“And your jeans?” She put her jacket back on and pointed at my jeans, which were wet above my ankles.
“It’s just pants, June.”
“It’s getting too windy; let’s go back.” She didn’t wait for me and began jogging toward the car.
Graceful. That was the word that leaped to my mind when I walked behind her. Slender but not fragile. Delicate but strong-willed.
I unlocked the car so she could get in while I made my way slowly up the path.
Something stirred inside me, and it wasn’t just in my pants. I didn’t have a word for it, like I didn’t have a word for June. Exceptjazz. But I wasn’t into jazz. And I couldn’t possibly be into June.
When I got in, she was already dressed in her buttoned shirt on the front seat.
“I got you just when the water splashed in your face,” she said, turning my phone toward me to show me the pictures she had taken.
Wordlessly, I put my shirt back on, feeling her sidelong glance on me.
“This is where I jog,” she said. “My favorite spot. Up Ocean Avenue, I cut through the back streets that lead to the promenade and end up here. Half an hour along the beach, get my vitamin D, then back the same way.”
“It’s beautiful.” I was still engrossed in my own enigma, and while the view was beautiful, so was she.
“It is.” Her voice was soft, her gaze resting dreamlike on the view that reflected through the front windshield.
I took my phone that she’d left in the cup holder between the front seats, aimed the camera at her profile, and snapped a picture.
She turned to face me. A little smile on her face was asking:Why?
I pursed my lips and shrugged anI don’t know. But I did know. She had looked unguarded while gazing at the ocean, unlike her usual spiky self. I wanted to remember her like that, so the next time she got on my nerves, I’d have this to revert to.
I snapped another with her looking at me in the dark orange glow. “Just because.”
“Let’s go,” she said. Her smile widened, her dark blue eyes gleaming. The laugh lines around her eyes and those hugging her nose and mouth changed her—she came to life. This woman didn’t laugh often enough.
I etched this additional picture of her, not on my camera, but into my memory.
On the way back, I turned the radio on to break the silence.
“Favorite music?” I asked, shifting my gaze to June.
“Rock. Mostly nineties, early two-thousands. Some pop, too.”
“Sheryl Crow?”
She looked at me now. “Her, too.”
“What about jazz?” I smiled, shifting my eyes back to the road.
“Nah. You love jazz? I thought you were only into rock.”
“I don’t know yet.” I returned her look.
“What a strange answer.” She chuckled and looked away.
Yeah, I know. I’m still learning it.
We entered the apartment through the back.
While we were on the way, and when I’d parked, I had noticed June looking nervously to the sides. I figured she was afraid we’d be seen by her acquaintances or family.
