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Esme’s suit was a halter, so her upper back was completely exposed. Her flower tattoos flowed over her shoulder and went down her side. Otherwise, her back was free of ink. Just an expanse of beautiful skin that my fingers trembled to touch.
I started with the tattooed area, marveling at how bright the colors were.
“Your tattoos are pretty,” I said. She looked at me over her shoulder.
“Thank you. I’ve had them for years, and I keep thinking about adding more, but I can never make up my mind.” I moved my shaking hand faster, going across her upper back.
“I know what you mean. I keep thinking about getting one, but I’m so scared about hating it in a few years that I can’t. What made you chose this?” Whew, at least that was a normal question.
She inhaled through her nose and didn’t answer for a while. My hand slowed, working in circles. The sunblock was mostly rubbed in, but I didn’t want to stop touching her.
“It’s taken from a painting my grandmother did that hangs in my dad’s house. Seemed fitting. I’ve always loved it, and I was itching to do something after a breakup.”
Oh, I’d been there. After a particularly bad breakup I’d made an appointment to pierce my nipples but had caved at the last minute and had cancelled. After Wyatt, I’d also considered shaving my head. I’d even put clippers in my cart but then hadn’t purchased them.
“It’s really stunning,” I said, and finally stopped touching her. I cleared my throat. “Do you want to have lunch?”
She looked back at me and our gazes locked for several seconds. Was she going to say something else?
“Sure. Let’s go eat.”
She got to her feet and held both hands out to help me up. We ended up closer than I intended and it took a few moments for her to drop my hands again before she picked up her cover-up. I put mine on as well, and we grabbed our wallets from our bags.
“You think our stuff will be okay?” she asked as we walked toward the snack bar.
“Yeah, it should be. Unless some seagulls run off with our towels. I once had one yank an entire hot dog out of my hand when I was a kid. I ended up chasing it down the beach, convinced I could catch it. No luck. I’m still sad about that hot dog.” I pretended to pout.
“Aw, I’m sorry. Can I get you one to make up for it?” she said as we got in line.
“That might help. I’ll probably need to get some ice cream too. And fries. Or onion rings. I can’t decide.”
“Let’s get everything,” she said, her eyes sparkling. Fuck, she looked so good. The wind kept tossing her hair around like a wind machine in a commercial and I couldn’t stop staring.
We finally got to the order window and we did get just about everything. I covered my hot dog with ketchup and onions. Esme put relish and mustard and onions on hers. I made sure we had ketchup and ranch for the fries and onion rings. Somehow, we were able to secure a picnic table to ourselves and didn’t have to share it with any random sticky children.
Esme bit into her hot dog and made a sound that was so sexy that I knew I turned red.
“This is so good,” she said, after she’d swallowed. “I literally don’t remember the last time I even had a hot dog.”
I tasted my own, and it was delicious. The bun had been grilled with butter, which really put it over the top. We both finished our dogs quickly and moved on to the basket of fries and onion rings.
“I can’t believe I have to go to work tomorrow,” she said with a sigh as she picked up a fry and studied it.
“Why do you work so much?” Maybe that was too invasive, but it did seem like she worked a lot more than forty hours a week.
Esme munched the fry and thought about her answer.
“I guess I’m just used to it? I’ve been working a ton of hours for years, starting in high school. I mean, I was working weekends at the store for Dad when I was like eleven. He always worked a lot, so I guess I just did that.” She lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know. I need the money, for sure, but I guess I did it because I thought it’s what everyone did.”
She was right there. People in Castleton did work a lot of hours at multiple jobs. Teachers cleaned cottages in the summer, people drove plow trucks in the winter and mowed lawns in the summer, librarians worked weekends as waitresses. There weren’t a whole lot of low-stress, low-hours jobs available, so people did what they could with their skills.
“No, that makes sense. I mean, if you could take more time off, you should. You have the rest of your life to work,” I said.
I pulled out the biggest onion ring in the box.
“Holy crap, that is huge,” Esme said.
“Split it?”
