Page 22 of The Hampton Beach Café
They had broken for lunch, and Frances figured it was the best time to head down to the shore and see if she could find Alex's Eco-safari stand. As she approached the spot where he had collided with her shin less than a week ago, she spotted a broad-shouldered figure standing amongst flags and jet-skis on the sand. The figure turned towards her and waved. She hoped it was Alex.
“Hey!” he called, jogging towards her. “How have you been? I thought you were headed home a few days ago. I wanted to see you again before you left.”
He wanted to see me?Her stomach gave a little flip that had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that she had realized he was shirtless as he jogged across the beach. Shirtless and very much still in shape. She swallowed hard.
“Yeah, we were. There's been, well, a development. Can you break for lunch?”
“Sure,” he said, turning to call over his shoulder. “Luca? Mind the counter. I'm going to lunch!”
“Don't you need, you know, your...” she gestured to his bare chest.
He laughed as he glanced down. “Nah, we'll go to the fish and chop shop across the way––best in town and no dress code.”
***
The meal was delicious, she had to admit, and it certainly didn't hurt that she felt like she was sixteen again. Sitting with Alex on the foreshore and chatting was so natural to her that she almost forgot why she was there.
“So, I am still here…” she said, “…because I kind of made a wild, spur-of-the-moment choice.”
“You? Never,” he teased.
She narrowed her eyes in a 'you shut up' expression from their teenage years, but Frances also found herself laughing.
“Yes, me,” she said, turning serious again. “I walked past your old place the other day.”
His expression lost all its mirth. “Yeah...my parents had to sell. The moron who bought it tried to turn it into some overpriced dessert bar. It failed within a year. Next guy thought nail salon. He got two years. A craft supply shop, five years. Dog groomers, less than a year. Bicycle rental was the longest. They lasted about five years. The massage parlor never even opened, which I was very happy about at the time because the idea of people getting massaged in my old bedroom made me flinch. It was empty a lot too. I'm glad my parents moved down to Salem, so they didn't have to see it.”
“What about a specialty coffee house and art gallery?” she asked and held her breath.
He raised an eyebrow. “No, never was one of those. I can kind of see it though––all bright and airy.”
Frances breathed a small sigh of relief. He wasn't totally opposed to the idea.
“Yeah…” she said, “…that's kind of the plan...”
Several seconds passed as he looked at her quizzically.
“Your plan?” he asked, his voice low.
She nodded.
“You...you're the developer from LA the guys were talking about in the bar?” Alex said, sitting up straight now, but his voice was even quieter.
“No! I'm not a developer! I've never even owned a house before! I kind of...well, there were two guys at the auction talking about pulling it down, and they were winning, and so I bid thinking someone else might join in, but...I won.”
They sat in silence. Frances could hear the sea whooshing in and out just across the road as strongly as she could hear her own heart racing.
Please don't hate me. Please don't hate me. Please don't hate me...
“Wait, why were you even there?”
“I was walking past, saw a crowd, and felt...nostalgic, I suppose,” she explained. “So I went in, and you had to register to enter, so I did. I didn't plan this, I swear. I just wanted to see the place again. We had so many good times there and sneaking out of there.”
That made him laugh. “Yes, we did.”
He was quiet again for a moment, and Frances let him sit with whatever he was feeling. He'd speak when he was ready.
The waitress came and went, Frances paid for their lunch and finished her soda before he spoke again.
