Page 11 of Summer After Summer

My throat is dry. “I …”

“I’m just teasing. You want a chair or an umbrella or …?”

“Can I get both for twenty?”

He smiles again, right at me, and even though my knees are weak and there’s a small possibility I’m going to pass out, I’m proud of myself for coming here. I can do this. I can talk to a boy.

“Doesn’t it hurt to stand like that?” Fred asks with an eyebrow arched.

“Oh, um …” I pull my hip back into place. My cheeks are burning. “Yeah, it kind of does.”

“Looks funny too.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I didn’t mean …”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll take that lounger?”

Now he has the beginning of a blush creeping up his neck. We stare at each other for a moment, then Fred grabs a lounger and an umbrella, tucking one under each arm. “Where do you want to sit?”

“Where do you recommend?”

“Well, those people over there”—he motions his chin toward a family where the mother is reading a novel and two cute kids are playing in the sand with plastic shovels. The dad is on his back, fast asleep, his belly alarmingly red. “They usually have a big screaming match right around lunchtime.”

“Not near them, then.” I scan the beach. There’s a couple sitting on two chairs, chatting. “What about over there?”

“How do you feel about older men checking you out in your bathing suit?”

“Ugh, no.”

“Didn’t think so. Come on, I’ve got the perfect spot.” Fred walks between the chairs until he gets to an open area that’s far enough away from the other umbrellas that I won’t have to listen to someone else’s conversation.

“I can’t believe this space is still free.”

Fred puts the gear down and opens the lounger. “I saved it for you.”

“You did?”

He tucks his chin down, concentrating on driving the umbrella into the sand. “I thought you might be back.” He opens the umbrella, and it casts the perfect circle of shade. Then he looks up at me, shy. “I hoped you would, Olivia.”

“Oh, I …”

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”

I laugh and the tension breaks. “Are girls usually worried you’re going to bite them?”

“Not that I’ve heard.”

“That’s good then.”

He holds out his hand. “Towel?”

I take my backpack off and pull out the towel I brought from home. It’s dark blue with red lobsters on it. “You don’t have to lay it out. I can do it.”

“All part of the service.” He takes it and smooths it out over the lounger, tucking the corners down into small clips that I wouldn’t have known were there. “Voila.”

“That looks great.”

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