We eat in companionable silence, both of us too hungry after our hike and a lunch of protein bars to waste energy on conversation. The tacos are as amazing as always—fresh fish, crisp cabbage, and that perfect blend of spices that makes my taste buds sing. But I’m hyperaware of Josh’s presence beside me. I clock the way he tears open his wrapper, careful not to spill, and how he licks a smear of salsa off his thumb like it’s nothing.
We wolf the food down. When Josh finishes his last taco, he crumples the wrapper, aiming for the bin a few feet away. It’s a perfect toss. He whoops.
“Show-off,” I mutter, but I’m smiling.
He leans back on his hands, face turned toward the setting sun. “I could get used to this,” he whispers, almost to himself.
I look at his profile, gilded by the golden light, and let myself imagine what it would be like if this were an actual date. If I were free to lean into him, to let my head rest on his shoulder, to feel his arm wrap around me as we watch the sun sink into the ocean. The longing that washes over me is so intense it’s painful.
Josh must be thinking along the same lines because, still looking out at the water rather than at me, he asks, “Do you take all your new friends here?”
I pick at the paper napkin in my lap, buying a second before answering. “I haven’t made new friends in forever,” I admit. “I’m improvising.”
He nods, seeming to accept this. “Well, the county should hire you. You’re really selling the LA experience.” He pauses, then casually—maybe too casually—adds, “Any suggestions for what I should do tomorrow?”
Is he asking for recommendations, or is he asking if I’m free? What do I want it to be? The problem is, the more I draw a sensible line between us, the more I want to cross it.
“The beach is off-limits with your injury.” I nod toward his bandaged arm. “But you should do the Santa Monica Pier experience at least once. It’s touristy, but in a fun way.”
He nudges my leg with his, still watching the horizon. “If I show up there alone, they’ll spot me for a tourist in two seconds flat. Any chance I can bribe a local to keep me from getting hustled by boardwalk magicians?”
My heart rate picks up. There’s no mistaking his meaning now.
“I’m sure Agatha would accept night-vision binoculars as a bribe to go,” I deflect.
He turns his face now and looks at me, blue eyes searching mine. “Not the local I had in mind.”
Every nerve in my body wakes up at once, and a spike of want cuts through me—immediate, impossible to deny. I have to fight the urge to look away. My pulse is galloping, wild and uneven, thrumming loud in my ears.
I should say no. I barely know Josh, and getting attached is the last thing I need. Worse, would I be leading him on if I accepted? But I’ve been clear we can only be friends.
Still, Penny is coming home tomorrow. I should rest, be responsible, catch up on that laundry, not get in any deeper.
But it’s a walk on the pier, I argue with myself, in broad daylight, in a public space, and I can always leave early. Besides, Josh is new in town, and I’d feel guilty abandoning him to the mercy of boardwalk performers.
“What neighbor would I be if I left you to get hustled by a guy in a SpongeBob costume?” I hope he can’t hear the doubts in my voice.
“The unforgivable kind.” His eyes crinkle with warmth.
I finish my taco, but we stay put even when I’m done, drinking in the view until the sun disappears behind the horizon in a final blaze of glory. The sky darkens, and stars blink through the twilight.
“Ready to go home now?” he asks. “I’ll finally let you have some couch rest.”
The way he says home throws me for a loop. I know he means back to our housing complex and separate apartments, but the word echoes louder inside my chest.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I say, even if I’m not. For the first time in forever, I don’t want the night to end. I don’t want to just curl up in bed and cease to exist for a few merciful hours, where pain and memories can’t get me. I want more.
10
JOSH
I grip the steering wheel, crushing the leather under my fingers as I turn into the parking lot. If I don’t hold on to something solid, I might act stupid. Today has been perfect. Too perfect. Every second of the time I spent with Lily has lodged itself in my nervous system, shorting out my ability to think about anything but her. And now I’m about to say goodnight and walk away like my heart isn’t doing backflips whenever she laughs. I’m not sure what’s worse: that she only wants to be friends, or that I agreed to it, knowing damn well friendship is the last thing on my mind when I look at her.
“Thanks for today,” she says as I finish parking. “Best hike and tacos I’ve had in ages.”
I kill the engine but don’t make a move to get out. “Thank you for showing me around and sharing your secret food truck.”
She playfully narrows her eyes at me. “I shared only because you prefer Polaroids to Instagram. No risk of it going viral and getting ruined.”
