Page 58 of The Voice We Find

15

August

The taunting aroma of the hot, deep-fried tortilla chips and fresh tacos Sophie left me to babysit while sheruns a quick errandis quite possibly the biggest test of my willpower to date. She’s been inside the tiny pink-and-white striped building on the side of the road for four minutes now. Not that I’m counting.

Only, I most definitely am.

When she finally emerges, she’s carrying a giant bag of multicolored saltwater taffy. Her white dress billows around her shapely legs as she jogs back to the car, and it’s only then that my gnawing physical hunger makes room for a different kind of desire. One that’s sure to put my current willpower test to shame if she keeps smiling at me like that.

“That was almost a tragedy,” she says as she pops into the car and buckles up again. “They normally close at five, but an employee happened to be there doing inventory so he made an exception for me.”

“Oh, I’m sure he did,” I say wryly.

“What isthatsupposed to mean?”

I make a show of looking her over before I reverse onto the street again. “I mean, no red-blooded male would have sent you away.”

She laughs like I’m making a joke, but I’m not. First of all, I’m too hungry to joke. Second of all, there is nothing laughable about the level of Sophie’s attractiveness.

“Well, all that matters is that we now have a beach-worthy dessert. Oh, wait. I think I learned that word.”

“Learned what word?” I ask absentmindedly as I park much closer than my usual spot, seeing as we’re not here to surf. Thankfully, I have a blanket in the back that can work for this spontaneous beach picnic. I’ve already spied a spot with little wind interference due to the sand berms.

But Sophie’s in another world. She’s too busy forming her fingers into ...Ah. She taps the circle part of two ASLDs together.

“Dessert!” she exclaims with pride. “I remembered because it’s like two big bellies bumping together. That was in the basics bonus lesson I took online this week—although, honestly, I think I’d use that sign more thanwater.”

Despite my increasing hunger pangs, I laugh. But when I collect our food bags from the back seat, I inform Sophie that if I don’t eat within the next five minutes, she’ll need to learn an allotment of new signs, likely those having to do with my untimely death.

She gets out of the car.

There are less than half a dozen cars parked in the small lot behind us, which accounts for the kiteboarders I see on the open water and the older couple tossing a Frisbee into the surf for their golden retriever, as well as a group of teens circling the tide pools on the outskirts of what we can see from the blanket I’ve spread out for us, where it looks like we’ve just opened a Mexican restaurant. In addition to the chips, salsa, queso, and guacamole containers, we also have a platter of fish tacos at our disposal.

It’s after my second helping that the dip in my blood sugar levels finally evens out. And it dawns on me then that Sophie hasn’t said a word since we tapped our respective tacos together in bon appetit fashion and turned our attention to the ocean.

“You’ve gone quiet,” I venture.

“That’s because I’m eating.” Her reply is simple, yet I don’t completely trust it.

In general, the women I’ve shared a meal with in the past have been disgruntled by my lack of communication during a meal. So this is unchartered water.

“You don’t like to talk when you eat?” If this is a test, I don’t want to screw it up.

She dabs the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “Sometimes, I guess. But I enjoy savoring the flavors of a good meal. And right now, that good meal is a taco on the beach with a friend.” With a satisfied-sounding sigh, she sets her to-go box on the blanket and takes a slow sip of her bottled water. I try not to stare at the curve of her collarbones or the sweet angles of her face in the waning sunlight. I fail.

“This is a perfect evening, August. Thank you for inviting me.”

There’s not a trace of irony to be found in her statement as she looks from the surf to me, and yet I’m still stuck on the fact that she could have chosen anywhere—any highbrow establishment in any of the affluent cities surrounding us—and she chose this. A quiet evening on a beach as personal to me as my adolescence, eating tacos out of a to-go box.

Sophie Wilder might be the most marriageable woman on the planet.

I blink hard.Did I really just think that?

I wipe my mouth with a napkin before setting the remains of my dinner aside. “If anybody is getting thanked tonight, it’s you—seeing as you likely saved my hand.”

Sophie turns her twinkly eyes on me, and my heart thuds hard in my chest. “It would have been a shame to lose it. It’s such a nice hand.” Though her tone holds the remnant of a tease, the light, familiar way her fingers graze my healing scar is anything but laughable. “I hope you’ll think twice about climbing on top of greenhouses in the future, or at least, if you do, make sure to implement the buddy system.”

“The buddy system?” I quirk an eyebrow at her. “Not sure I’m familiar with that terminology in construction.”

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