Page 77 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

He nods in agreement. “Nothing worse than a soggy towel against your skin.”

“Hey, where’s Maisie?” I ask, suddenly realizing we’re both incapacitated and there’s no one at the register.

“She had to leave for the doctor. But don’t worry.” He must notice my anxious expression. “There’s nobody else in here. I think they all fled because of the storms.”

“Yeah.” I press the ice harder against my aching head. “There really wasn’t anyone out when I went for my walk.”

He’s surveying me with an expression I can’t quite place. “You’ve never taken a walk on your break before.”

Don’t move, I command the muscles in my face. I don’t want to give anything away. “I just felt like getting some fresh air.”

Oliver blinks. “Okay.”

“Don’t you ever have the urge to flee the artificial lighting in here?” I paste on a smile that I hope obfuscates every ounce of how I’m feeling right now.

“Sometimes.” He’s still staring at me like I’m a puzzle he can’t crack.

The only sounds in the bookstore are the ice quietly popping; the plastic bags crinkling against our skin.

I can’t deal with how tenderly he’s watching me, so I hurry to break the tension. “So, I called my mom today.”

“Wow. How was that?”

“It was…” I rack my brain for the right adjective. “Weird. It was really weird.”

Oliver tilts his head, inviting me to continue. “Weird how?”

“I don’t know,” I reply, toying with my skirt under the table. “Good, I guess. I’ve got a lot on my mind, and I really needed someone to talk to. The call was pleasant enough. But she said something that confused me.” I haven’t mentioned the contents of Eleanor’s diary to Oliver yet, just that I’d read it. I’m curious if he’ll ask for more details.

“Can I help?”

My heart leaps at the offer; at the way his eyes are still tight on me across the table. But I shake my head. “I don’t think so. But thanks. I’m just dealing with a bit of a family mystery that I can’t seem to solve.”

He shoots me a wry grin. “I’ve read every Sherlock Holmes story there is. Multiple times, in fact. I might be better-equipped to help you than you think.”

After I laugh, I consider it. Laurel’s mad at me; Janie and Mom won’t discuss what they know. I realize I need to harness my inner moxie and ask my dad for the truth, but I’m scared. Afraid to open up a vat of grief that neither of us is ready to deal with just yet.

But here’s Oliver, with no skin in the game whatsoever, looking at me like he cares. Offering to help me, even though, in the last week, I’ve both rejected his romantic advances and damaged his truly spectacular face. Why can’t I open up to him? If he’s willing, which it seems he is. And besides, I’ll do just about anything to keep him sitting here, making my heart feel as warm as the beach sand at midday.

“Okay,” I agree at last. “So, there’s something strange about my grandmother’s diary.” And I tell him everything.

When I’m done unloading the story on Oliver, he sits there puzzling it over for a few minutes. He’s so focused, his dark brows tight over his nose, that I lose myself in watching him.

“Well,” he says finally, shattering my perfect daydream of reading while cuddled next to him on a beach blanket, “that’s certainly quite the mystery.”

“Right?”

He nods. “And you’re probably going to hate me for saying this, but your mom is right. I think you need to talk to your dad.”

“Oliver,” I whine. “You tempted me with hype talk about your detective skills.”

His face settles into a self-satisfied grin. “I did. And I stand by that assessment of my abilities.”

“So?” I lean toward him, elbows sliding across the table.

He does the same, stopping just shy of colliding with my face again. “So?” he breathes, making my heart flutter.

“So tell me what you think.”