Chapter 4
IVY
I slid into a parking spot in the public lot next to the pier. I’d timed our visit perfectly—just as families were leaving after a day at the beach and before the teens and young adults descended on the pier for the rides and illicit nighttime activities on the beach.
As we got out of the car, Ian tipped his head back. “I guess I didn’t realize the pier had funfair rides.”
“The rides have been around for about twenty-five years, and the carousel inside is from the original pier in 1916.”
I gestured toward the wooden steps leading down the sand. “You wanna take a walk on the beach?”
“Lead the way. It’s like being with a tour guide.”
He adjusted his cap, keeping his sunglasses in place.
I kept mine on, too. The day might be waning, but the sun still hung low in the sky, creating a glassy glare on the water.
As we hit the sand, he grabbed my arm. “Hang on. I wanna feel the sand between my toes. I haven’t been to the beach in a while.”
I kicked off my flipflops and dangled them from my fingers. Again, I had a burning desire to know more about how he’d spent his year, so far—obviously not at the beach.
After he removed his running shoes and stuffed his socks inside the shoes, he tied the laces together and slung them over one shoulder. He then rolled up his jeans. “I’m ready.”
We trudged through the dry sand, and occasionally my shoulder would bump against his arm. Nobody seemed to notice him, or if they did, they’d decided not to make a fuss.
I slid a glance at him from the side of my eye. Did he want them to or not? Fame had to be a double-edged sword. If people noticed you, even if that caused a hassle, it affirmed your relevance. If they gave you your privacy, you’d have to wonder if they’d recognized you, or worse, didn’t care.
Of course, I wanted lots and lots of people to buy and read my books, but I would detest the level of fame that Ian had endured. I remembered scenes of frenzied girls chasing the Five2Go boys down the street and mobbing them everywhere they went. I preferred my anonymity.
We made our way to the wet sand, littered with seaweed, shells and other debris from the ocean. Ian jogged a few feet in front of me, leaving his imprint in the sand. I had a sinking feeling he’d leave his imprint on more than just the beach, and I put one hand over my heart, as if that could protect it from what I knew was marching toward me.
I followed him by placing my feet into his bigger prints.
He veered toward the water and danced in the foam from the breaking waves. “Feels good. Dip your toes.”
“I’m sure it’s freezing. The Pacific is always cold, even at the end of a sunny day.”
“Chicken.”
He splashed into the water as it reached the hem of his rolled-up jeans. “Do you surf?”
“Once in a while—with a wetsuit.”
He kicked at a wave, and the arc of water caught the sunlight and glittered like diamonds dropping to the sand. He crooked a finger at me. “Join me.”
I inched a little closer to a wave rushing to shore, and the water tickled my toes. “Definitely cold.”
Ian swung around and charged toward me. He scooped me up in his arms, as if I weighed no more than a kitten, and carried me back to the water.
I shrieked and kicked my legs, but he held me high above the rolling waves and spun around. I threw my head back and laughed at the sky as the spray from the sea dabbled against my cheek, droplets of saltwater landing on my tongue.
Panting, he lowered me to the ground. “Did you think I was going to toss you in?”
“Crossed my mind, but then you’d have to find a ride back to your hotel.”
I tucked my fluttering hair behind one ear.
He’d released me but kept possession of my hand, and I let it remain with him. He laced his fingers with mine and tugged me forward.
Hands clasped, we continued our walk on the beach, leaving most of the clutches of beachgoers and their screaming kids behind us as we ventured farther north toward the bluffs.
The fog rolled in quickly, as it often did on a summer night, and I nudged his shoulder. “I don’t think we’re going to see much of a sunset tonight unless the fog just keeps flowing inland.”
He said, “I always found it strange that Malibu could be 20 degrees colder than where I lived, which was about 20 kilometers away.”
“You lived in...?”
“Calabasas.”
“Ah, yes.”
I disentangled my hand from his. “The Valley playground of the rich and famous so they don’t have to rub shoulders with the people of Van Nuys.”
From the corner of my eye, I could see his head jerk toward me. I pursed my lips. I didn’t know why that bitchy comment had tumbled out of my mouth. Jealousy, probably.
He chuckled lightly. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t think I ever went to Van Nuys, but you would’ve loved the library in my old house.”
“Really?”
“It was a two-story room with a massive number of books and one of them rolling ladders to reach all of them.”
He took my hand again, more firmly this time. “You said you studied English at uni, and I noticed all the books you had at your place. I suppose you read all the time. You probably know more about English authors than I do—Shakespeare and Chaucer and that lot.”
I snorted, despite myself. “Yeah, that lot. Don’t you like to read?”
“Honestly, I never had much time for it. Never had much time for a load of stuff.”
The sadness in his voice had me squeezing his hand, and I said, “Let’s get back to the pier. At the rate this fog is sweeping in, we might not be able to see it.”
We retraced our steps in the wet sand, our previous footprints already washed out to sea. We swung hands in companionable silence, broken by the occasional exclamation over something deposited on the beach, which we would scoop up and study before tossing it back into the ocean.
By the time we reached the wooden steps up to the pier, the majority of the beachgoers had left or relocated to the carnival rides.
Ian sat on the bottom step to the side and brushed the sand from his feet. He put on his socks and shoes and rolled down the wet hems of his jeans.
When he finished, I thrust out my hand to him, and he took it as I pulled him up. Face-to-face, he flicked a strand of hair from my cheek. “Your hair...changed.”
Smoothing my hand over the back of my hair, I said, “It’s the damp air. Makes it frizzy.”
He caught another lock of my hair and wound it around his finger. “It’s all wavy. Makes you look like a beached mermaid.”
Heat rose from my chest to my face, and I pulled away from him. “Better than a beached whale, I suppose.”
I tromped up the steps ahead of him, pulling my sweatshirt around my body. I glanced over my shoulder. “Are you cold?”
“I’m English.”
We reached the pier, and I said, “I have a surprise for you.”
“I like surprises.”
Ian clapped his hands together.
Although he must’ve been a few years older than I was, Ian had an adorable childishness about him sometimes. It was part of his devastating charm—at least for me—and probably ever other girl in the Five2 fandom
“Do you like Ferris wheels?”
“Absolutely.”
He raised his eyes to the big wheel churning around at the end of the pier, its colorful lights flashing, reflecting in his shining eyes. “I even like rollercoasters and those teacup things that spin you around until you’re nauseous.”
“You’re not going to vomit on the Ferris wheel, are you? That could get messy.”
“I promise not to, but if I’m feeling a bit queasy, I’ll face away from you and hurl over the side.”
“Deal.”
I grabbed his hand, and we threaded our way through the crowds to the ticket booth.
I slid my credit card beneath the window. “Two tickets for the Ferris wheel, please.”
“That’s thirty dollars.”
“Bloody hell.”
Ian reached for his wallet. “Hang on. If they take plastic, I’ll pay for the tickets.”
“You’re my guest. I got it.”
I placed a hand on his chest, resisting the urge to run it across his defined muscles beneath the cotton of his T.
I snatched up the tickets and handed him one.
Shaking his head, he said, “Thirty quid? The bloody thing better fly for that price.”
We joined the end of the short line. The waiting would come as the wheel stopped for each car to spit out its passengers. I danced from foot to foot. I hadn’t been on this Ferris wheel for years.
The sun had officially set, although the fog had obscured its glory. The lights and motion of the pier seemed even more intense against the gray backdrop, and my senses were attuned to every nuance. My nerve endings tingled. I hadn’t felt this alive in a very long time.
Ian bumped my shoulder. “Here’s our car.”
A car swung down to the landing, and the ride operator unhitched the door and let a mom with her two kids out. He held the door open, and I stepped in first, sliding to the end of the red vinyl seat. Ian climbed in after me, and his knee hit my leg as he got comfortable.
As the wheel lifted into the air, I swung my legs. “Ooh, I love that feeling, but especially the whoosh on the way down.”
Ian craned his neck, turning his head. “Do you reckon that guy knows what he’s doing? Did he shut the door properly? Do you hear that creak?”
I huffed out a breath and patted his shoulder. “Are you scared? Do you want me to hold your hand?”
“Mission accomplished.”
Ian held out his hand, palm upward. I threaded my fingers through his, and the wheel began to turn, picking up speed. Each time we descended, Ian squeezed my hand, and my stomach dropped. I couldn’t figure out if the butterflies were coming from the motion or Ian’s nearness and attention.
He slipped off his sunglasses and hung them on the front of his shirt. “I imagine this is loads more scenic during the day or on a clear night. I think you should get your thirty quid back.”
I rested my head against his arm. “I know. I’m sorry. There’s not much to look at.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
He bumped my knee with his. “It’s not bad, though. Up here, cocooned in this fog, barely able to see five feet in front of my own face, I feel like we’re in a bubble or rather nestled in a cotton ball. It’s like we’re floating on our own, hidden from everyone and everything else. Do you feel it?”
I felt all kinds of things. Weirdly, my throat was constricted, and I was having difficulty uttering a sound.
Ian wedged a finger beneath my chin and turned my face to his. I closed my eyes as his lips met mine. He tasted of the ocean—salty, briny, fresh, and unbridled. I moved my mouth against his, parting my lips.
The tip of his tongue slid into my wetness, and I used my own tongue to toy with his. He deepened his kiss and cupped the side of my face with his hand, his thumb stroking my earlobe.
My body tingled in all my regular hot spots and some I didn’t even know I had. I smooshed my breast against his arm to get closer, as if I could climb into his kiss and get lost with him in the fog.
When he ended our connection and pulled back, my eyelids flew open. He touched his nose to mine. “Nice.”
Nice? Yeah, that word was hardly adequate for the emotions and sensations his kiss had awakened in me. His touch had taken me somewhere else—beyond reason and logic and fear, and the aching loneliness that had engulfed me the past few years.
I managed to whisper, “Nice.”
He draped his arm around my shoulders and placed his chin on top of my head. “Magical.”
As I turned my head and rested it against his chest, I saw a streak of pink on the horizon. The sun hadn’t disappeared, after all. The overcast had lifted just enough to give us a peek of the sun’s final show before it dipped into the ocean.
When we got off the ride, my knees shook, and I knew damn well the kiss and not the Ferris wheel had caused my unsteadiness. I hung onto Ian’s arm as we walked away from our private bubble and delved into the crowd.
The smell of hot dogs, popcorn, fish, sugar and grease made my stomach rumble. Woman did not live by celebrity crush alone, and that ramen was just a distant memory now. The kiss should’ve been enough to satisfy me, but it seemed to have set everything on fire, including my appetite.
As if on the same wavelength, Ian stopped and inhaled deeply. “I’m starving, and you must be ravenous since that squirrel stole your fork. Do you want to get something to eat?”
“God, yes.”
I pointed to the fresh fish stand across from the tourist restaurants. “We can pick out fish there, and they’ll cook it however you want. Only downside is that we have to eat it on those picnic tables set in front.”
“Sounds good. Please tell me they take plastic. I’m beginning to feel like a kept man.”
I’d like to keep him, alright...in my bed for about twenty-four hours. “I’m sure they do. They even have alcohol, if you want to get a beer. I’m driving, anyway.”
“I’m good. Do you want something to drink?”
“Just a soda.”
We ordered our fish at the counter, grabbed two cans of Diet Coke and sat across from each other at the end of a picnic bench with another couple at the other end.
Ian immediately stretched his hands across the table to take mine. “I hadn’t been on a Ferris wheel in years. Thanks for the suggestion.”
I disentangled one of my hands from his and took a slug of my drink. Might as well get over my awkwardness right away with a joke. “I only took you up there because I thought it would be a good place to share a first kiss. I’m a romance writer. I’m always thinking about these things.”
He tapped his temple. “That’s good to know. Do you always...try things out before putting them in your books?”
“Not always.”
I winked. “I have a very good imagination.”
The guy at the fish counter called our number, and Ian jumped up to get our food.
Several minutes later as we were eating, two women approached us. “Hi Ian, can we get a picture with you?”
He dropped his plastic fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Yes, my pleasure.”
I continued eating as the women got selfies with him on their phones and had him sign various items. Before he could sit down, another group mobbed him, requesting his picture, his signature, his time. The fandom wasn’t limited to females. A young, Latino man held out his tattooed arms to compare his ink to Ian’s, and Ian graciously consented to more photos.
As the crowd continued to press on him, they chattered as if they knew him personally. In fact, they seemed to know a lot more about him than I did. They commented on his long hair and how it was different from how he usually wore it. They wondered where he’d been for the past several months and why they hadn’t seen him on social media. They asked him about the other boys in the band, and if he’d seen them, talked to them, gone to their concerts. One or two asked him if he was feeling better. Had he not been feeling okay?
As the frenzy around him dissipated, a final fan approached him, a middle-aged woman who wanted a picture for her daughter, who’d plastered her bedroom with Five2Go posters as a teen.
Ian offered to take her phone and do the honors of a selfie and as the woman stepped forward, she noticed me. I’d finished my dinner by this time.
“Oh, are you a couple? Is this your girlfriend, hon? You two look so cute together. Come, come.”
She gestured toward me. “I’d like a picture of you both.”
I plastered a stiff smile on my face, as I swung my leg over the picnic bench, plate in hand. Ian put his hands together in a pleading gesture. He just couldn’t disappoint a fan. Had to be the sea lion.
“Sure, let me drop this in the trash first.”
I tossed my plate into the trashcan and turned back toward Ian. I stood beside him, my jaw aching from the smile on my face.
He curled an arm around my waist and pinched me.
“Thank you, so much.”
The woman turned away, and I grabbed her arm. “I’m sure your daughter would love a proper picture of her mom with her favorite boybander. I’ll take your picture with Ian.”
“Thank you, hon. She would like that.”
The woman handed me her phone and stepped forward to stand beside Ian, who put his arm around her.
With my thumb, I switched to the woman’s photos and deleted the two pictures she’d taken of me and Ian. I had no idea what the woman planned to do with the pictures, but I couldn’t risk them going out on social media.
Not if I wanted to keep Matt’s nose out of my business.
I lifted the phone. “Smile.”