Chapter 4
FOUR
I float on air through the weekend, secure in the fact that I made the right choice. How could I believe anything different when everything is working out perfectly? Sure, I may have changed my entire career path, but before I even had one full day unemployed, I had a new job.
On Saturday, I head to the Seabreeze to celebrate with Claire.
Sunday, I spend the day cleaning my apartment and getting myself ready for my first day of work.
By four, I’m out of things to do and eager to fill up my time to fend off any first-day jitters.
On the table sits a half-finished piece I started months ago, but haven’t touched it since; I pick it up and consider working on it.
For a moment, Claire’s words about selling my work run through my mind, but I push the thought aside.
Instead, I head down to the boardwalk, resolving to enjoy the warm early summer night, maybe read a book.
But once I settle into a bench, I don’t find myself opening the book I brought or peacefully watching the ocean.
I don’t even find myself mindlessly scrolling social media.
Instead, I open up the sketch pad I also brought and doodle what I see: the crests of the waves, a seashell in the sand, a seagull grabbing a dropped French fry.
After a while, my attention is pulled back to reality when a voice rises beside me, a man sitting one bench away.
“I don’t care what you have to do, we agreed that the furniture would be delivered in two weeks, and if that’s not adhered to, you’re in breach of contract,” he says, voice firm and angry and just a bit familiar.
I force myself not to be nosy and look over at him, instead, keeping my eyes on the pad in my hands.
I pretend to sketch as he talks about contracts and terms; I assume he must be a lawyer in town for the convention this week.
I sit there for another minute, the man moving on, his voice low and growly and clearly irritated, before I finally give in to the urge to glance over.
That’s when I realize the voice was somewhat familiar because I’ve run into this man before.
It’s the man I met in the convenience store. I fight every urge to swipe my fingers against my pocket where I’ve been carrying the penny he gave me, and instead, grab my phone, opening my group chat with Lainey and June.
The hot guy is here.
On the boardwalk near Surf. He’s HERE.
C: What?
The hot guy from the convenience store is here! I came here to draw, and he sat on the bench next to me. He’s on his phone.
C: Sounds like your lucky stars are lining up again.
L: What are the chances of that happening?
C: TALK TO HIM!
C: FUCK HIM
Claire!
C: Come on, the universe put him in your path again. It’s a sign you need to get laid.
That’s not how the universe works.
C: It could, though!
Lainey, tell Claire that’s the dumbest idea ever.
L: Talk to him, absolutely. Fuck him, maybe if he doesn’t seem like a serial killer or like he’s married.
You two have officially lost it. I’m not going to fuck a stranger.
C: You promised you’d take every opportunity the universe gave you. This feels like an opportunity the universe is giving you.
C: I'll give you my parking spot at the Seabreeze for a month if you say hi to him.
God damn it, that's a good deal.
C: You don’t even have to fuck him. Just see where things go!
I don’t think Miles would be okay with that
C: Well, Miles didn’t win it, so he can suck my dick
.
The conversation continues, Claire and Lainey going back and forth, but the stranger has ended his call, and despite my denial, I can’t help but feel they might have the tiniest bit of truth.
I mean, what are the possibilities of bumping into the same man twice?
There are two dozen benches along this stretch of boardwalk: he could have sat anywhere, and he sat right there.
If I don’t say hi, I’ll probably wonder what would have happened forever. My mind made up, I take in a deep breath, trying to seem as casual as humanly possible as I turn my head again, pretending to spot him for the first time.
“Oh my God, it's you!” I say in a gasp that sounds fake even to me. His head shifts, and something dances in his eyes. “You’re the guy from the convenience store, right? You gave me a penny?” He stares at me for a long moment, assessing, and I think maybe he won’t speak at all before finally, he does.
“You knew it was me the whole time,” he states, and my eyes widen, the shock this time genuine.
“What?”
“You looked at me a handful of times; then you texted about it. You knew I was here.”
I blink twice before deciding the correct path is total denial.
"I don't know what you're talking about." He lifts a single thick eyebrow at me, and I crumple, smiling. “Okay, I may or may not have been watching you. I was just shocked it was you. What are the chances, you know?”
I stand, gather my bag, and slide the sketch book inside. Then, I walk the ten feet to his bench and sit beside him, leaving about two feet of space between us.
“Yeah, sure. Feel free to sit next to me.” His words are deadpan as he gestures toward me, and I grin.
“I’m June,” I say, putting a hand out to him. He looks at it a second longer than polite before his own large hand comes out, engulfing mine and shaking it cordially.
“Graham.” His thumb brushes over my knuckles lightly before he releases my hand. “So did you do it?”
“Do it?” I ask, confused.
“Quit your job.”
“Ah, yes. I did.”
“How do you feel?” he asks, leaning back and crossing his arms on his chest. His white button-down stretches across broad shoulders in a way I most definitely do not notice.
“I… I don’t know,” I admit with a laugh.
The setting sun plays across his features: a thin layer of scruff that doesn’t look unkempt on him, his hair mussed by the wind off the water, his green eyes reflecting the colors of the water.
“I actually start my new job tomorrow, so we’ll see if I deeply regret it or not.” I let out a sigh, that nervous energy creeping. “But I really don’t want to talk about work. I feel like this is all anyone wants to talk to me about, and it’s making me a bit bonkers.”
“Fair enough,” he says.
“What were you yelling about?” I ask.
“Work. But I don’t really want to talk about work, either.”
“Fair enough,” I say with a laugh.
After a while, we fall into a silence. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s there, lingering between us. I think of Claire and Lainey, my phone still buzzing in my pocket, before I gather the nerve to speak once more.
“Do you want to get a drink with me?”
“A drink?”
“Yes. Liquid that you imbibe? Sometimes alcoholic, often an excuse to extend the time you’re spending with someone?”
Then it happens: the edges of his lips tip up in the barest hint of a smile. It’s handsome, even if the whisper of the expression looks a bit unnatural on his face.
“You want to spend time with me?”
“I’m sorry; that’s weird, right? Ignore me. I’m just gonna—” I start with a laugh, shaking my head and standing as I prepare to leave.
Before I can walk away, he stands up too.
He reaches out and wraps his hand gently around my wrist, pulling me closer.
I have to look up at him as he shifts his arm to wrap around my waist. It should be strange to be touched by a stranger, but instead, my body relaxes, and it feels surprisingly natural.
As if this was meant to be. I’ve always believed in luck and fate, but standing in Graham’s arms, I can’t imagine not thinking that the universe has guided me along so I would end up right here.
“It’s not weird. I’ve been trying to think of a way to casually get you to spend more time with me.”
“Oh,” I say the words in the barest whisper.
“There’s a good bar at my hotel. Let’s get a drink. See where things go,” he murmurs.
“Where are you staying?”
“The Sunrise,” he says, naming the very expensive hotel on the boardwalk.
It’s not far from here, maybe a quarter mile down, and has both normal rooms and small townhomes that can be rented long-term.
I’ve heard that the entire place is absolutely stunning, though despite living here my entire life, I’ve never had a reason to enter the building.
Until, possibly, now.
“Big baller,” I say with a smile and a raised eyebrow.
“My work put me up in it,” he says with a nonchalant lift of his shoulder. “So? What do you say?” His fingers on my waist graze the bare skin where my tee meets my shorts, and I shiver. “I really don’t want to end our night here.”
I weigh his offer, biting my lip even though I know I’m going to say yes.
“Okay,” I say. “But full disclosure, I'm telling my friends I’m with you, and they have my location.” He nods but doesn’t let me go. “Women’s safety, and all.”
“I’d be worried if you didn’t,” he says. I smile at him, wide and genuine, before he finally lets me go. “Take your time.”
I tap out a quick text to my group chat, then slide my phone into my bag, ignoring the suddenly blasts of texts.
“Let’s go.”
One drink turns to two, and through them both, we sit close in the dimly lit bar, chatting low, and I thoroughly enjoy myself.
We talk about absolutely nothing, my telling him a bit about Seaside Point, and him sharing the most minuscule details about himself, but each one feels like a prize, some snippet about his life that I earned.
True to his word, we stay away from talking about work, though I learn the basics about him.
Not long after the second drink is gone, he gets the check, paying without giving me the time to offer, and then leading me out of the bar with a hand on my lower back. With each step, a strange and unexpected disappointment fills me, knowing our night is ending.
“Well,” I say when we stand in the luxurious lobby, biting my lip. “It was very nice bumping into you again.”