Page 57 of A Shore Fling
I feel a frown digging deep between my eyebrows. “So you don’t want to come with me?”
She considers for a second, then nods. “Let me grab my sandals.”
Five minutes later, we’re in my truck with the windows down and the early evening air rolling in. She’s quiet for the first few blocks, watching the town pass by. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer than usual. “Thanks. For yesterday.”
“You’re welcome. You planning on getting back on the bike?”
“Oh, for sure, just not today.”
I grin. “Fair enough.”
We stop at a cluster of shops near the pier. A bakery, a used bookstore, Reed’s surf shop, and a deli with a chalkboard sign out front that lists everything they offer.
“Smells like heaven,” she says as we step out of the truck.
“The salt air or the food?” I ask.
“Both.”
I scratch the back of my neck. “Where do you want to go first?” I’m not much of a fan of shopping, but for her, I could be. Or at the very least, I can fake it.
“I’d love to go to the bookstore.”
I let out an ironic laugh. “I should’ve figured.” We walk along the cobblestones and enter One Page at a Time. “Should I find somewhere to sit?”
“No, I won’t be long. I know exactly what I want,” she says, wandering off.
I find a large section with magazines and look through them. Nina holds true to her word and is done checking out within five minutes.
“That was impressive,” I tell her.
“Thanks.”
“Where to now?”
She points to the store next door. “Is that Reed’s surf shop?”
“Yep. Wanna go see it?”
She smiles. “You bet.”
When I open the door, the customer alert tone sounds like wind chimes. Inside smells like wax, neoprene, and incense. It’s part retail and part local hangout, with surfboards and skateboards mounted on the crisp white walls. Locals and tourists mill about, checking out the merchandise.
Reed’s behind the counter, typing something on the iPad register. He looks up, surprised for a second, then grins. “Well, this is a nice surprise.”
“I come here all the time,” I say.
“Yeah, but not with company.” He waggles his eyebrows.
I grunt. “Nina wanted to come in.”
Nina glances between us, clearly amused. “Hi, Reed. Your shop is great. I love the vibe.”
“Thanks.” He comes around the counter. “The grand opening was two months ago, and business has been pretty steady since.”
“I can see why. I need to look around more closely,” she says, drifting toward a display of long-sleeved shirts and lightweight hoodies with the shop’s logo on the chest and the town’s zip code printed in large numbers on the back. She runs her fingers over one of the sweatshirts and lifts it from the hanger. “These are so soft, and I love this color.”
“Take it,” I say, leaning a hip against the counter.
