Page 63 of Playing the Field
“Glad to have you, Gracie. Hunter’s got a good eye for spotting some of our shyer species, so stick with him.”
“I plan to.” I tip my head against Hunter’s shoulder, and he wraps his hand around mine. It feels natural to be with him like this.
Like a girlfriend.
I don’t know if that’s what I am, but maybe I could be. I’m not sure if Hunter “does” girlfriends or relationships. But I’m okay not knowing.
The ranger, a guy our age with a full, dark beard, round glasses, and a parks service badge around his neck, fishes into a gear box and retrieves two pairs of binoculars and a laminated list of birds, complete with photos.
“You’ll see a lot of these.” He points at a crane and a sandpiper on the sheet and then tips his head toward a flock of them on the wet sand. “But lemme know if you spot any nests in the grasslands. We need to mark those.”
“Sure thing,” Hunter says, taking the binoculars. I grab the birding guide, and we walk toward a grassy area where the tide is rolling in.
“We looking for nests?” I point at the grassy areas.
“Yup. Where there are nests, there are often really cool mama birds keeping their eggs warm. And like he said, they need to be marked and cordoned off so they don’t get trampled.”
I press my lips together to keep from smiling when he calls them “mama birds.” The sun warms the back of my neck as we poke along in the waving grasses, submerged in ankle-deep water.
“I’m getting the impression that today’s theme is getting wet,” I say as my flip-flops squelch in the wet sand.
Hunter leans close, his short beard grazing my cheek when he growls against my ear. “If this is getting you wet, I’ll consider my work today done.”
My skin blazes at the suggestion, and a jolt hits my core. If I wasn’t wet before, I am now. “Um, I…” I sputter.
“Good,” Hunter whispers before kissing my cheek. I look around to see if anyone notices him being openly affectionate. Even if he doesn’t seem concerned, I am. Not interested in being a part of some beach bunny’s social media post.
We’re all but alone in a section of sand and grass, so I relax. Hunter grabs my hand and puts a finger to his lips. He points, and we tread softly toward an area in the sandy grass where he indicates I should use my binoculars. He does the same, and we zoom in on two birds with blue plumage fussing around three minuscule babies in a small nest.
He squeezes my hand as we stand silently, taking this miracle of nature. I’m dying to ask how he knew where to look, but I don’t dare disturb the birds. We watch for a good five minutes as the birds communicate with each other, one plodding through the grass while the other feeds the hatchlings, beak to beak.
Hunter taps my shoulder and indicates the shore behind us. I nod, and we silently back away from the birds.
“That was amazing,” I say.
Hunter’s voice is low, and I can barely hear him over the lapping waves a hundred feet away, so I lean closer. “You might be sensing a theme…all of my favorite LA places are about perspective. Getting away from the crowds and finding a little peace.”
“I’m glad you figured out a way to do that. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
“Aw, Gracie, it’s my pleasure. We all need a little peace, don’t we?”
Hunter wraps an arm around my shoulders, and we stroll along the sand, every so often raising our binoculars to track abird in the air or zoom in on another grassy area with potential for babies.
I can’t help feeling like I’ve found my little bit of peace right here. With him.
Our day endswith a casual seafood dinner at a spot I’d never have noticed without Hunter pointing it out as we continued north on the highway.
We stopped at a beach club on the way so we could shower and change, so I’m now wearing the outfit I chose earlier, before I knew where we’d go to dinner. I’ve ditched the tee and shorts for a yellow cotton sundress with spaghetti straps and a fitted bodice, and the flip-flops have given way to sandals.
The beach club was stocked with every imaginable hair and skin product, so I feel halfway decent sitting across from Hunter, whose tanned skin glows and his dark, damp hair is perfectly tousled, as usual. I don’t think he could look bad if he tried.
We’re sitting against the railing of the restaurant patio, which is empty except for our table overlooking the ocean. The view is spectacular, a wide stripe of dark blue beneath the orange rays of the setting sun. I swear, Hunter must have timed our afternoon down to the minute because we arrived here about fifteen minutes before sunset, and we’ve been sitting here watching the light fade from the sky ever since.
“Why isn’t half of LA clambering for a table here? This place is going on my top ten list.”
“Yeah, you have a top ten list?” His interest piques at the opportunity to get information, and he breaks his gaze from the ocean.
“I’m making it as we speak. Best hidden gems in LA.”
