“Go for it,” I yell back from the shower, where I’m lining up my various bottles.
The Beach Boys start playing, and it makes me smile. My grandpa loved The Beach Boys.
“Good choice,” I tell Klein, returning to the bedroomto begin unpacking my clothes. Klein stands at the window, gazing out.
“I can’t believe you spent every summer here,” he says. His voice is a mix of awe and forlorn. “We went to California a few times when I was little, but then—” He cuts off.
Was he about to talk about his dad? Or whatever else it is that makes him close down?
“—we stopped going, “ he finishes lamely. “And I’m sure you already know this, but there are far better places to be in the summer than Phoenix.”
“It’s not so bad,” I say, placing a stack of pajamas in a drawer. “You stay inside in the air conditioning, and you go from one air-conditioned store to another. It’s the reverse of winter in cold climates where they stay inside seeking warmth.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“It gets hot here, too. And humid.”
“But there’s a beach.”
“You got me there.”
“You were right Paisley, this place is magic. There’s an ocean out there,” he points, then swivels, “but oak trees that way. And animals. Did you know there are deer on the island? And foxes?”
I deposit my underwear in a drawer and close it with my hip. “Someone’s been reading one of the books he swiped.”
“When you were putting your stuff away in the bathroom,” he says, pointing at the book propped open on the arm of the chair. “I guess we should probably go to the beach and take a picture to send to Cecily.”
“Whatever you say, Klein the writer.”
I scoot from the room to give Klein time to change and freshen up, and he meets me in the kitchen where my grandmother has her homemade chicken noodle soup simmering in a dutch oven.
“Lausanne, would you like to come with us to the beach?”
My grandma beams at Klein’s invitation, but says, “You two go. I’ve been dying for a chance to make my homemade biscuits, and this seems like a good reason. Do you like biscuits, Klein?”
“I like homemade biscuits a lot more than a man should.”
Grandma titters. She shoots me a look. “Oh, Paisley. I like this one. You should keep him.”
I wink at Klein. “I’m considering it.”
There isn’t a doubt in my mind Klein is one of the good ones. This would be a perfect time for him to lay a passionate but respectable kiss on me, but since we’re in need of a re-do before the fake kisses can begin, I force myself to calm down.
Donning a hat and sunglasses, I follow Klein outside to the covered porch. I point out the wood plank private walkway to the beach. He takes my hand as we go, threading his fingers through mine.
“In case your grandma is watching,” he explains, squeezing my hand. “There are about fifteen windows on the backside of that house, and she can probably see through at least eight of them from where she’s standing in the kitchen.”
“You missed a golden opportunity to kiss me backthere in the kitchen. Just something sweet and small, a little more than a peck but not too much.”
“I know,” he says gruffly. “But I made my intentions clear.”
“You’d better cash in on those intentions pretty soon, because my entire family is descending upon us tomorrow.”
“I’m aware.”
We take three steps up to the next part of the walkway. Klein halts at the end when we reach the top of the sand dune. The ocean, as stunning as it is powerful, hurls itself at the shore. “I’ve always loved listening to the ocean.”
“Are you a Pisces?”
