Page 4 of Hot Kisses

The volleyball girls head toward the cove and the dad of the family who I thought I could count on to at least pity buy some sodas goes back to his car to haul his own cooler onto the blanket his wife is setting up.

At least the sun is still shining, though I don’t like the looks of the clouds hovering way out on the horizon. If it stays hot and sunny, I’ll get some customers sooner or later. Then I won’t have to worry too much about dinner.

Thinking about money, which I do far too often because ever since Grandpa died there’s been far too little of it. After the fire— memories I shove harshly to the back of my mind— I had some savings from my job as a receptionist while I worked my way through the massage therapy course. Suddenly I was homeless, and with only the clothes on my back. Since I’d gone out with friends that horrible night, my only belongings consisted of a pair of wildly high heeled sandals, a bright purple sundress, and twenty-two dollars in cash.

I had offers to stay with friends until I got back on my feet, and the local church drummed me up some more clothes. I was too stunned and grief stricken to be able to concentrate on my job. They kindly told me I could come back any time, but they must have thought I’d be better in a few weeks, maybe a month.I wasn’t better, and they hired someone to permanently replace me.

The only place I felt alive and whole was with the sand under my toes and the sound of the surf, so I emptied my meager savings account and bought my van. My current home. I always have enough extra at the end of the day to eat something and restock my drinks for the next day, then I spend my evenings watching the sunset and stringing beads. Outside if it’s warm enough, huddled under my thermal blanket with socks stuck into all the cracks and crevices of the van when it’s cold. Being here in the place Grandpa loved is enough for me. It’s all I have. And honestly, this is the only way to cope with my guilt.

The guilt I feel from the fire, from not being there is crushing. It’s my fault, really. I left grandpa a lasagna cooking in the oven so he could have dinner waiting, and I forgot to tell him about it before I left. I guess he must’ve fallen asleep or something, because he didn’t smell the burning. By the time he made it down the stairs, according to the firemen, it was too late. I should’ve stayed home that night, I should’ve made sure he knew it was in there, I should’ve done literally anything but rush out to meet my friends. So, I deserve this - living in my van, selling my junky jewelry to get by - because even after all he did for me, I couldn’t be there to save him or even remember to warn him.

Now, I have to find solace in the place we were happy together, where we made all of our great memories. This beach doesn’t just give me joy, it’s a place for others to come when they want to spend time with their family or friends. When they want time by themselves with the calm waters to guide their thoughts. And because of my uncle it’s going to only be for the people who can afford a condo here.

I’m so mad I want to spit but the sound of the kids laughing as they scramble to the shore restores my strength andmy faith in myself. This isn’t over yet. Uncle Oliver is lying, hiding something from the lawyers.

I’m dragged out of my furious planning to overthrow his evil plot by two very expensive shoes appearing in my line of vision. I hurriedly look up to greet this potential customer. Long legs in crisp navy suit pants, trim waist, blindingly white shirt that is so tailored I can practically see this guy’s abs. His tie has been loosened, one button undone at his throat. I lean back, because he’s impossibly tall and my mouth falls open at the sight of his face peering down at me.

Strong, slightly stubbled jaw, razor straight nose that could be from an ancient coin, cheekbones that lift in a smile. I’m already dazzled by his midnight dark eyes, but I have to flash down to the dimple that appears. The smile is slightly crooked, as if he’s sizing me up, the endless depths of his dark eyes seeming to absorb me.

Holy crap, he’s gorgeous.

“I was hoping I could get a drink while I’m looking around,” he says.

“Oh, you’re definitely in luck,” I say, jumping up to open the cooler. I shift aside the ice to show him what I’ve got, but when I turn back, he’s only looking at me. I shiver and it has nothing to do with the blast of cold air from the cooler. “What would you like?”

It feels like my mouth is broken and won’t stay closed as his eyes never stray from mine.

“A tour,” he says. “And water is fine.”

I feel almost bad giving this guy the generic bulk bottled water, but he doesn’t seem to mind that it’s not from a French spring when he twists it open and takes a swig. I’m mesmerized by his throat as he swallows but then realize what else he asked for.

“A tour?” I ask. “Of the beach? Or the whole area?”

The beach is pretty straightforward, unless he wants to explore The Hole, which is the cove where the volleyball girls headed, probably to smoke. I haven’t had time to go back in the caves in a week so it’s probably littered with beer cans and cigarette butts. I don’t want him to see that, and strangely, I don’t want him looking at those girls, either.

He hands me a ten dollar bill and I suppress a groan, because now I’ll be short on change for the rest of the day. As I reach for my money box, he looks annoyed. “I don’t want change. And why don’t we start with you showing me around the beach?” When I start to argue that I can’t let him pay me ten bucks for a drink that cost me thirty cents, he gruffly tells me to consider the extra for my time.

“Well, that’s actually kind of cheap, then,” I say, grinning when he bursts out laughing. But when he reaches for his wallet again, I assure him I’m only joking. Instead of waving my arm and saying, ‘this is the beach,’ I lead him over to the parking lot.

“Free parking,” he says with mock interest. “A rarity.”

“Believe it or not, this parking lot used to be a concert area, with a big pink bandshell and everything. Way before my time. But for the tour…”

He nods. “Historical accuracy is important. I can almost imagine it.”

I sigh. “I’ve seen pictures. I wish I could have seen it in real life and gone to one of the concerts.”

We head on past the restrooms and the storage shed. “Uh, this used to be—”

He cuts me off, nodding some more. “Wait, I know this one. This was where the town’s first mayoral hall was, right?”

He looks so serious I wonder if it’s okay to laugh, but I can’t help myself. “Oh my gosh, how did you know? I wasn’t lying about the bandstand, though.”

“Hmm, well that’s interesting,” he says. “There actually isn’t another concert venue nearby…”

“Now we’re getting to the best part,” I say, heading toward the water. “The sand. As you can see there’s a lot of it, and it’s very fine. You’ll most certainly be shaking this off your clothes later.”

He stops, his eyes traveling toward the water. They’re laser focused, his face completely still. With a grunt, he leans down and takes his shoes off, along with his socks.

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