“You were explaining your ‘velvet darkness’ phase.”
“I was doing no such thing.”
“You were about to.”
He shifts in his chair to face me better, and the chair makes a threatening creak. He freezes.
“Don’t move,” I advise. “You’ve achieved a fragile peace. Don’t disrupt it.”
“This chair hates me.”
“The chair doesn’t hate you. It’s just establishing dominance. All beach chairs do this with newcomers.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Am I? Look around. Every beach chair on this sand has defeated someone today. It’s a rite of passage.”
He looks around. A teenager three umbrellas down is struggling with a lounger that keeps folding in on itself. An elderly man appears to be in a standoff with a camping chair that won’t lock.
“This is anarchy,” Scott says.
“This is the beach. Same thing, really.”
A drone appears overhead, hovering directly above us with the persistence of a mechanical mosquito. Someone down the beach is clearly testing their new toy with zero regard for other people’s beach moments.
Scott glares up at it. “Is there no privacy on this beach?”
“Welcome to peak tourist season.”
“I feel like we’re in a fishbowl.”
“Wait until the sunburned tourists start asking you to take their family photos. That’s when the real fun begins.”
The drone finally buzzes away. Scott’s chair has somehow shifted even closer to mine. Our umbrella—my ancient, crookedwarrior—is now providing shade for both of us, though just barely.
“Jessica,” he says, in a tone that makes my name sound like the beginning of something important.
“Scott.”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said. About wanting to try.”
“I remember what I said.”
“I want you to know—” He stops as a tourist appears directly in front of us.
“Excuse me, do you know how to get to the pier?”
I point. “That way. The giant wooden structure extending into the ocean. You can’t miss it.”
“Oh! I see it now. Thanks!”
She wanders off. Scott looks like he might actually combust from frustration.
“You were saying?” I prompt.
“I was saying that I?—”
“Excuse me?” Another tourist. This one has a map. An actual paper map, like we’re in 1997. “Is this where the dolphins are?”
