Page 17 of Tease Me

“Happy now?” I said.

“Very. You?”

“Absolutely. That’s the most fun I’ve had in ages.”My thoughts shifted to Corben and how he, too,showed me—theJaneme—how to have fun.Life was so bloody good. I didn’t want the yearto ever end.

As I put my clothes back on, Henrycarried on drivingto the end of the road, which met with the mouth of the Tweed River.

“Want a coffee?” he said.

“Oh, I’d love one.” As if on cue, my stomach rumbled. “I’m hungry, too.”

“Good. So am I.” He pulled into a parking lot opposite a small rundown café and turned off the engine.

I stepped out, and we met at the back of the car. He pulled the trunk lid up and removed a large red-and-white-striped plastic bag.

“What’s in there?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Oh, yay. I love surprises.” My insides did a little jig.

“I know.”

I tapped his forearm as we crossed the road together. “Really? How could you know?”

He shrugged. “Okay. I guessed. Did you have any other plans for your day off?”

“Pfft, no.” I’d said it quickly, and when he turned to me, I couldn’t quite read the look on his face. Was it sorrow, pity, or disappointment?Either way, it didn’t matter becausethe secondwe entered the café and I smelt caffeine,my attention was diverted.

I ordered a cappuccino and a breakfast bacon and egg wrap, and Henry ordered the same. After a brief discussion in which I was unyielding, I paid the bill. I was grateful when he gracefully backed down. It was too early in the morning to make a scene, but I would have.

He turned, and I watched the sway of his shoulders as he walked toward the fridge.My viewwasimproved when he bent over to select abottle of wateroff the bottom shelf.For someone in his fifties, Henry had a physique that most men should aspire to.

Our coffee orders came in polystyrene cups, andour breakfast wraps were sealedin waxy paper. The lady behind the counter put our order into a cardboard container and handed it over the counter.I reached for our food, along witha few napkins, and together, Henry and I headed outside toward the seats in the sun.

But he didn’t stop where I assumed he would. Instead, he stepped onto the road. “Where are you going?”

“Down to the beach.”

“Oh, okay then.” I caught up to his side. “So, you’ve been here before?”

“My family used to come here when I was a kid. We spent nearly every Easter for about fifteen years camping at the Fingal Holiday Park up the road.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“It was. Some of the best years of my life.” He said it wistfully, and I thought I detected sadness in his voice.

As wetraipsedover the sand, covered in long, spindly grass, I tried to nominate the best years of my life. I didn’t have to think hard. Without a doubt, this year was the best year ever. I could only hope that my future years didn’t fade in comparison.

The vegetation encroached on us as we navigated up a narrow track over a small hill. At the top, Henry left the main track and followed an even narrower trail that skirted along the top of the sandbank. At a gnarly old tree, he stopped and turned to me, grinning. “I can’t believe it’s still here.”

“What?” I frowned.

“This tree. Iused to spendhours sitting in it, just watching the boats come and go.”

I felt privileged tobe sharingthis moment with him. Turning toward the ocean, I glanced across the sandy beachthat wasabout a hundred feet wide.Beyond the shoreline, a small boat with a couple of fishing poles angled off the back motored out to sea.

Henry continued to look across the sand, butby the cheeky grin on his face, I wonderedif he was seeing something I wasn’t.

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