“It felt wrong,” he said. “Like a piece of history was erased.”
“It’s not the same place you left,” I said. “But Surfside isn’t really about what you see.”
He offered a soft smile. “Did you become a poet in my four-year absence?”
“Better a poet than a business tycoon.”
“I’ll think about that while I’m counting my millions,” he retorted.
I laughed. “Good one.”
“You’re smiling,” he said.
“I’m squinting. Your big ass needs to move about six inches to the right.”
He did just that. “Better?”
“No. You’re blocking my sun.”
“You get plenty of sun.”
“Does that bother you?” I asked.
His eyes raked over my body. “Just worried about those tan lines.”
I leaned forward. “What makes you think I have tan lines?”
“Want me to check?”
“I think you’re delusional and in my personal space.”
“You’re on a public beach.”
I got to my feet. “It is public, and that’s part of the problem.”
“What problem?”
“This beach is meant to be enjoyed by all, and you and your little buddy want to take some of that public space and make an ugly port. And then there will be hotels that want to claim they own the sand. And then there will be surf shacks and restaurants. And then you know what happens?”
“The beach is gone,” he said.
“Ah, beauty and brains,” I said with a wink.
“You think I’m beautiful?” he teased.
“Pretty boy.”
I needed to get out of this conversation. I needed to get away from him. I could feel the gravitational pull that had drawn me to him every summer for three years. I could not let it happen again. I’d survived the pain once. Twice would kill me.
My adult class was arriving. My exit was right there, and I was going to take it.
“I have to go,” I said, brushing sand from my legs.
He stayed on his knees in the sand, looking up at me. He looked so much like the man I’d fallen for that it physically hurt. Same eyes. Same jaw. Same stupid, irresistible smile that could convince me of anything.
“Please don’t go tomorrow.”
I looked back over my shoulder. “I’ll see you on the other side of the picket line, Anderson.”