Page 30 of The Beach Trap

“Well then,” Henry says, his own smile faltering. “Maybe it was that look of determination on your face.”

That gets a laugh. When “resting bitch face” became a thing, I heard it a lot—but I’m not a bitch unless someone deserves it. I did a whole post on Instagram about it, how just because I’m not smiling doesn’t mean I’m angry or a bitch. It’s my look of determination and overall badassery.

Henry seems like the type who doesn’t even have an Instagram account, so I’m sure the phrase is just a coincidence. And when he saw me just now, I was determined—not to lose my shit in public.

The dark cloud hanging over my head seems to have passed for the moment, and I wonder if it’s the return of Henry Alexander, or if there’s something about him that reminds me of the way I used to be.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, no longer in a rush. Henry’s eyes dart over to the bank, then back at me. “In Destin, I mean.”

What he’s doing at the bank is none of my business, just like what I was doing isn’t his or anyone else’s business. CoCo doesn’t even know why I needed a contact for a mortgage broker. She didn’t question me when I asked, which is good since I still haven’t told her what’s going on.

She probably assumed I’m looking to upgrade to a bigger place—or more likely, she was too focused on whatever’s going on in her own life to think about mine. In her defense, it sounds like the drama with her brother has gotten pretty out of hand.

“I live here,” Henry says. “Never left.”

I nod, remembering that Henry was a year-round beach kid. “Must be nice living where other people only get to come for vacation,” I say.

“You’re here for vacation?”

I shrug and make a noncommittal noise. “Not exactly.”

Henry tilts his head and keeps his eyes locked on mine—this man I knew in another lifetime when I was another person looks like he genuinely cares. Even though he and I are virtual strangers now, there’s something about him that makes me want to share all my secrets.

Which is ridiculous, I remind myself. He’s just being polite. Henry was always well-mannered, even as a kid. Not only did he go out of his way to saypleaseandthank you, but he’d have actual conversations with my parents and grandparents, asking how they were. They adored Henry, and my mom not so subtly told me I could learn a thing or two from him.

When I don’t elaborate, Henry nods and puts his hands in his pockets. It looks like he’s about to walk away, and for some reason, I don’t want him to go just yet.

“Do you work?” I ask, realizing too late how terrible that sounds. Of course the man works. “I mean, what do you do?”

Henry smiles and runs a hand over his face, which I notice is covered with the growth of a few days’ stubble. “I’ve got my own business.”

“Oh,” I say, hopefully with a polite amount of surprise. He doesn’t strike me as a business owner with his casual, weekend grandpa look in the middle of the week.

“I do odds and ends,” he explains. “Everything from light construction work to changing lightbulbs and running errands for the elderly.”

“That’s awesome,” I say, realizing that my first assessment of him as someone who might very well work for the Rooneys was accurate.

“It pays the bills. And the flexibility is nice.”

That I can relate to. “Free time is a major perk in working for yourself,” I agree. “Especially in Destin—I’d be down at the water all the time if I could.”

“I don’t have that much free time,” Henry says. “But every once in a while, I help a buddy out and sell boiled peanuts out on Crab Island.”

“Ah, Crab Island.” I have a lot of great memories of being out there on my grandfather’s boat—sunny days anchored in the warm, shallow Gulf, people watching and playing Frisbee from boat to boat. “I’ll have to find a way out there while I’m here.”

Henry’s face lights up but falls again as his phone chirps. “I’m sorry, I have to get to my meeting.” He pauses and looks at me, the smile lighting up his face again. “But it was great running into you.”

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a well-worn wallet. It’s adorable how old-fashioned it is. These days, I pay for everything with credit cards linked to my phone.

“Here,” he says, handing me a card for his business, Henry’s Helping Hands. “Give me a call if you need help with anything, or just want to grab a beer.”

I slip the card into my own pocket and smile. “It was good running into you, too, Henry Alexander.” His phone chirps again, and I turn to go, leaving him to his meeting—which I hope will be more successful than mine was.

As I walk to the car, there’s a lightness to my step and a smileon my face. My car automatically unlocks as I approach, and before I climb inside, I look back, where Henry Alexander is still staring, getting later for his appointment by the second.

•••

The next morning,I wake up even more tired than I’d been the night before when I finally went to bed around one a.m. I never sleep well when I have too much on my mind, and right now, it’s like the whole world is rattling around in there.

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