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“Yeah,” he says.
I think he’s going to say more, but instead, he gets out and comes to my side. He opens the door and we start toward the boardwalk. He doesn’t dodge people. People move out of his way. He doesn’t even bother really looking at any of them. It’s like, if he feels someone or something is worth his time, then he makes eye contact.
I’m not worried about the people, either. I’m too busy taking in the scene. The beach in the distance. The crazy fast rides. Some spinning in midair. Some flying on tracks. All the stops along the boardwalk. Some shops, but mostly food places. The perfume in the air is a mixture of salt water, grease, and seafood. Something sweet lingers underneath it all, and my hand tightens in Lilo’s.
He glances at me but says nothing. He leads me into a shop that sells souvenirs and clothes made for the beach.
“Get what you want,” he says, nodding in the general direction of the store.
“I’m okay,” I say.
“You pick or I do.”
I grab a pastel shirt that has Coney Island on it, a pair of cutoff jeans shorts, and flip-flops. Lilo nods, adding a sweatshirt, a tote bag, and a backpack to the counter.
“What about you?” I say, looking him over.
Black t-shirt. Jeans. Boots. He looks like he’s about to hop on a Harley, not spend the day at the beach.
“I’m good,” he says.
He pays cash for everything, and we find a bathroom. I quickly change, stashing my old clothes and tennis shoes in the tote bag, and we drop the bag off in his car. He has the backpack slung over his shoulder with the sweater.
“I don’t think I’ll be needing that.” I nod to the bag but mean the sweater. “It’s hot.” He’s going to melt.
He looks me over, his dark eyes almost absorbing me. He doesn’t say it, but I’m sure he’s thinking I’m too skinny to be anything but cold. Especially at night, when the wind might almost knock me down.
I shake my head, but a smile lingers on my face. “Thank you,” I say, squeezing his hand.
His thumb rubs against the side of my pointer finger. His skin is calloused, like he does outside work, but all I feel is a soft caress. “Get used to it.”
He stops in front of a hot-dog place. Nathan’s. The building says it’s been there since 1916.
“Time to eat.”
He orders everything for us, and we take a seat outside. The beach is our view, but we watch each other. He takes huge bites, like he hasn’t eaten in days, but they’re neat. Controlled. I take small ones, not wanting my stomach to balloon before we really get started. He wipes my mouth with a napkin, because apparently, I’m drooling over him.
I take a small sip of milkshake. It’s so damn good, I’m having a hard time controlling how fast I drink it. “You’ve been here before?” I say, because he left me hanging in the car.
“Yeah,” he says. “Ma—Carine. She used to take me. We didn’t do vacations. So, she and I would take off and rent a hotel for a night or two. She told me we were tourists in our own town.” He balls up a napkin and sets it in his trash pile.
“If you didn’t do vacations, why did you come here?” I take a fry and dip it in ketchup topped with plenty of pepper.
He opens his mouth. It’s the most natural thing. I feed him like we’ve been doing this for years. I dip another while he finishes his.
“I phrased that wrong. Michele doesn’t do vacations.”
I don’t hear anything in his voice when he talks about his dad. No heat. No ice. Nothing. Not like Ava. When she says Sonny’s name, she almost spits it out.
“How come? I mean, I know how busy Valentino’s is. It’s one of the most popular bakeries in all of New York. But wouldn’t that be even more of a reason to close—at least once a year? Even the ovens need a break.”
He feeds me a fry. “Sundays, weddings, and births. That’s it.”
“I hope you have a big family,” I say.
“Just me. The last time he closed the doors for a vacation was when I was born. You want to work there?”
To be closer to you? “I’m thinking about it. Mrs. Carine wants me to—”
