Chapter 11 Henry
Henry
Piper looks like she wants to tear my arm off, then use it to beat me over the head.
I’m saved by Clay, the server working our section.
Mateo introduced me to him when I came in earlier.
He goes to FSU but is renting a condo in Sugar Bay for the summer with a bunch of friends.
He gives me a nod, drops off a plate of shrimp and fries, tops off Piper’s iced tea, then takes off for another table.
Piper pushes her meal toward me. “I’ll share, but only because this is enough shrimp to feed an army. I’m not rewarding your holier-than-thou literary attitude.” She puts on a mocking tone. “Fantasy’s not my thing.”
I laugh, marveling at this paradox of a girl who reads kids’ books and lobs f-bombs across restaurants.
I’m supposed to eat with my dad later, but he’s out in Pensacola at a restaurant supply store.
Not long before I noticed Piper was here, he texted to tell me he’s held up in traffic.
I’m starving, and weak when it comes to fried food.
We let my apparent shit taste in books go in favor of attacking Piper’s meal. The girl can put away some coconut shrimp. She pauses when she notices me dunking fries in tartar sauce. “Ew,” she says.
“What’d you mean, ew?”
“Fries are meant to be eaten with ketchup.”
“You have a lot of opinions,” I tell her, tossing a tartar-dipped fry into my mouth.
She grimaces. “It’s weird, is all.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it.” I hold a saucy fry out to her.
“Pass.”
She sips her iced tea, which has a half dozen squeezed lemon wedges floating in it.
Her dark curls are coiled in a knot, and there are black bikini strings tied around her neck.
Her dress is a very sheer field of flowers, and there’s a dusting of white sand across her suntanned shoulders, like someone sprinkled sugar over her skin.
“Come from the beach?” I ask.
“Yep. I worked this morning. And now here I am, dining with a stranger.”
“Hey, you can’t criticize my literary and culinary tastes, then call me a stranger.”
She grins, giving me a shrug like, Touché, and Jesus, her smile is contagious. “That shirt you were wearing the other night, the blue one—that’s where you work?”
“Sugar Bay Marine Conservation Park.” Her expression goes dreamy, like there’s no better place in the world. “We rehab animals and educate the public. Lots of tourists visit.”
“Should I check it out?”
“Totally. Come when I’m working, and I’ll show you the best exhibits.” She plucks a shrimp from the plate, chewing while she gives me a once-over. “Your face is scorched,” she observes, as if I haven’t noticed that I’m seared like a tuna steak.
I put a hand on the back of my neck—also burnt. “My dad and I golfed eighteen holes yesterday. He kicked my ass.”
“Where’d you play? The surface of the sun?”
“Close. The Emerald Outlook. Do you know it?”
“No. I don’t like golf.”
“Neither do I.”
She gives me an inquisitive look. “Then why’d you go?”
“My dad was fired up about it. We don’t get to hang out a lot with him living all the way out here. I feel like I owe him some father-son time.”
“You’re a good human,” she declares, like sacrificial golf is all it takes. “Except you’re not supposed to put your dermis at risk to please others. SPF next time?”
“For sure. Lesson learned.”
Her phone chimes from the depths of her bag. She digs it out and gives it a cursory glance. She frowns, then rifles through her bag again, unearthing a ten and a twenty. Tossing them on the table, she stands. “I’ve got to go. Do me a solid and make sure the check gets paid?”
I slide her money back toward her. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Henry. Just because I let you come to my rescue earlier doesn’t mean you need to get all chivalrous on me now.”
“I wouldn’t think of it. The thing is, my dad owns this place. He’s actually really into chivalry”— I pronounce the word in the same grossed-out tone she used—“and he’d kill me if I let a girl pay for coconut shrimp.”
She pushes her book into her bag, then her cash. “All this time, I’ve been sitting with the owner’s kid? Thank your dad for me. And thank you for hanging out.”
I stand to let her out of the booth. She hauls her bag onto her sandy shoulder and flashes me a grin that makes my stomach somersault.
I squash the feeling, the attraction.
I’ve got no business falling for this girl. Not after what happened with Whitney.
My mouth is a lap ahead of my brain, though, because it’s already tossing out an invitation. “I’m thinking about heading to the pool later. I’ve got to get through a meal with my dad, but I’m gonna need a swim after. You should come down. Around nine?”
She’s quiet long enough to have me second-guessing my suggestion. But then another smile crinkles the corners of her eyes, and my regrets fly out the window.
“Yeah,” she says. “I’ll try to make it.”