Page 70 of On the Beat

“I’m on the—I’m afinancialjournalist.” Maybe if I repeat it, I’ll believe it. I mean, I wrote one listicle on the top 10 ways to manage your money as a millennial, so I think that counts.

“True.” He shrugs. “I’m going to miss this.”

“What?” I ask, confused by his sudden nostalgic tone, as though he’s already left El Nido. “What are you going to miss?”

“Having an escape,” he says softly. “Out here, we’re not living our real lives, are we? No matter what promises we make, we’re going to get back to L.A. and have one heck of a landing.”

I should be walking away. I should be leaving. I should be running at breakneck speed.

Instead, I step closer.

“I thought we made it clear that this is temporary.”

He shakes his head. But he moves closer, too. “Yeah. We did. When we get back to L.A., you’ll go back to your journalist job. I’ll go back to recording bad songs and worse albums—”

“Your music isn’tthatbad.” My hand brushes his. He grips it like he’ll never let go, but we both know it’s only a matter of time before we separate.

“Thank you. That was glowing praise from a distinguished music critic such as yourself.” Ryder’s blue eyes glisten with something I can’t quite figure out. If I come close enough–will I ever learn what it is? Will I ever understandhim? “I’m going to go back to L.A., and this will feel like a dream I have to wake up from.”

“Maybe I want to keep dreaming with you.” The words fall from my lips and they taste like regret, like alcohol drunk too fast, leaving you with nothing but the burn and the all-too-brief high.

“I got you this,” he says, pulling something out of his pocket. “Here, let me put it on.”

I look down at it: a pale blue and deep red sea glass bracelet, tied with hemp rope. It’s delicate and strong and fraying, all at once. “It’s gorgeous. But… it’s notmybirthday.”

“I know.” Ryder flashes me a quick, almost sheepish grin. “I just saw the sea glass, and it reminded me of you, so I asked Gloria to help me make it into something. There wasn’t enough for a necklace, so she suggested the bracelet.”

I touch the cool stones, polished smooth by years drifting through the waves. Despite time and wear, it’s not only lasted, but become something tough, something beautiful. It’s what I hope to be—what I hopewecan be. “Thank you.”

He smiles and words aren’t enough, or maybe they’re not necessary at all, because he leans down and kisses me, and we are a silent island in a sea of noise.

* * *

“To Paulo, the man of the hour!” Ryder lifts his beer bottle, standing on Paulo’s right side.

The wholebarkadais at the long dinner table, which is really just several folding tables put together with a lime-green cloth draped over it. Though the party has died down a bit from the rowdy carousing, chatter, and lively gossip that I heard earlier, there’s still a warmth suffusing the crowd that doesn’t come from the weather. It makes me smile to be here, as I wrap an arm around Gloria, and feel like I’m home.

“You’re a great friend, who’s put up with me even when you didn’t have to,” Ryder says.

The guests laugh.

“I hope your thirtieth year gives you everything you could possibly need. Though you’re already blessed with a great job, a wonderful family, I’m so glad you let me and Isla throw this party for you, even when you could’ve just left to go drink at a bar or something. You’re just, uh, you’re the man I should be. A good man. Cheers. To Paulo!”

We all echo his toast, beer bottles and wine glasses clinking against one another. Gloria sneaks a beer, and next to her, Eddie “toasts” with his juice box. Ryder sits back down again, blushing slightly when he catches me looking at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “That was a lovely toast. Really nice.”

“I did my best.” He clinks his beer bottle against my glass of juice. “It’s good to know you approve.”

Gloria clears her throat, gesturing between the two of us with her illicit alcoholic beverage. “So, when are you two getting married?”

“What?” Ryder looks like he’s going to spray out his beer.

I down the rest of my juice and reach for a wine bottle. “That’s a little zero to sixty.”

“You’ve been courting her, you met her parents, so I assumed that you were going to… y’know…” Gloria keeps waving the beer between us. “Are you not?”

“We haven’t really talked about that?” My voice sounds strangled.

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