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“Hi,” he says once I’ve twisted to face him. Snatching the hat out of my hands, he pops it onto my head before pulling the bill forward and stealing a kiss.
I smile against him. “Thief.”
Damon braces his hands on either side of me, splaying them across the counter.
“I decided today that I want one kiss for every smile you give me,” he says.
The clean scent of Damon’s cologne wafts around me, tickling my nose.
“Are you going to tell me your supersecret plan now?” I ask as he reaches for my hand and helps me to my feet.
“I think I’ll torture you a bit longer.”
I follow Damon outside, past the weatherworn wood of an empty snow cone booth. A warm gust of wind swirls around my midsection, fluttering the thin material of my shirt and whipping my hair around my cheeks beneath my hat.
“Did you enjoy your gifts?”
“I did, thank you.” The green-blue ocean contrasts dreamily with the pink-and-purple cotton-candy sky stretching beyond them. “You have impeccable taste in ladies’ underwear for a man who claims to lack social skills.”
He chuckles. “Brandi can be useful when she wants to be.”
I admire him while we walk, completely relaxed with his hands stuffed inside his pockets and his hair wind ruffled.
This is the kind of evening people dream about when they book a beach vacation. The Ferris wheel behind us flashes brightly while a group of kids chase each other, screaming and giggling as they sprint toward the ride.
A lazy smile has me eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re way too pleased with yourself to not be up to something.”
Damon opens his mouth, but I stop him with a hand on his chest.
“What’s wrong?”
A booth sits at the end of the walkway, where a young woman with a paint-speckled smock is busy arranging paint tubes in a neat row. Once she’s finished, she swipes the back of her wrist across her forehead and waves us over with a smile.
Damon’s brow jumps at the woman’s setup. “Face painting?”
“Time to make you feel young again,” I say, my belly flipping when my hand slips into his.
The pretty blonde with her hair separated in two braids leans against the counter. “Hey, guys. What can I do for you?”
“We’d like to get our faces painted, please.”
“Tell me you’re joking,” Damon half-heartedly protests.
I smile back at her before bumping him with my hip. “Surely you’re not scared of a little paint.”
The woman sifts through her bag for several different sized brushes while Damon takes a seat on a little wooden stool.
A bit too smug for my liking, he snatches a booklet with various designs from off the counter and shoves it into my hands.
“Do your worst, Miss Harris.”
Half an hour later, our toes are slipping through the sand, and Damon’s laugh is cracking the light pink flower curving around his right eye.
I follow him down the beach toward our next destination, my matching purple flower wrinkling the same as he tells me one of his favorite memories with his grandfather.
“My Grandad was easily six-two, two-fifty.” He gestures above his head. “So imagine my pole goes flying into the water with this huge channel cat on the other end of it, and the man takes off without a second thought.”
I laugh at the way he waves his hands.
