Page 35 of Second Tide's the Charm
When he speaks, his voice is husky. “Have you eaten?”
Wind blows the sandwich wrapper against my face, and I wrinkle my nose against the itch, but the first bite of crispy battered shrimp and toasted roll is euphoria. I ordered on instinct, barely glancing at the menu before deciding what meal would best conquer my seafood cravings, and totally nailed it.
I swallow down the bite and ask, “Why is it that food tastes better by the beach?”
The ocean is visible over the railing behind Adrian, steps away from our table at a restaurant Adrian told me he discovered last year. The sound of rolling waves echoes our past seaside dinners. Shared meals that float at the edges of my memory like the Edison bulbs strung from the pergola above, casting a warm glow.
I tell myself that remembering won’t hurt, that I have to acknowledge the good along with the bad if I want to move on. Don’t know if it’s true, but it feels good to take a break from trying to forget. The drive over was quiet, and we haven’t discussed my irrational hesitation to upload the video, given that the purpose of filming content is to share it.
Adrian tears a ketchup packet open with his teeth. The flash of canines does something indecent to me. “Agree to disagree.” He’s got a napkin squeezed between his arm and torso, and flinches when a gust of wind sends loose sand skittering along the decking underfoot. “Beach picnics are the worst. I’d rather go hungry.”
“This from the man who brought a tub of leftover lasagna onto Sinclair’s boat for a two-hour trip?”
His shoulders shake in silent laughter, cheeks bulging with food he swallows with a visible gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing above the undone top button of his shirt. I’ve got to stop paying such close attention to him. He’s caught me a few times, but with a perplexed look, like he has no clue how irresistible he is.
“‘I said snacks, Adrian,’” he intones in an attempt at a British accent, eyes alight. “‘If it requires a fork, it’s a meal.’ Joke was on him though—” he wipes his mouth with the pad of his thumb “—I ate that shit like a sandwich.”
I’m giggling now, the image of Adrian two-fisting the slice of cold lasagna rooted in my memory. “You’re a mess, Hollis-Parker.” The wind shifts again, bringing the smell of fisherman’s bait from the nearby pier to my nostrils, and I swallow, then say, “How is it that you grew up spending summers on the coast, but can’t handle a little sand in your sandwich?”
He chuckles. “Ask Marissa how annoying I used to be about it. I would always say I wasn’t hungry, but then her mom would make me a meal when we got back.” The corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile. “She complained it wasn’t fair, but Aunt Kim was on my side. We’d eat a sand-free meal at the table while my cousins grumbled.”
I smile, surprised to hear a new story about his childhood, wanting to ask more, but not sure if it’s wise. “Zuri’s with you on that one,” I tell him, deciding to keep things in safe territory. “Says sand belongs at the beach and nowhere else.”
“Certainly not in your mouth,” he agrees, affronted. “Sand stays in your teeth forever.”
“Kind of like the image of you double-fisting that slice of cold lasagna.” I press my knuckles to my lips to stop laughing before I accidentally inhale the food I’m chewing.
“You should see the approved snack list he added to the syllabus. Colin forwarded it to me and—”
“Oh my gosh, Colin.” I haven’t thought of him in years. One downside to not seeing people’s life updates pop up online. “It’s been so long since we spoke. What’s he up to these days?”
Adrian reaches for the saltshaker. “He’s with NOAA now. Married, too. Went to his wedding last year.” He sets down the shaker and looks at me, eyes inky pools in the sapphire light of dusk. “You went full ghost, huh?”
“Guess I did.” I gulp, though I haven’t taken another bite. “Hard to watch from the sidelines, so I stopped trying. But I’m here now.”
“Where will you go next?” His tone is casual, but I know Adrian. This is the question he’s always thinking about, planning for.What next?
But we’re just working together, and I don’t need to bare my soul, so I brush crumbs from my fingers, feigning nonchalance. “Not sure. I didn’t expect Marissa to offer me this opportunity, but now I’ve got all summer to figure it out.”
His brows inch up, almost imperceptibly, and if we were dating, he’d make a comment about how three months—two and a half now—is not a lot of time. Ask how anyone is supposed to plan when they don’t know where they’ll be next season. But we’re not, and he doesn’t.
“A lot can change in a summer,” he says, and though I let my eyes linger a moment too long on his handsome face, I see no condemnation in his expression.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the family at the next table over jostling one another. They’re huddled over their phones, glancing at the screens, then over at us. The man who appears to be the father, a balding guy with a pink sunburn, pushes back from the table. “I’m not scared to ask,” he tells the others.
I glance toward Adrian, who straightens up, like he’s bracing himself.
“Hey-o,” the stranger says, approaching the table, and it’s clear he’s had a few drinks. “You the shark dude?”
Adrian smiles, his eyes darting toward the rest of the group, and I follow his gaze to see the kid has his phone out. “Maybe.” He stands and holds out his hand. “Adrian Hollis-Parker. I share a lot of videos about shark science.”
The man guffaws, loud even amidst the music and dining chatter. “Knew it had to be you, but what are the chances, my man?” He takes Adrian’s hand and pumps it. “Your content is the real deal. My boys and I absolutely can’t get enough, but my wife says I’m crazy.”
I turn and find the woman making a shooing motion. “Harry, you’re embarrassing yourself. Get back here and let him eat in peace.”
He lets go and steps back. “Sorry, I shouldn’t bother you at your meal. Probably wouldn’t have if it weren’t for that last daiquiri. Vacation. You know how it is.” He tugs at the hem of his polo. “I’ll leave you to your meal.”
“Wait.” The boy hurries over, holding out a napkin. “Dad wanted to get your autograph for my little brother. He’s sick at the hotel with my grandma.”
