He lifts my hand to his lips and gives it a quick kiss.
“Me too.” I stand on tiptoes and press my lips to his in a chaste kiss. “I also really like it here.” I nod my head down the pier.
“Yeah? Why piers?”
“I don’t know, and it’s not all piers.”
“Not all piers? Isn’t a pier, a pier?”
I laugh. “No, I don’t like the big gaudy ones, where it’s all flashing lights and cotton candy, they’re too much. I like piers like this one.”
“You prefer rotting wood to candy?”
“Shut up! It’s not rotting, it’s aged.”
He smirks. “You do like older things.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Designer Suit Steve was older than you.”
“Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re bringing him up.”
“I’m not wrong though,” he laughs and ducks as I playfully go to hit him.
“I admit, that wasn’t my finest moment, okay? But in my defense, I needed a distraction, from a certain someone.”
I push him, but he pulls me back into him, his arms wrapping around my waist, keeping me locked against him.
“I know, I’m just messing,” he says, “although I’m glad I got there in time.”
“Yeah, me too.”
He studies my face, and his features soften the longer he looks.
“You really are so beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I say with a nervous chuckle, “you’re not too bad yourself.”
“Not too bad, huh. That’s all I get?”
I let my gaze roam over his features, his dark eyes, the stubble that covers his chin, his lips.
“I think you’re beautiful too.”
He kisses me and it’s gentle, sweet, different to our other kisses, and it feels nice being out in the world, in his arms like this.
“Come on,” I say, breaking the kiss. I take his hand again and walk a bit further down the pier. “So how do you know about this place?”
He leads me to the edge and we sit, leaning forward against the railing, our legs dangling over the water.
“Frank, my father, used to bring me here.” His voice is flat and I keep quiet, giving him space to either talk more or change the subject. “It’s the only good memories I have of him I guess, driving me out here, leaving Mom and Donovan at home so I knew they were safe, and we’d sit and eat seafood together.”
His comment about knowing his mom and Donovan were safe lingers in my head.
“How old were you?” I ask.
“He started bringing me here when I was six probably, Donovan would have been two, so he’d be having toddler tantrums and stuff. It was better that Frank was out of the house.”
