The sun rode high in the sky as I dug my feet in the sand and enjoyed the soothing sound of the water lapping the shore mere feet ahead of me. I breathed deeply, then pulled my hair into a messy bun and slipped my sunglasses on my face.
This was heaven. I didn’t know what they were blabbering about when they bitched about the smog here in LA. They’d clearly never tried to get a cab in New York City in a hailstorm, or been shoved into someone’s stinky armpit on a crowded subway. Or witnessed what happened to the city after a snowstorm, dirty brown snow piled high by the snowplows.
This was my bliss, this place. Mostly because it was the home of the man who warmed my feet at night.
After a long sip of my decaf iced coffee, I rested my notepad on my lounge chair’s built-in tabletop and jotted down some notes. I was working on a love story of the unconventional kind. Girl meets boy and she doesn’t really see him; boy meets girl and she’s all he can see.
It was our story, I supposed, but I wanted to share it. For all those girls who thought they needed to be this or do that. Sometimes seeing and just being was the key.
My books had zoomed to the top of theNY Timesbestseller list, and secretly I hoped our story would too. If it did, maybe people who had ever judged someone too quickly would realize it was a terrible sin. And vice versa—maybe those who were all-too-quickly judged would find love at the end of their journey.
It was a Tuesday and the beach was quiet. Seagulls drifted over the water, and the Ferris wheel turned in the distance. A few men and women glistening in sweat ran by, reminding me of my long runs when I first moved here. Layton would always push me to go further, which was sort of funny.
Now I didn’t do much more than walking and yoga. For the moment, at least.
My phone dinged at my side, and I rifled through my tote to grab it. I’d only recently given up my place in New York. For a while I sublet it, but it was time to let it go. I wasn’t going back. Now I was waiting for the return of my security deposit. I had more important uses for the money these days.
FROM:[emailprotected]
TO:[emailprotected]
SUBJECT: Harriette misses you
Hey —
Where are you writing today? The beach?
Harriette and Jay are lonely and they want to visit you. She’s begging for the beach, so I’m hoping you have a spot on the sand.
—Your guy, L
I smiled to myself.Your guy. He’d started calling himself that after we made it official, as if there were any competition.
Nope.
Never.
He was my guy since I sat in 2C; I just didn’t know it at the time.
I texted him back, not bothering with e-mail, and told him where I was. Even though I was sure he had his suspicions. He’d been on a run when I left home.
The salty air tickled my nose as I went back to my writing. I took a deep breath of it and continued to jot notes, make character sketches, and fill plot holes.
An hour later, Harri poked her nose in my face, licking my chin and nearly bowling me over.
“Hey, girl.” I scratched the top of her head and she jutted her chin toward the sky to give me better access, heat radiating off her fur. “Did you get here by yourself?” I moved my scratchy fingers under her jaw and she plopped down at my feet.
A shadow fell over me and I looked up, and there was my guy holding a leash, Jay securely fastened to it. Layton wore a white T-shirt with the Stones logo across his chest, now damp, and loose-fitting Nike shorts. His physique was somewhere between when I met him for the first time and when we came together. He let go more frequently these days, munching fries or cookies, especially considering my current circumstances.
“How’s my gang?” He lowered himself to sit next to me, the sand sticking to his sweaty calves.
“We’re good.”
He brought his lips to mine and rested his hand on my belly, rubbing it in a figure-eight. “Pretty soon it’s not going to be just the four of us.” A devilish smile spread across his face.
Harriette lifted her head, looking curiously between us as if she knew her life was about to change—yet again.
“So I don’t want you to be mad.”
