Page 9 of Malibu Rising

As June stood in the parking lot in her favorite A-line dress and a buttoned-up pink cardigan, she checked her reflection one more time in a hand mirror and smoothed her hair.

And then there he was at six on the dot. Mick Riva in a silver Buick Skylark. He was wearing a well-fitted navy suit with a white shirt and a thick black tie, not unlike the look he would be known for only a few short years later.

“Hi,” he said as he got out of the car and opened her door.

“Hi,” June said as she got in. “You’re quite the gentleman.”

Mick smiled out of only one side of his mouth. “Mostly.” June forbade herself from swooning.

“Where are we going?” June asked as Mick pulled out of the lot and headed south.

“Don’t you worry,” Mick said as he smiled at her. “It’s gonna be great.”

June sat back in her seat and pulled her purse into her lap. She looked out her window, facing the twilight ocean view. It was easy, in moments like this, to appreciate how beautiful her hometown was.

Mick pulled into the parking lot of the Sea Lion, built against the rocky shoreline, with its oversized swordfish sign proclaiming itWORLD FAMOUS.

June’s eyebrows went up. She’d been there a few times before with her parents on special occasions. There were hard-and-fast rules in her family for places like this: only water to drink, one appetizer, split an entrée, no dessert.

Mick opened up her car door and took her hand. She stepped out of the car.

“You look gorgeous,” he said.

June tried not to blush. “You look very handsome, as well,” she said.

“Why, thank you,” Mick said, smoothing his tie and shutting the door behind her. Soon, she could feel the warmth of his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the front door. She immediately surrendered to his touch. His command of her felt like relief—as if, finally, there was someone who would usher her toward her future.

Once inside, the two of them were led to a table by a window, looking out over the Pacific.

“This is lovely,” June said. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

She watched Mick’s face loosen and brighten into a smile. “Oh, good,” he said. “I took a chance you’d want seafood but I wasn’t sure. Since it sounds like your family owns Pacific Fish, right?”

“Yes.” June nodded. “My parents own it and run it. I help out.”

“So are you sick of eating lobster?” Mick asked.

June shook her head. “Not at all. I’m sick of lobsterrolls.If I never see another lobster roll it will be too soon. But we almost never have a full lobster. And we certainly don’t have steak or anything like that. It’s all burgers and fries and clams and stuff. Everything’s fried. My father has not met a single thing he can’t fry.”

Mick laughed. And June hadn’t been expecting it. She looked up at him and smiled.

“When they retire, I’m supposed to take over.” Her parents had recently expressed a very unappealing idea to June: that she should marry a man who wanted to be in the restaurant business with them.

“And I take it you’re not excited about that?” Mick asked.

June shook her head. “Would you be?” Maybe he would be. Maybe marrying a man who wanted to take over the restaurant wouldn’t be so bad.

Mick looked June in the eye and held her gaze for a moment. “No,” he said. “I would not be excited about that.”

June looked down at her water and took a sip. “No, I suspected not.”

“I’ve got my eyes on a bigger prize is all,” Mick said.

June looked up. “Oh?”

Mick smiled and put down his menu. He repositioned himself, leaning forward, sharing with June a secret, a sales pitch, a magic spell. “I’m a singer,” he said.

“A singer?” June asked, her voice rising. “What kind of singer?”

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