“You’ll be singing a different tune when you’re trying to get the sand out of your butt crack.” She handed him a sandwich and the thermos of wine. “Speaking of poetic.”
“We could go in the water and swish around a little.”
Jean swallowed a mouthful of bread. “I wouldn’t.”
“Too cold?” he guessed.
“Too sharky.”
Charlie was quiet for several long moments. “I’m scared of sharks,” he finally admitted.
“Yeah.” She lightly thumped the side of his head. “As you should be. Even snakes are probably scared of sharks.”
“A black mamba can kill an elephant.”
“On land, sure.”
He turned to her with a curious look. “You think an elephant could outswim a snake?”
Always interesting, the detours and off-ramps of his mind. “I was thinking the snake wouldn’t be out there.” She gestured at the gently breaking surf.
“Snakes are good swimmers. Not even speaking of the aquatic and semiaquatic breeds.”
Jean shuddered. “Thanks for sharing. Like I need more nightmare fuel.”
He placed his napkin and waxed paper in the basket, then patted the space in front of him. Jean happily settled between his knees as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.
“I didn’t think you were scared of anything,” he said.
“Eh. I put on a good front.” She leaned back, resting her head against his shoulder.
He rubbed his cheek over her hair. “Were you ever not brave?”
Jean could hear him drawing a line between them, like they were sitting on opposite ends of a seesaw: Brave Jean on one end, Scared Charlie on the other.
“It’s not that I’m not afraid,” she said, swan diving off the pedestal he’d put her on. “I just don’t care about a lot of things that bother other people. Not including water snakes.”
“Isn’t that what being brave means?”
“I don’t think it should count unless you’re doing something that scaresyou. Being rude comes naturally to me, so why would I get a gold star for telling people off?”
Charliehmmed in her ear, like he wasn’t sure he agreed.
“Do you want to know how I know the difference between being brave and not giving a crap?”
“Yes,” he said at once.
It was not a story Jean enjoyed telling, even to herself. But he’d exposed his vulnerable parts to her (in more ways than one), so maybe she could give him this in exchange.
“When I was in high school—”
“I bet you were cute.”
“That’s beside the point. But yes. I was freaking adorable. Kind of like now, minus the confidence. Which is where the problem started.” She sat forward, picking up a piece of driftwood and dragging it through the sand. “There was a guy.”
Behind her, Charlie grunted.
“Spoiler alert, we hate him now,” she said, before he could get too jealous. Even though she kind of liked that he felt that way. “For context, my parents run a snack bar at a golf course.”
