“March 4th.”
“Pisces.”
“How is that relevant?”
“You’re a water sign.” Relief cascades through me. “How did we forget to ask about one another’s birthday? Kind of important to know.”
“What sign is January 11th?”
I startle. “That’s my birthday.”
“I know.”
“How did you know that?” He must’ve asked Paloma, or Cecily.
He shrugs, and not only do I see it, but I also feel it because he’s still holding one of my hands. “I used to see you sometimes in the cafeteria before our class started. Someone walked up to you one day and handed you a cupcake with a candle in the center of it.”
“Marie,” I say, the memory draping over me. “It’s beenso long since I thought of that day. I can’t believe you remembered the date.”
He shrugs again, tugging my hand up once more. “I have a good memory. Plus having 1/11 as your date of birth is kind of cool. Are you still friends with Marie?”
“I wish I could say yes to that, but no. She started seeing a guy and moved to Chicago for him after college. We grew apart. It happens.”
Klein looks out at the ocean. “Ready for that walk?”
The wooden stairs leading from the sand dune to the beach are old and narrow. Klein darts in front of me, saying, “That way, if you trip, I can catch you.”
“Is this your way of telling me you have eyes in the back of your head?” I’m teasing to cover up the thrill racing around inside me.
His shoulders shake as he laughs. We reach the bottom, kicking off our shoes and digging our feet in the still-warm sand. All down the beach families are packing up, and a few kids run around, their bright kites billowing in the wind.
Klein walks to the water's edge and lets the sea foam tickle his toes. I do the same, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. It’s a body wide inhale, the wind a salt water smack across my cheek.
Five years have passed since I was last here saying a final farewell to my grandpa. I’m ready for this place to start feeling effortlessly good again.
“Klein,” I say suddenly. He looks down at me, eyebrows lifted. “How do you feel about me showing you around the island tomorrow? All this week, really, whenwe’re not doing wedding stuff. I’ll show you why I love this place.”
“I’d say it’s a date. Though I already see why you love this place.”
My smile stretches wide enough to hurt. “Just you wait. It gets better.”
“That’s hard to believe,” he says, his eyes on me. “But I’ll take your word for it.”
We resume walking. The evening sun drops lower, growing a darker orange, deepening into pink and purple.
Klein falls back. “Keep walking,” he instructs.
When he catches up a minute later, he shares the photo he took. It’s surprisingly good. My hair tumbles down my back, and my head blocks a fraction of the setting sun.
“You have some talent with a camera,” I say, “but what do you think about me getting a picture of you? Give Cecily some options.”
Klein agrees, and I have him sit near the water’s edge, facing the ocean. “Pull your knees in and wrap your arms around them.”
He does as I say, and I snap a handful of pictures. Handing back the phone, I say, “Hopefully there’s one in there you like.”
I start to step away, but Klein grabs my wrist and twists me back into him. His phone is extended, ready to take another photo.
“You and me,” he says.
