“Not atall. You soundgreat, and hearing you, I wondered what you looked like.” She’d smiled cheekily. She was a lot shorter than me and looked up. I had seen that look a million times before. Her next question and the flirty smile that accompanied it had sealed it. “You play only with guitars?”
“Mainly.” I smiled at her forgivingly.
“Cars, too, I see.” She stepped forward and touched the hood. We were standing on the sidewalk. “If you’re interested in dinners, too, I finish at six thirsty. I mean, thirty.” Dharma grinned. “I could go for Italian.” It was obvious she didn’t mean the food.
Used to douchebags. Needs someone to take her seriously and wean her off douches. Still has a lot of growing up to do, the Ragazza Whisperer in me concluded.
“Appreciate it, but I’m on a strict diet.”
She shrugged and seemed to get the hint.
“Dharma,” we heard Rio calling from within.
“Le sigh,” the blonde said with an eye roll. “Lates, music man.”
She reminded me of Amber. Looks-wise, attitude-wise, sass-wise.
And now the woman who was the stark contrast of both was standing by the console, holding her phone and wearing my ring.
“We can do that,” I said. “Take the pictures now.”
Esther’s phone call and wearing our rings again was a bucket of ice water; this was no game.
I opened the camera on my phone and extended my arm toward June, hinting to her that we should begin right away.
Clinging to her own phone, she approached me and settled herself awkwardly next to me.
I wrapped my arm around her, aimed the camera, and took a selfie. We then looked at it.
“We need happier pictures,” she said, just when I said, “Looks like a funeral.”
We both scoffed.
My arm still around her, June leaned her head against my shoulder, and we smiled at the camera. That came out better, though her smile still looked forced.
“The balcony,” she said, swiftly moving toward it. The sky was turning orange when she stepped out of the double doors that led to the narrow balcony. It was more of an ornament to the building’s front than something people could actually spend time on.
With our backs to the rails and the street, I hugged her shoulders again and clicked a few more selfies as we slightly changed positions.
“Do you know how to change the metadata?” June asked. “Just … let me show you.” She was used to managing, instructing, and taking charge. Extending her arm and angling her phone, she leaned her back and head on my chest and took a picture. She then shifted the screen so I could see how she edited the date and hour.
A new sensory memory had just carved itself into me. I instinctively knew that, from now on, each time I’d repeat the editing action, I’d feel her against my chest.
“Since Rio knows, kind of, maybe we could take a picture in the shop with her?” I offered. “Esther said friends and relatives, and we have nothing.”
“She already left, but maybe tomorrow.”
My phone dinged with the picture June had sent me.
We both shifted to gaze at Ocean Avenue. A large tree on the sidewalk blocked part of the view. It was serene—the shops, traffic, trees, and the ocean breeze at dusk.
“The beach,” June said, turning to face me. “It’d be weird if we didn’t have any …”
“So, now, before the sun sets completely.”
We both hurried inside. June grabbed a straw hat from her wardrobe, a jacket, and a pair of sunglasses from a drawer in the dresser.
“Let’s take my car,” I said.
