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Even with the cloud of McCoy hovering above me, I refused to let him ruin my date with Miguel. Not only was it our first date, it was my first date in longer than I cared to admit.
Okay. Five years.
Miguel picked me up from my apartment a little before sundown, and hand in hand, we walked the short distance to the beach.
Miguel had gone to a huge amount of effort to make our date perfect. He had a picnic basket made up especially for us after asking Freya about my favourite foods. Lucky for him, I’ll eat anything. He chose roasted beef tenderloin in red wine sauce, with red peppers and potatoes, Caesar salad, and brownies for dessert. It was a million miles from the ham sandwiches and ice creams I had at picnics when I was a kid.
After we’d eaten, we cleared up, and went for a walk along the sand. Evenings in Los Angeles were always cool, and Miguel wrapped his arm around me as we strolled. Some other couples were enjoying the moonlight, plus a few teenagers chatting, and the occasional person staring out at the waves.
“I wonder what he’s thinking about,” I said, as we passed a man in his forties, dressed in a business suit, and idly drawing patterns in the sand while he watched the water.
“Maybe he’s not thinking anything.”
“He’s definitely thinking. I used to do the same thing at home in England. When I needed to clear my head after work, I’d drive to the beach and sit for hours looking out at the sea.”
“What did you think about?”
“All sorts of things. Mostly how to escape from my little town.”
“Why?”
“Bad memories, I guess.”
Miguel didn’t press me, and I was glad because divulging the details of my colourful past on our first date probably wasn’t wise.
“So you don’t miss it?” he asked.
“Sometimes, but I couldn’t live there again. I miss my family though. My mum keeps hoping I’ll go back, but even if I lived in the U.K, I wouldn’t want to live in the town I grew up in. It’s too small. Everyone knows each other’s business.”
“How did you end up in America?”
I smiled. “A twist of fate.”
“Tell me more.”
“Well,” I began, “four years ago, I moved from London back to Zellor to be with my family after a bad break-up. One of my friends, and when I say ‘friend,’ I mean someone I’d known since birth but was never very close to, invited me on a trip to Boston. She had a friend there. The person she originally planned to go with backed out, so I was her last resort. I thought it might be fun. I’d meet some new people, get away from home and live a different life for a couple of weeks. As it turned out, my friend fell for her mate’s brother, which meant I spent most of the time there alone.”
“So, she invited you because she couldn’t think of anyone else then ditched you when you got there? Some friend.”
Laughing, I said, “It actually worked out for the best. I enjoyed looking around, making my way on my own. I fell completely in love with Boston, and the moment I got home, I wanted to go back. So, I set about finding out how to move to America and … here I am!”
“I know this is totally selfish, but I’m glad you’re not homesick. I would hate it if you went away.”
I smiled up at him. “Thanks for tonight. It’s been good to be together away from work.”
We stopped walking, and Miguel pulled me in to him. “Does this mean we can go out again?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what it means.”
He lowered his head to kiss me, and I closed my eyes, waiting for his lips to brush against mine. His arms protected me from the sea breeze, wrapping me in warmth, and the sound of the waves rang in my ears.
“Miguel, do you have to go home tonight?”
He shook his head, “I don’t have to.”
?
??Do you want to stay with me?”
