Panic floods through me. Oh no. What did I do? I’m totally romance inept, and I don’t want to sit through another old-timey one. I should have said something silly and made a joke. She would have made fun of me, but at least I wouldn’t have to watch another one of these. I quickly make up an excuse. “Gosh, I’d love to, but I need to do some filming for my next video.”
“Filming?”
My mind races. I had no idea what I was going to say, and now I have to improvise. “Yeah, I got this idea to take some B-roll footage around the island to spark up my videos. You know, some generic beach footage, some up-close natureshots. Things that won’t identify the island but will keep viewers interested.”
“That’s a great idea. Need some help?”
I’m so happy I don’t have to sit through another Jane Austen movie that I jump up from the couch. “Yes. Let’s go.”
Cricket grabs her keys. She gives me a devilish grin, and all of a sudden, I realize she was playing me. She knew I googled those things.
“I’ll drive,” she says with a satisfied smile on her face.
I’m such an idiot, but now I’m committed. We get to the beach, and I set up my camera on the tripod. The late-afternoon light is perfect for this kind of shot. Cricket sits on a piece of driftwood nearby, reading a book while I adjust the settings.
“Can you get in the shot?” I ask. “Walk along the shoreline or something. It’ll make the footage more interesting.”
Cricket looks up from her book. “You want me in your video?”
“Not like that. Just as background. No one will recognize you.”
She shrugs, sets down her book, and walks toward the water’s edge. I start filming, getting some good shots of the waves and Cricket silhouetted against the sunset. She’s actually pretty photogenic when she’s not overthinking it, even in her jean shorts and T-shirt, her hair blowing in the breeze.
“Perfect,” I call out. “Keep walking naturally.”
Cricket does a fantastic job while I finish filming. She’s a natural. I’m already thinking of other ways I can use her in my B-roll when she joins me at the camera.
“Did you get the footage you need?”
I nod, turning to her. That’s when I notice her glasses are smudged. Again. There are fingerprints all over the lenses. How does she let them get so bad? Luckily, I have mymicrofiber cloth in my pocket. I don’t even wear glasses, but I carry it everywhere.
I hold up my hand. “Hang on. Your glasses. How do you function with them so dirty?”
I reach for them, and she automatically tilts her head so I can slide them off her face. It’s something I’ve done a million times. I clean them and hold them up to see whether I got all the spots.
In a flash, a seagull swoops down out of nowhere and snatches them right out of my hands.
“Hey!” I yell, but the bird is already flying away with Cricket’s glasses dangling from its beak.
Cricket squints in the direction of my voice. “What happened? Did you drop my glasses?”
“A seagull stole them.” I can’t believe I’m saying those words.
“What?” Cricket starts stumbling toward where she thinks the bird went, but she’s completely blind without her glasses. “Micah, those are my only pair!”
I’m about to chase after the stupid bird, but someone else beats me to it. A guy who looks to be in his early twenties comes jogging down the beach, following the seagull’s flight path. He’s got dark hair, and he’s wearing a faded T-shirt and cargo shorts. I bet he’s been exploring the beach for a while.
“I got it!” he calls out, running after the bird as it lands near some rocks.
The seagull drops the glasses when the guy approaches, probably realizing they’re not food. The man carefully picks them up and jogs back toward us.
“One slightly bird-slobbered pair of glasses,” he says, holding them out to Cricket with a grin. “Good news is they’re not broken.”
“Bird slobber?” she asks, her nose wrinkled.
The man laughs and wipes them with his T-shirt. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean them.”
Cricket puts her hand out, but it’s obvious she can’t see very well.
