Page 9 of Better Than the Beach
“Twenty-three,” she rasps. “How old areyou?”
I take a drink from my mug before I answer. Having her eyes on me lights me up, and I want to prolong the moment. I have students her age, and some of them try to flirt, but I’ve never wanted their attention. I don’t acknowledge it. But their attention has never made me feel like this. I can’t remember the last time anyone’s attention made me feel like this.
“I’m thirty-four.”
I watch as her eyes flare slightly at my admission. Does she think I’m too old? Is she surprised? Repulsed? I suppose thirty-four seems ancient to someone still freshly in her twenties. I try not to wince at the thought.
“And what do you do?” Cassie asks, head cocked slightly to the side as she takes me in. Studying my face. Assessing. Suddenly, I’m aware of the fact that I haven’t shaved, and my hair is mussed. I’m concerned with how I measure up beneath Cassandra’s keen eye.
“I’m getting my doctoral degree in applied social and health psychology at University of Colorado Boulder.”
“Oh wow.” She leans toward me. “What’s that like? What are you studying? What’s your focus?”
I can’t help but laugh at her eager tone. Perhaps I’ve passed her first assessment.
“You’re interested in psychology?”
“I am.” She nods. “I’m really into music therapy, specifically. So how the body reacts to and copes with trauma, and how different therapies can be used to heal. Stuff like that.”
“Is that what you do, then?”
Her smile falters and her shoulders drop at my inquiry, and though she recovers quickly, I notice the flash of defeat on her face. I’ve touched on a very sore subject.
“No,” she says lightly despite her tense muscles. “I’m an education major. History.”
Her smile is fake.
“Hm.” I look her over once more, note how she avoids eye contact and instead focuses on her mug. I change the subject. “Well, do you have any musical talents?”
She perks back up immediately.
“I do.” Her smile is real now, and I find my lips molding quickly into a matching one. “I can play piano, violin, guitar, and some basic drum stuff.”
“Basic drum stuff?” I tease.
“Well, I’m no Travis Barker, but I can keep a beat.” She rolls her eyes playfully.
“There’s a piano in the sitting room,” I tell her, and her eyes light up more than I thought possible. Glowing, sparkling, silver. I find myself inching closer. Her eyes are the moon, and I now have an entire ocean inside me.
“I know.” She’s practically vibrating with excitement. “Nan showed me last night. I’m going to check it out after breakfast.”
I realize, then, that she hasn’t eaten. Neither have I.
“Do you like eggs?” I ask, and she laughs that jingle bell laugh.
“I do.”
“Fancy an omelet?”
She laughs again, louder this time, and I laugh with her. I didn’t know how much I wanted that sound until I heard it. How much I needed that laugh, hers as well as mine.
“I definitely fancy an omelet.”
“It’s settled then. I’ll make you an omelet, then you’ll play me something on the piano.”
THREE
cassie
