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Pure satisfaction falls over his face.
We ease back at the same time when the server returns with our meals.
Brandon watches me dig in, gaze intense.
I stall with my fork, asking, “Something wrong?”
He snaps out of it and begins eating.
In between, he shares about books, music, and movies he enjoys. Anything I ask that is too deep, he redirects to me without answers.
When we leave the restaurant, I’m almost anticipating he’ll bring me to the guest house to hang out some more, especially when he heads in the direction of Charleston.
But that fizzles as Brandon turns onto the road to the town beach. He pulls into a spot soon after. Not a lot of cars are in the parking area.
Shutting off the engine, Brandon tells me, “Let’s walk on the beach.”
Ooh. That’s kind of romantic.
We file out at the same time, and instantly, my nostrils catch sea salt permeating the chilly night air.
As we’re taking the steps down to the sand, a black car eases into the lot. But no one exits. It’s too shadowy to see the driver.
A strange sensation gnaws at me.
I ignore it and slip out of my flats to walk bare feet in the sand.
We stroll close together, passing a few people here and there until we’re further down the beach.
I observe the subtle waves, washing ashore, wondering about Brandon as I always do.
“Um, you never did say where your family moved from,” I mutter, hopeful he’ll tell me this time.
Brandon remains quiet for a beat, then replies in a low tone, “Ohio.”
“Oh. What part?”
“Did you make plans with Natalie for tomorrow?” he questions instead, evading. “You haven’t mentioned her in days.”
I drop my head. “We haven’t spoken.”
“How come? Thought she was your best friend?”
“She’s been hanging out with other girls. We don’t seem to have time for each other.” My shoulders droop from regret. “We already don’t live close; going to different schools makes it harder.”
“It doesn’t,” Brandon deadpans. “I told you, if she truly cared for your friendship, she wouldn’t throw it away.”
His words sting, even though he’s right.
I shake it off and ask, “What about you? Did you lose good friends by moving?”
“I was fourteen, Kayla,” he mocks. “It wasn’t anything meaningful.”
Exasperated, I throw my hands up. “You know what, Brandon? That’s enough! You’ve pushed yourself into my life, and I like you, regardless.” My pitch is high. “But while I’m opening my heart to you, you’re keeping yours locked. You won’t share anything with me! And it’s so fucking annoying and unfair!” I pivot to march off.
Brandon grips my arm. I yelp when he yanks me back and traps me in his embrace, chest pumping hard from our contact.
My eyes expand. “Bran—”
