Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
The soft light spilling out from inside the house barely catches his eyes, but I think I see a flicker of something in them. Frustration. Uncertainty.
Then he smiles. “It’s not usually the first thing people compliment.” He half-turns to me, gaze still on his work. “I’ll take a compliment about my eyes any day.”
“Really?”
“Yep.” He brushes his hands, pulls off his gloves, and tucks them into his back pocket. “That should hold you for the night. At least to keep the beach biters out.”
“Beach biters …?”
“A species of bug I just made up.” He faces me fully. “I’ll send a guy tomorrow to fix the window and the front lock. In and out without even seeing you. He can leave a new key on the porch right where you found the first one.”
“Why bother fixing them at all?” I ask, throwing him a shrug. “What do windows help, anyway?”
He frowns. “Our AC bill.”
I come up and lean on the wall by the other side of the door, facing him. “Windows are just barriers between us and the real world. Staring through glass feeling like you’re a part of life, but you’re not really experiencing it. You can see what the rocky beach looks like, but can you actually describe how the stones feel under your bare feet?”
He gives it a thought. “Seems … ironic, doesn’t it?”
I meet his eyes, finding him smirking. He even looks cute when he smirks. “What do you mean?”
“When you make movies for a living?” He sees that I don’t follow, then shifts his weight. “I mean, isn’t that the only way people get to experience your stories? Through a pane of glass? If that’s what a TV screen can be called …”
“Maybe in the 90s.”
“And it hurts, by the way,” he goes on. “Walking with bare feet on that rocky shore. Wouldn’t recommend it. It’s not really for people to walk on, anyway.”
I gaze over said shore, hearing waves crashing in the dark, a faint glow of the moon scattering over the jagged rocks like spilled paint. “Can’t say I’ve experienced that.”
“I’d recommend the other beaches on the island. South end, Breezeway Point. On the west end, Sugarberry Beach. Then there’s Cottonwood Cove, which is a secluded—”
“I’ve done nice beaches,” I tell him. “I want to do an ugly one. An ugly one people aren’t supposed to walk on.”
“But—Wait.” I’m kicking off my sandals. “Seriously?”
“I just want to know what it feels like.” I straddle the wooden railing, then glance back at him. “Maybe I’m in a weird place, too. Emotionally. In my life. A journey over a deadly beach in the dark sounds exactly like what I need.” I hop over to the other side, the gravel crunching satisfyingly beneath my feet. Despite his sputtering protests, I take off down the jagged rocks and stones toward the water.
I’m surprised when I notice Finn following me.
“This is dangerous,” he calls out at me over the roaring waves. “Really, Mr. River, I don’t recommend—”
“Just River, plain ol’ River. You’re aging me ten years with that ‘mister’ nonsense.”
He catches up to me, by my side now. “There’s even a sign, further back that way. Guests shouldn’t—”
I stop. “You always do what you’re told?”
He frowns at me, then reconsiders. “Not always.”
“I’ll be the first to admit it, I don’t usually think before I act. It’s why I get into trouble: the traits I inherited from my impulsive, alcoholic mother.” I keep going. He follows. “And maybe I should have listened to you before taking off barefooted down this rocky slope—my feet are screamin’ at me—but there’s a kind of high you can only get by doing what you’re told not to do, and how else are we gonna—Wow, what a view!”
We come to a stop at the edge of the water. Across its rippling surface, colorful lights sparkle like magic from the Hopewell Fair. I’m so captivated by the sight, I forgot what I was even saying.
“You could … really fall in love with a view like this,” I catch myself saying, amazed. “My eyes feel as wide as the sea. It just goes on and on in the dark like this … can’t even see or imagine where it stops, if it even does.”
Finn stands by my side, taking it in as well.
The silence between us feels filled with something else I can’t name. Something electric. Tingly. Expectant.
“You don’t fall in love with your eyes, when it comes to the sea,” he says.
His words catch me by surprise. “You don’t?”
His eyes still on the dark horizon, he puts a hand to his chest. “You fall in love with the sea through your heart.”
Oh, wow. He’s a romantic.
If I didn’t already find him cute, he has to go and make himself even cuter with his seaside poetry.
“Your heart …” I murmur, trying not to smile.