Page 4 of Cool for the Summer

“I’ve never met a preppy vagabond before.”

Beck laughs again. He seems to do that a lot. He has a nice laugh, not a giggle, but not a belly laugh, either. Somewhere in the middle.

“Preppy vagabond. I like that. No, I’m just” — he pauses as if searching for the right words, fingering the sleeve of a jean jacket with hideous patches sewn all over, then belatedly finishes his sentence — “at loose ends.”

That I can identify with. Ever since finishing the run of my last play, I’ve been at loose ends, too. I’m at a crossroads, career-wise, and I keep putting off my decision as to which path I should go down.

“Well, you’re young,” I say, to keep things casual with this near stranger. “You’ll figure it out.”

“I’m twenty-five.” Beck sighs. “Not that young anymore.”

I chuckle. “Look, I’m thirty, so don’t talk to me about not being young.”

“You’re only thirty?” Beck says, sounding surprised. Then he must realize how that sounds. “Not that you look—never mind.”

“It’s okay. I always read older. It’s the nose.” I resist touching my crooked nose, the feature that pushes my face from handsome to merely interesting.

“I like your nose,” Beck says quietly.

“Yeah?” My sixth sense for a possible hookup sharpens. Sure, it’s eleven-thirty in the morning, and we’ve only just met, but those are details. On the other hand, we can’t exactly hook up in the alley behind the thrift store. But maybe Beck’s staying an extra night in Rosedale and we could get together later. I’m about to ask what his evening plans are when Beck’s phone buzzes in his pocket, surprisingly loud in the quiet shop.

“Hold these, will you?” Without waiting for an answer, Beck pushes his finds into my arms and gets out his phone. He glances at the screen, types out a quick message, and flashes me what seems to be a regretful smile. “I gotta get going earlier than I thought.”

“Hitting the road?” I shouldn’t be disappointed.

“No, but—” The chime of my phone interrupts whatever Beck was going to say. I shift Beck’s stuff back to him and get out my own phone to see a text from Pete.

Hey, can you meet us at the house now? If you’re not free, 1 still works.

Since my outing with Beck has been cut short anyway, I don’t see why not.

I type back a quick reply and order a car from my favorite ride app while I’m at it. Beck chats with the gray-haired lady behind the sales counter as she rings up his purchases. She coos over something he says—clearly Beck has his own skills in the charming straight women department.

The ride app tells me my driver will meet me in front of Hot Brew in six minutes. Outside on the sidewalk, I feel an urge to get Beck’s number, which is ridiculous. I’m going to be spending the next two months right here in Rosedale, and who knows where Beck’s off to next?

“All set?” I ask when Beck walks out with a brown paper shopping bag with the store’s name, Second Time Around, stamped on the side. The midday sun is brighter than ever, and Beck pulls the bill of his hat down a little farther over his forehead.

“Yeah, that was fun. Sorry I have to run.” Beck smiles and again, I want to ask him for…something. I’m not sure quite what I’d ask for, and not knowing throws me off.

Finally, I say, “Keep drinking water.”

“I will.” Beck doesn’t move, but I can’t think of anything else to say.

“Well, nice meeting you.” I hold out my hand.

“Nice meeting you, Donovan,” Beck says, shaking my hand. His skin is warm and dry, and it occurs to me this is the first time we’ve touched.

Then he lets go, crosses the street, and unlocks a spiffy little black European hatchback parked at the curb.

I turn my back on him reluctantly, but I have to hustle back down the block to meet my ride, a big gray SUV.

I ask the driver to wait while I collect my bag from Ruth, and by the time I’m settled inside the vehicle, Beck’s hatchback is gone.

I shake off an unexpected pang of regret. So Beck is cute, and funny, and just a bit mysterious, with all his talk of loose ends and his strange love of mixing bowls. But I’ll probably never see him again.

The idea is strangely depressing.

TWO

---