Page 56 of It's a Love Story

“Let’s go see if we can find Jack,” I say. “Maybe we’ll get pulled into a tug-of-war.”

“Perfect,” Dan says.

*

JACK’S NOT SURFING.The beach is crowded, and I suspect he either came, saw the full parking lot, and left, or decided not to come for fear of the crazy woman who threw a drink at his car. Regardless, I’m a little relieved. I don’t have the purposeful focus I had when I got off the plane Monday. My mission to get this movie made at all costs has changed to a mission to get as close as humanly possible to Dan. I’ll psych myself up to talk to Jack tomorrow, but today I just want to feel the way the sand heats the bottoms of my feet as Dan takes my hand and leads me down the beach.

I turn to him as we walk, and his eyes are asking if this is okay, holding hands in the light of day. I squeeze his hand in response. I get the sense that he’s feeling as shy as I am about this new thing between us. For a second, I think I understand why they refer to the feeling in my stomach as “butterflies.” It’s fragile and new and unfathomably beautiful. I have never had butterflies before. “Butterflies on the Beach” should be a love song.

Dan lays out our towels on the sand, edges touching this time. He pulls off his shirt, and I take off my T-shirt and shorts. Dan lies on his towel and reaches a hand up to pull me down. In one movement, I am lying on my side next to him.

“You feel okay about the toast?” I ask.

“No,” he says. He takes my hand again, and I resist the urge to roll over on top of him. I wish the salty air were a blanket I could pull up over us. “I have anticipatory embarrassment about how goofy the whole thing’s going to be.”

“The singing I can’t quite picture, no offense. But let’s say you fake your way through the song. What’s the part of the toast you have to say?”

I regret the question because he has to let go of my hand to pull out his phone. He reads something and groans. “It’s a poem. It all rhymes. God, I hate Connor sometimes. Everyone has a stanza about why they love our parents, my part’s last. Probably so they can just end it if I can’t get it out.”

“Let me read it.” He hands me his phone. It’s very sweet. Brian talks about how they are so welcoming to people, Connor says they’re hardworking, Finn likes their sense of humor, and Aidan loves the way they love to eat. “Okay, here’s your part: ‘And the best thing about our father and mother, we love how they love each other.’” We both groan at the same time. “I wouldn’t want to say that either,” I say.

He turns onto his side and runs two fingers up my arm. I marvel at the fact that I can be simultaneously wearing this bathing suit and feeling this sexy. “For my brothers, nothing’s too corny or too loud. The song will be over the top, guaranteed. And this horrible toast will go over like Churchill delivered it. People adore them.”

“Well, that’s good,” I say, “If everyone loves the Finnegan brothers and their shenanigans, the stakes are low for this toast.”

“Not for me.” His fingers reach my shoulder and trace the strap of my bathing suit. He smiles at me and I know we’re both mentally back in that car.

The answer to every question his eyes are asking isYes,but I can’t get the word out. I close my eyes and think of how fearless Dan is about saying what’s in his heart. I turn to him with this in mind but am completely distracted by the way he’s looking at me. I feel a shift, a total reversal of what my type is. What if my type is messy and good? What if my type is an unmade bed on a Sunday morning?

I cover my eyes with the back of my hand and refocus. “Your toast,” I say. “Okay, try this. Don’t be a Finnegan brother. Say your own thing. What’s the thing you admire about your parents?”

“They’re really in love.”

“It’s nice, the way they are together,” I say.

“Yeah, on her birthday, he sings her this old song. It’s terrible, but she cries every time. But it’s more the everyday stuff, like the way they’re always aware of where the other one is in the room, like they’re each other’s house keys. It’s so many small things, but all together it’s so strong. I guess they’re the thing I aspire to be. I’d like to find that kind of love.”

“What’s that?”

“They’re the thing I aspire to. I’d like to find that kind of love.”

“Does that feel natural to say?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t rhyme.”

“Dan, you guys are too old to rhyme. Connor’s trying to turn the Finnegan brothers into a vaudeville show.”

He laughs and leans a bit closer to me.

“Just say the thing you want to say.”

The air changes and he holds my gaze. “The thing I want to say?” His eyes are soft, and I feel like there’s something he wants to tell me. “Wait, you mean to my parents.” He looks over my shoulder and then back at me. “They’re the thing I aspire to, and I’d like to find that kind of love.”

“Perfect,” I say.

“Okay,” he says and then touches my cheek. I didn’t know you could be starving for someone to touch your cheek, but I must have been. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” I say. He leans in and kisses me. He is sea air and sunscreen, and there’s nothing in the world more natural than us together like this in front of all of Oak Shore. I feel the warmth of his mouth all over my body and I try to memorize the feeling. This thing with Dan is something I don’t believe in, but it’s growing inside my heart anyway.

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