Page 68 of Shifting Sands

He opens the box lid and lifts one of the shoes. “These are …” He doesn’t finish the sentence as he turns the shoe over in his hand.

Crap.He doesn’t like it.

“I wasn’t sure what size you wore, so I kinda guessed after staring at your feet for the last two weeks,” I admit, a little flustered now. “Hopefully, I got it right.”

“You did,” he says, voice low.

There’s a pause.

A long one.

I expect him to make a joke, some quip about how he won’t slide around behind the bar with wet feet now. But he doesn’t.

He keeps looking at the shoes.

And then at me.

And then back at the shoes, like they’re a rare artifact and I’m some kind of mythical creature that delivered them.

“You okay?” I ask, laughing lightly. “It’s just footwear, Brew. Not a proposal.”

Sudden panic rises as I realize that the gesture might have embarrassed him.Fuck, what was I thinking?

“I couldn’t think of what else to get you. I haven’t seen your home, so I didn’t know if you could use a new rug or lamp, so I went with the shoes. Shoes are always a girl’s go to. I mean, who doesn’t love shoes, right?” I start to babble as I look at anything but him.

He chuckles, but there’s something in his eyes—something softer than I’m used to seeing.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “It’s just … no one’s ever bought me shoes before.”

I blink. “Really?”

He shakes his head. “Apart from my mom, when I was a kid. No. Not like this. Not … because they’d noticed. Because they cared.”

And I feel it—that slow, quiet shift in the air.

Like something important just happened.

He sets the box down and closes the space between us. His fingers brush my wrist, light as a whisper, and I swear the decking tilts a little under my feet.

“Thank you,” he says.

I shrug. “I figured if I was gonna date a guy who worked in a greasy garage and bar, the least I could do was make sure he wouldn’t get tetanus through his soles.”

He grins, but doesn’t move away.

And I don’t want him to.

He feeds a hand into my hair as his eyes meet mine. “I have something for you, too, but it’s in the truck. I was planning to give it to you later.”

“You drew my name?”

He shakes his head.

“Then you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Right,” he says as he taps my nose. Then he presses his lips to mine.

We stand there, lost in the kiss, until we hear a high-pitched whistle from the beach below.

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