Page 33 of Christmas Crisis
“What did Stone say?”
I startled, realizing I hadn’t gotten a message from him. “Strange. I haven’t heard from him today.” I shrugged. “He’s probably busy on set. Or maybe Shoshanna told him not to use the burner too often.”
“Seems like he’ll be able to use his regular phone soon.”
“I guess.” Leo said nothing else, but I knew we were both thinking how odd it was that Stone hadn’t messaged. Even Naomi had reached out. My stomach rumbled. “Brunch?” I suggested.
“Great idea. We can go out. Put some of that blond-on-blond action on display.”
15 MONTHS AGO - SEPTEMBER
I sat on a blanket watching my friendsplay volleyball on the sand. It was our last day camping, and I was mildly grateful I’d twistedmy ankle. I’d be good to go when classes started next week, but for now, I enjoyed the rest. While my friends surfed and raced on the wet sand, I finished a book, journaled, and mentally prepped for my last year of grad school.
Raven came over to grab the ball pump, stopping to ask if I needed anything. I said thanks but waved her off. Within our group, she was the person I was closest to. As she ran back to the game, she fist-bumped another guy, Braden, who I’d also known for years. From their body language, it was obvious they were sleeping together. Our circle was incestuous in that way. New people came and went, but one thing that stayed constant was everyone’s openness to casual sex and transient relationships that began and ended within months or weeks. Everyone except me, that was.
During my first few years in school, I’d participated in the round robin of partners. I’d tried to care, mostly to fit in, even feigning some elaborate emotional responses to breakups, as though eating cookies and watching cheesy romcoms would prove that the time spent together had meant something. But those rituals wore thin quickly. Eventually, I realized casual encounters weren’t my jam, and I stopped engaging in one short-lived relationship after another for the sake of appearance. Then, after my mom died, I gave up even considering the possibility. Between grieving and schoolwork, I had enough on my mind without adding in romantic pressure.
A year ago, as the worst of my grief cloud lifted, I started dipping my toe back in the dating pool. Seeing my sister and James so loved up during the holidays made me reflect on how much I wanted something similar for myself.
I’d gone on a few first dates, mostly using apps. Some men recognized me from online and were keen to take out @theadventurousmiranda. That was a no-go. I couldn’t see introducing them to my honest self—hashtag-boring-and-tired Miranda. With others, the conversation was stilted and awkward. Or we had nothing to talk about at all. The number of men who could carry on funny, coherent conversations over messages but who were stone-faced and humorless in real life shocked me.
So far, there hadn’t been any second dates. Making the effort was the win.
As I watched Raven smile at Braden as he squeezed her hip, the idea entered my mind that life would be so much easier if Leo weren’t asexual. I sighed guiltily. That demonic little brainworm of a thought popped into my head way too often.
I needed to stop wishing things were different. Leo was perfect just as he was.
Glancing to my left, I saw two guys filming themselves, sitting on top of their surfboards.
I’d noticed them in the water earlier, wearing waterproof cameras strapped to their heads. I bet they’d gotten some great shots since both were clearly expert surfers.
One man looked older than the other. He’d unzipped the top of his wetsuit to reveal a smattering of gray hair on his chest.
The other guy, fit and tan, seemed closer to my age. His damp hair was curly and multihued, the kind of style people described as “beachy.” When he laughed, it showed off his gleaming white teeth.
The younger man appeared to be interviewing the elder, both speaking to a camera mounted on a tripod in the sand. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but it was enthusiastic, with lots of accompanying hand gestures. At one point, the older man demonstrated a paddling technique. After about ten minutes, they shook hands and turned off the camera.
The older man headed toward the parking lot. To my surprise, the younger guy walked my way.
“What’d you think?” he asked, coming to stand next to me, holding his hand above his brow. At this angle, he was merely a silhouette with the sun behind him. A toned, muscular, golden silhouette.
“I’m sorry?” I looked from side to side, just to make sure this beach Adonis was speaking to me.
“My interview. I saw you watching us. Can’t believe I got to interview Jerry Scott for my channel.”
A zip of recognition invaded my brain. Jerry Scott was a name I knew. A legendary surfer around these parts. This guy must have been a journalist or influencer then.
“I was watching,” I said. “Sorry. It caught my attention. But I couldn’t hear.”
“No worries. Watching’s the whole point, right?” Surprising me again, he plopped down in the sand, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I think it went okay, but I had to keep reminding myself to ask questions and stop, like, fanboying, ya know?”
I turned to him, the sun no longer blinding me. “You’re Stone Caseman.”
A flash of something—disappointment?—crossed his features before he wiped it. “You know me.”
“Doesn’t everyone? You have a million followers. My friend Raven practically wore out her laptop watching the video of you BASE jumping in Mexico.”
He chuckled delicately, studying the horizon. “More like half a million, and yeah, that was a day.”
