Though I know I should steer us back toward the hotels and shops, I’m a sucker for the twinkle in her eyes. The way her face lights up as she watches the wheel go around.
She reminds me of a little girl who never got to go to the fair, who’s living vicariously through her older self.
I should find it annoying, but she’s…cute. I can’t bring myself to steal the moment from her.
I can’t recall the last time my heart felt so light.
We progress through the line. A ride attendant ushers us into a bright yellow bucket in the shape of a hexagon.
The bucket swings from our weight as we venture inside. Not a big fan of that, but once we’re seated, the rocking slows. If Finn told me at the outset that the mission would involve a Ferris wheel, I would have laughed in his face.
Yet here I am.
Soon, we’re hoisted into the air above Santa Monica, the coastline glittering beneath us.
Maeve’s breath catches in her throat. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
The setting sun imbues her freckles with a soft glow.
I can’t take my eyes off her. “Beautiful.”
She sighs. “Right?”
Sure, the beach is pretty too.
“Question.” I nudge her shoulder. “Why Santa Monica?”
Her eyes meet mine, gleaming and a little wild. Bathed in golden light, she sparkles enough to rival any diamond. Out here, she’s freer, less constrained by responsibility, and that little hint of abandon stokes my desire for her even higher. “Hmm?”
“Why did you and your dad choose to operate a hotel in Santa Monica?”
She taps her ring finger against her bottom lip, and suddenly, all I can think about is kissing her again. “The beach is magic. That’s why.”
With effort, I focus on her reply. “How so?”
She beams. “I’ll show you.”
After we climb off, Maeve leads me to Santa Monica Beach, where we follow the boardwalk.
Cyclists and skateboarders out for a night cruise monopolize the bike lane. Families flock away from the beach, hauling off shrieking, sandy children.
I’m still waiting for the “magic” Maeve mentioned. So far, the Santa Monica Boardwalk resembles many East Coast shorelines, only busier.
More temperate, maybe, but a beach is a beach.
At the next opening, she veers onto the sand, pausing to remove her heels. We traverse the uneven mounds, closing the distance between us and the incoming tide. Meanwhile, sand seeps into my favorite shoes.
I’d take them off, but then sand would stick between my toes, which would feel even worse.
Not far from the water’s edge, I crack. “What part of this is magical?”
Maeve skips ahead of me. “Just wait!” She shoots me a grin over her shoulder and breaks into an all-out sprint toward the ocean.
I follow at a more sedate pace. When she hits the wet sand, she drops her shoes and runs for the waves like a mad woman.
My eyes widen.
No one else is swimming right now.
