Grams shoots Beau a tight-lipped look. “One dance, mister. And keep those hands where I can see them.” Then she turns and walks away.
“I love Grams,” Beau says, watching her disappear in the crowd. “Now, where were we?” He pulls our hands up toward his shoulder and deposits my hand there, then puts his around my waist.
It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I’m fine.
“Thanks for all your help today,” he says, looking down at me as we sway from side to side.
I shrug, doing my best to be as unruffled by this dance as he is. “It’s no biggie.”
“You better be careful about helping out too much around here.”
“Or what?”
“Or you’ll fall in love with Sunset Harbor.”
I scoff softly, shaking my head. But I’m not scoffing inside. I could see myself getting attached to this island. In fact, I can already feel it. But at this point, my feelings for the island and my feelings for Beau are all jumbled up.
“I’m really glad you stayed, Gemma.”
“Yeah, think of all the footage I would’ve missed if I’d left,” I reply, hoping to lighten things. My emotions want to read themost intimate and serious interpretation possible into his words, and that is a dangerous way to live.
His eyes twinkle with amusement. “You know that’s not what I mean, right?”
“Officer Palmer?” A man jogs up to Beau, his cheeks pink with exertion.
Our swaying slows until it stops, but Beau’s hands stay right on my waist. I glance over my shoulder and catch Grams’s eyes on us.
“There are some kids doing fireworks on the beach,” the man says.
Beau nods. “I’ll come right away.”
I drop my hands from his shoulders as his apologetic gaze turns back to me.
“It’s fine. Go get ’em, tiger.” For reasons I don’t understand, I bump my fist into his shoulder.
He smiles slightly, then turns and jogs off toward the beach.
I debate whether to go after him—I don’t particularly enjoy feeling like a little puppy following him around—but when I catch sight of Drunken Dancer’s friends pointing me out to him, it’s decided.
I hurry after Beau, ditching my sandals so I can run in the sand. I can already see Beau talking to the kids up ahead. It’s getting pretty dark, but they can’t be more than tweens. I grab some video, trying to keep their faces out of it and focus it on Beau, while still making it clear what he’s doing.
Sometimes I wish he’d look just a bit more severe when doing his job. The city council could look at these pictures and think he’s having a grand ol’ time with a class of junior high students when he’s actually saving them from shooting their eyes out with explosives.
Soon, the kids’ parents start appearing—informed, no doubt, by the same man who told us what was going on. Beau gets caughtup talking to them, and I head back to the dance, taking care to avoid my drunk neighbors. Instead, I visit Jane by the stage and see if there’s anything I can do to be helpful. Watching Beau run around all day makes me feel like a couch potato in comparison.
Jane asks if I can check with the band—Mo and the Kokomos—to see if they need anything since they’re on a short break.
I head behind the stage and chat with the nearest band member, who takes me up on my offer to get them some drinks. They’re all sweating up a storm.
Drunken Dancer and his friends have dispersed, leaving me free to fulfill my commission. A few minutes later, I head back to the band, balancing drinks in my hands. The band members take the cups with genuine thanks, gulp the contents down faster than I’ve seen anyone chug drinks in my life, then set down the empty cups on whatever surface is nearest, and hurry on stage to perform more.
I gather up the paper cups one by one and walk them to the nearest garbage can. The one on this side of the bar is full, so I walk around, hoping to find another less popular trash receptacle.
I’m in luck. There’s one against the wall in the back of the bar, and it looks almost entirely empty. “You look lonely back here,” I say to it. “Don’t worry. I’ve brought friends for you.” I drop one stack of cups, listen as it hits the bottom, then send the other stack to join it.
A hand slips around my waist, and I cry out in surprise, flipping around and backing up right into the wall.
“It’s me,” Beau says—very unnecessarily, I might add, since I can see him now. It’s dark back here, but the lights from the stage and the bar provide enough for me to verify that he’s looking as good as ever.
