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“I’m sure. Have a seat,” she said, pulling her tray closer to the edge. “This place was a tomb five minutes ago.”
“Lunchtime at the beach on the first day of summer.”
“Is it? I didn’t even think of that,” she replied, a hot flash of epic proportions flooding over her body, and she held her breath.
June 21. The day Jake died, one year ago.
“June 21,” he said, picking up his napkin. “Kids must have just gotten out of school last week. I noticed families moving in. There goes the peace and quiet.”
“So you’re local?” Sofia finally asked, able to take a deep breath. “I’m Sofia Saint, by the way.”
“Ryan. Ryan Albright.” They waved at each other across the table. “So Sofia Saint, areyoulocal?”
He’d avoided answering her question.
“I’m local,” she said. She was more than local, she’d been raised at the beach. Her parents still lived in the same rambling cliffside mansion where she’d grown up. “What about you?”
“I’m local right now,” he said. She could hear the evasion in his voice. “I mean, I grew up here in North County, but I lived down in San Diego until recently.”
“How’d that come about? I’ll be honest with you, Ryan, I saw you panhandling in front of Wendy’s.”
Watching his face, she felt terrible when she saw the effect her admission had on him. It was like a hand had wiped away the handsome smiling guy with one swipe and left a sad, humiliated human being behind.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to embarrass you. I’m interested,” she said boldly again. Where was this coming from? “You caught my eye when I saw you on the street, and I thought you should know.”
He leaned back in his chair, looking at her, weighing the importance of honesty here or lying about his predicament. Something compelled him to be honest with her. The sincerity of her expression cinched it. And her admission that she was interested. What the heck did that mean? He’d tell the truth. A little at a time.
“I’m not really used to telling my life story to a stranger,” he said with a smile and then got serious. “But for some reason, I feel obligated to tell you. I had a run of bad luck. It happened so fast. First I got into trouble at work, and that led to me losing my job, and before I knew it, I lost my house.”
Basic bad-luck story. Nothing gruesome or too personal.
“I’ve heard that’s what happens to a lot of people. We take it for granted things aren’t going to change…”
“Then bingo, out of nowhere, you’re on the street,” he continued. “I’m not really on the street. I’ve got a place to stay. I have to be up and out, job hunting, and that’s what I’m doing. But in between interviews, I panhandle to get lunch money and bus fare.”
“Can’t you get unemployment?”
“I failed a drug test at work,” he said honestly. “In California you can’t collect after that.”
Trying not to let him see that his comments made her cringe, she watched him carefully as he talked. There was something about him that moved her, a childlike quality that she couldn’t put her finger on. His eyes had that unfocused look that people get when they are ready to check out. Not drugged, but weary. He was definitely weary.
“Where do you live?” she asked.
His eyes came into focus. “Do you really want to know?”
She looked down at her bowl. Did she want to know? “Yes, I guess I do,” she replied softly.
“A friend over on Andover Street has an empty storage shed he lets me use. They leave the back door unlocked so I can use the facilities.”
Andover was in the middle of one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the area. But a storage shed was a storage shed. Hearing that this handsome, well-spoken guy was living in a storage shed made an itch rise inside her chest, like her heart was beating the wrong way. She looked at her watch. Lunch was over.
“I’d like to see it,” she said. “Will you take me there? But I have to call my office to rearrange my schedule.”
She had an interview at two with a guy who built motorized unicycles. Such was the exciting life of a beach reporter.
“Why do you want to see it?” he asked, curious.
He looked at her to really see her for the first time, and she was lovely in a classic way. The clothes she had on were plain office clothes, a straight dark blue skirt and a white shirt like a uniform, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Blond hair, cut shaggy, looked silky and natural. Examining her face, she was wearing makeup, but you couldn’t really see it. A good word to describe her was natural. Shaking his head, he wondered what he’d just asked her.
