Page 7 of More With You

“Oh… really?” I swallow down the lump that’s starting to lodge in my throat.

He nods. “Best friends, actually. Our families have always been close. We pretty much grew up together.” His expression darkens: two lines appearing between his eyebrows. “But he changed. Went to Ole Miss and came back a different person. And not a better one, as you saw back there. We aren’t friends anymore, but he and my mother? They’re as thick as thieves.”

“That’s…odd.” I’m not sure what to make of that statement.

“It’s annoying, more like. He’s closer to her than to his own mother, but whatever…” He waves it off.

There’s obviously some history to unpack there but those are questions for another time, so I shift to a lighter subject. “Ole Miss?” The name is vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it.

“University of Mississippi,” he explains, taking a deep breath. I can feel the disappointment radiating from him, and it draws me back to his side, my arm slipping through his. He glances down at my arm and shakes his head almost imperceptibly, before casting his eyes down to the darkened sand. Night bugs jump and skitter across the surface, but they don’t crawl up my spine the way Levi does.

We walk ten paces or so before he speaks again. “I actually miss the old Levi. I remember him the way he was when we were kids, and… it gives me a shock every time I see him the way he is now.”

“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.

His eyes narrow. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything. He’s the one who should be sorry.”

“Still, thanks again for saving me tonight,” I encourage. “You showed up at just the right time.” I dig my fingernails into the palm of my other hand, trying to chase away the memories.

Ben gives my arm an awkward pat. It would’ve made me laugh if I wasn’t thinking about Levi. “I don’t think he’ll bother you again. The fact that I’m the one who busted him makes a big difference.” He flashes me a knowing look. “We’ve got a lot of history, as I said.” He doesn’t elaborate and I don’t push for more. I’m done talking about Levi Montrose for the night. Probably forever, if the bastard would do me a favor and stay away from my tables.

The jazz music from the bar has slowly faded, stealing away the score to our waterside walk. I can faintly hear the drums, guiding the beat; the only thread connecting us to where we started. I look back over my shoulder, realizing just how far we’ve come.

“Should we head back?” I say. My flip flops might not make it much farther.

“Sure, if you want to.” His voice lacks conviction and he lets my arm slip from his elbow. “Let’s head back.”

Pivoting in the sand, I feel a distance between us now, the events of the evening hanging heavily in that gap.

Retracing our steps, I focus my attention away from Ben, leaving him to his thoughts as I wrestle with mine. I look along the shoreline, to the welcoming beacons of the homes, and the lives that exist within them. They must be rich but my curiosity runs deeper than their bank accounts. What are they like? What do they do for a living? Do they enjoy their jobs or is it a means to an end? Do they have kids? If so, how many? Do they get along with their kids, or do they wander around their beautiful home like strangers passing? Are they married, divorced, separated, struggling? Widowed or widowered, perhaps?

Are you happier than I am? Do you know the secret? Not that I’m not happy, but I wouldn’t say I am happy, either. It’s a strange tightrope to tiptoe across, just getting through the days without feeling much one way or the other. Maybe it’s not much of a life, when it boils down to it, but it’s better than it was before.

The blare of a trumpet heralds our return as we near the bar. Our walk is almost over. I can’t pretend I’m not disappointed, even though I was the one who suggested we turn back.

Veering right, I notice an abandoned pail and shovel a moment too late. The cheap plastic curve of the shovel is sticking up, probably left by some kid whose mom was in too much of a rush to remember it. Not a good idea to step on in my flimsy flip flops. I sidestep it, stumbling as my foot lands awkwardly on a piece of driftwood.

“Ow!” I hiss through my teeth, but the pain is softened by the touch of Ben’s hand in mine, his fingers grasping mine tightly.

“You okay?” His eyes shine with concern.

I nod. “Stupid shovel.”

He squeezes my hand gently, sending a shiver of longing through me. I know he’s going to let go, now he knows I’m alright, but I want to hold onto that prickle of pleasure. Maybe curl my pinkie around his to stay connected to him, somehow. Before I can even consider it, he releases me, though he doesn’t head on to the parking lot. Instead, he turns, inadvertently blocking the path with his towering height and broad shoulders.

“Summer, it was… really nice to meet you,” he says. “I’m just sorry it was under those circumstances.” His voice is soft and kind, like a caress.

I smile, warmed by it. “Same here.”

“I don’t want to be too forward or spook you or anything, but… I was wondering,” he continues, and I realize I’m holding my breath, knowing what I want him to say but not sure if he’ll say it, “would you like to get together again sometime, under better circumstances?”

I exhale and my smile widens. “I’d love that.”

“Okay, great.” His smile matches mine. “Can I get your number?” He takes out his phone and swipes it open, fingers poised to type.

“You know what?” I tilt my head to one side. “If it’s meant to be, you’ll find me.” Maybe I’ve read one too many romance novels on my back porch, maybe I’ve seen too many movies, maybe I’ve swooned over my grandma and grandpa’s love story one too many times, but I feel like putting the universe to the test for once. And so, with that, I skirt past him and head up the overgrown path to my car, leaving him standing alone, on the beach.

BEN

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