being Saturday night, there’s nothing dense about the crowds. People gather at the restaurants and shops to our left, and chill under bistro umbrellas to our right, but we remain in a quiet pocket along the path.

“I’ve never been,” I reply.

I don’t mention the promises made with Viola to come here together. My stomach twists at the thought of her and what she must now think of me.

Niko glances down at me, and I clear my throat awkwardly.

“Look,” I say, pointing to the men busking up ahead.

A small crowd watches, clapping and enjoying. Hands drum along bongos pleasantly; a few singers and guitarists set up, too. Their song is rhythmic and uncomplicated, and I wish I had brought cash.

Niko stops. Too far for the live band to notice, but he’s watching them, listening intently. I brush my shoulder against his playfully, and our hands bump, too.

“Music that isn’t my own.”

I watch a smile curve his lips. I can’t help but join him on that.

We stay until their song blends into a couple more. When it feels right, we exchange a glance and keep walking past.

Silhouettes of palm trees line the navy horizon. There aren’t many visible stars with this much light pollution, but we’re not looking up, anyway.

“How’re you holding up?” I ask when we’ve meandered further than I thought we would. Freedom is addicting.

“This . . .”

He slows to a stop. We stand in a patch of shadow, graffiti coloring the wall next to us. There’s no need for whispering here. The sizzle of food carts and distant music from their speakers gives us privacy.

“Cadence,” he says, like he’s trying to find the right words.

“Yeah?” I ask, tilting my head.

“Hold on.”