Page 18 of Hearts Adrift
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been hit on.” He uses a razorblade to trim the cardboard, fitting it to the hole. Then he pastes on a smile—a forced one. “I was rude earlier.”
“Rude?”
He begins securing the cardboard in place. “Yeah. I … should have said thank you for complimenting my eyes.”
“No.”
His smile falters. He lifts an eyebrow. “No?”
“You don’t owe me for my compliment. Certainly not a thank you. I shouldn’t have come on to you like that and made things uncomfortable, especially in that situation. I should’ve respected your bungalow and called the number instead of breaking in and creating more work for you.”
After a moment of appearing stunned, he slowly clicks off his headlamp—thank you—then drops his hand. The wind picks up out of nowhere, the salty scent from the crashing waves hitting us at once, drawing both of our faces to the darkness of the shore. I don’t know if a storm is coming in or if this is the usual weather, but everything about tonight seems incorrigibly restless.
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” he softly says.
I turn back to him. “I didn’t?”
“I’ve been in a weird place. Emotionally. In my life.” He runs a finger along his cardboard patch, as if detecting a wrinkle in the tape and choosing to smooth it out. “Your compliment … wasn’t unwelcome.”
The soft light spilling out from inside the house barely catches his eyes, but I think I see a flicker of something in them. Frustration. Uncertainty.
Then he smiles. “It’s not usually the first thing people compliment.” He half-turns to me, gaze still on his work. “I’ll take a compliment about my eyes any day.”
“Really?”
“Yep.” He brushes his hands, pulls off his gloves, and tucks them into his back pocket. “That should hold you for the night. At least to keep the beach biters out.”
“Beach biters …?”
“A species of bug I just made up.” He faces me fully. “I’ll send a guy tomorrow to fix the window and the front lock. In and out without even seeing you. He can leave a new key on the porch right where you found the first one.”
“Why bother fixing them at all?” I ask, throwing him a shrug. “What do windows help, anyway?”
He frowns. “Our AC bill.”
I come up and lean on the wall by the other side of the door, facing him. “Windows are just barriers between us and the realworld. Staring through glass feeling like you’re a part of life, but you’re not really experiencing it. You can see what the rocky beach looks like, but can you actually describe how the stones feel under your bare feet?”
He gives it a thought. “Seems … ironic, doesn’t it?”
I meet his eyes, finding him smirking. He even looks cute when he smirks. “What do you mean?”
“When you make movies for a living?” He sees that I don’t follow, then shifts his weight. “I mean, isn’t that the only way people get to experience your stories? Through a pane of glass? If that’s what a TV screen can be called …”
“Maybe in the 90s.”
“And it hurts, by the way,” he goes on. “Walking with bare feet on that rocky shore. Wouldn’t recommend it. It’s not really for people to walk on, anyway.”
I gaze over said shore, hearing waves crashing in the dark, a faint glow of the moon scattering over the jagged rocks like spilled paint. “Can’t say I’ve experienced that.”
“I’d recommend the other beaches on the island. South end, Breezeway Point. On the west end, Sugarberry Beach. Then there’s Cottonwood Cove, which is a secluded—”
“I’ve done nice beaches,” I tell him. “I want to do an ugly one. An ugly one people aren’t supposed to walk on.”
“But—Wait.” I’m kicking off my sandals. “Seriously?”
“I just want to know what it feels like.” I straddle the wooden railing, then glance back at him. “Maybe I’m in a weird place, too. Emotionally. In my life. A journey over a deadly beach in the dark sounds exactly like what I need.” I hop over to the other side, the gravel crunching satisfyingly beneath my feet. Despite his sputtering protests, I take off down the jagged rocks and stones toward the water.
I’m surprised when I notice Finn following me.
