“That’s what she said,” I blurt without thinking.
His laughter turns into a quiet rumble, making my stomach do somersaults.
“I eat mine with mustard and ketchup,” I say, flustered. “You okay with that?”
“Sure, kitten.”
I add the condiments to both and hand him one. We make our way outside, weaving through the crowd until we find the steps leading to Luna Park.
I take my first bite. The snap, the salt, the warmth. It’s perfect, and I can’t help the moan that escapes me.
He chuckles low.
“I know it’s just a hot dog,” I rush to explain, “but to me, it’s a lot more. It’s about the place, the experience, and the memories.”
He takes a bite of his own, then chews. “That’s a good hot dog.”
I smile so hard it hurts. If he only knew what it means to have him here.
We walk in easy silence, finishing our food as we climb to the boardwalk. The sound changes—seagulls, waves, roller-coasterscreams. The air is colder here, the breeze biting but sweet. The sun glints off the water, and the smell of salt feels like home.
He offers me the soda. I take a few sips, then hand it back. He drinks too, then stops to toss his napkin in a trash can.
“I have hand sanitizer,” I say, digging through my backpack.
He holds out a palm, waiting. I squirt a little into his hand, and he rubs it in while I hold the soda. When he’s done, I pass it back and do the same. It’s mundane and oddly intimate, our fingers brushing when the cup changes hands.
We start walking again, the planks creaking underfoot.
“Tell me about this place,” he says.
“Like when it was founded? Because I have no clue.”
He chuckles. “No, kitten. I mean, tell me why it matters to you.”
I exhale, and the wind catches the edge of my coat. “It’s kind of a long story.”
“I’ve got time.”
The waves crashing fill the pause. I take a deep breath.
“When I was in school, I had a hard time being alone. NYU was my dream, but once I got here, I… didn’t know how to be happy by myself. One weekend, I was having a rough day, it was raining in the city, I didn’t want to talk to anyone, so I just got on a train and rode until it stopped.”
He listens, hands in his pockets, gaze steady.
“I ended up here. I was planning to just get on the first train back, but it was sunny, and I could smell the ocean, so I started walking. I bought a hot dog, sat on the boardwalk, and stayed until the sun went down. For the first time, I didn’t feel lost. I felt… calm.”
I swallow. “After that, I started coming here whenever I needed to breathe. When I got my heart broken. When my grandma died. When I decided to leave New York and move back to Houston. This place, it’s always been my reset button.”
We stroll down the boardwalk, the noise of the crowd fading to a hum. The gulls, the sea, the faint pulse of music from a distant carousel.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and that silence feels like something sacred. When I finally glance at him, his eyes aren’t on the ocean, they’re on me.
His gaze is steady and unflinching. “Why did you decide to bring me here today, kitten?”
If there’s one thing about this man, it’s that he doesn’t circle a subject. No detours. No easing in. Straight to the point, every time.
I glance at him, then at the ocean, trying to gather the words that suddenly feel too fragile to say. “I mean, besides the fact that you’ve never experienced New York?” I offer, stopping close to the railing that separates the boardwalk from the steps leading down to the sand.
