10. Lucie #2
You don’t have to pick at it,” he said, teasing lightly. “It won’t bite back.” He then pulled a burger from his black leather jacket. Guys’ pockets were a mystery to her. How much could one man hold? Did he have two sodas and the Declaration of Independence in there, too?
She took another, more confident bite and nudged the fries toward him. He took a few fries, popping one into his mouth, as they shared the food in a comfortable silence that felt strangely natural, almost as if they’d done this a hundred times.
“What kind of art have you been working on lately?” he asked, popping another fry into his mouth. “Any more of me?”
Lucie laughed drily. “No.”
Yes.
She was just getting better at hiding them.
He got up and inspected one of her oceanscapes from last week. He only touched the edges, as if he were afraid he might hurt them.
“The water actually looks like it’s moving.
How’d you do that?” he wondered, taking a deep breath as if he were tasting the salt air from the ocean.
He traced the shoreline with his finger.
“It’s like I’m actually there. You know, I learned to surf off the coast near New Orleans.
The surf is rougher there. More peaceful here, I’ve found.
But the sunrises on the beach are unreal. Kind of like this one.”
Lucie swallowed another bite, then wiped her hands on a napkin.
“I wouldn’t know,” Lucie said, guarding the small piece of himself he had shared with her.
“Surfing? That’s gotta change. You’ll love it. I can teach you if you’d like,” he said, sitting down, leaning back on his arms.
“No, I would fall off immediately and die,” she confessed with a light laugh. “I meant the beach. I’ve never been.” She took another bite of the burger, hoping it would keep more words from coming out of her mouth that might embarrass her.
His eyes lit up. “You’re tellin’ me you live three hours from the beach and you’ve never been?”
Lucie hesitated, glancing toward the door like her father might burst in at any moment. “Dad always promised we would go, but we never found the time. We can’t go during the summer because the store is too busy.”
An idea formed in the Ranger’s eyes. She could see it grow and take root. She wondered if that was what she looked like when she got an idea for a painting.
“Can I take you? Next week?” he asked.
Lucie shook her head. “No. I have to work. My dad would never let me leave for an entire workday. He can’t run this place by himself. Plus, I don’t know you. You might take me in your car, and I might never come back. You could be a serial killer, for all I know.”
“You let a lot of serial killers come into your bedroom and eat fries together?”
She shot her hands up into the air, exasperated. “I don’t know anything about you. Not the important stuff.”
He brushed the salt off his hands and lay on his side. “Ask away. I’m an open book.” He met her gaze, his eyes softening.
“What’s your favorite color?” she wondered.
He smiled at the lightness of her question and looked into her eyes. “Blue. Definitely blue. My turn.” He paused, thinking, tapping his glorious lips with his tattooed hand. “What are your favorite flowers?”
“Snapdragons, pink bellflowers, and gardenias,” she listed off. She ate a fry, thinking of her next question. “What do you like most about being a Ranger?”
“I get to help people. A lot of people get lost. It’s nice to be able to reunite people with their families,” he said.
Truth. He was telling the truth. There was still something about his job that caused her to trip.
“The people I work with are like my family, too. I love ‘em. Wouldn’t be here without them,” he said, shrugging.
Lucie smiled. She was glad he had that, and wondered what it was like.
“If you weren’t running this shop, is there something else you want to do?” the Ranger asked, leaning forward.
“Family medicine,” she blurted. “That’s what I was going to school for.
I left before I finished my clinicals. My dad had a really bad fall, so I came home to take care of him.
He still limps from it. I never went back.
Family comes first.” Lucie gave him a shrug, as if it hadn’t nearly destroyed her.
Her dad promised she could go back, but he kept having more problems that needed her help. After some time at home, she lost her scholarships. Her friends graduated without her, and after a couple of semesters, it seemed harder to jump back in and pass all her tests. So she stayed.
“I’d bet a lot of money you were good at it,” he concluded, tilting his head like he was imagining her in that life.
“I was. It was my dream to become a doctor someday,” she said, fiddling with the hem of her robe.
“Dr. Nightingale. Yeah, I can see that,” he praised.
Her head shot up.
“Really?” she asked.
Lucie had resigned herself to living and dying within these four walls. It was hard to imagine a life beyond them. Nobody had ever told her anything like that: that she was bigger than this place and that her dreams were attainable. The compliment was a balm to her soul.
The Ranger closed his eyes and nodded his head. “I see it. More clearly than just about anything.”
Lucie was grateful for the brief moment when his eyes were closed because she blushed so hard.
The Ranger opened his eyes, pulled two French fries from the brown bag, which were starting to get cold, handed her one, and took the other for himself. “A toast to you, future Dr. Lucie Nightingale.”
Then they chinked their fries together like it was the most expensive champagne in all of France.
After her giggles subsided, she asked, “Okay, what’s your favorite animal?” She never wanted this night to end.
“Tigers. Cause they’re badass.” He ate another fry. “You know, I think I’d rather get to know your favorite animal on a real date. What do you say?”
Her cheeks flushed red, and she looked down. He had seen her blush that time.
“I’ve never been on a real date before,” she whispered, ashamed.
“This counts, right?” he smiled, his voice soft with encouragement. “We’re talking. Eating. Getting to know each other. Feels like a real date to me.” Another fry. “Best one I’ve been on.” The last part seemed to be thrown out like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
“Okay, now you’re just trying to make me feel better,” she said with a laugh.
She could have sworn his eyes flicked down to her lips. She must have had something on them. She wiped at them, snapping his gaze back to her eyes. She had never known someone to look at her as much as he did, as if he were afraid he was going to miss something.
“I have another question. Wait here,” she said, standing up like her feet were on fire, and she walked over to her dresser. “My mom gave it to me when I was little.”
The Ranger stood and watched as she picked up the small pink-and-orange conch shell. It was a treasured memento from her mother—a keepsake from one of her many trips to the beach.
“She said it gave her luck. My mom would place the shell over my ear and say it sounded like the ocean. I’ve always wondered,” she said, rising to her tiptoes, “does it actually sound like this?” She pressed the shell gently to his ear. She was close enough to see flecks of gold in his eyes.
For a second, he didn’t move, and she thought she had crossed a line. But he closed his eyes and concentrated.
“Yeah, it does,” he said, sounding a little breathless. “But it’s louder. Stronger. Like it’s coming from everywhere. You feel it in your chest before you even hear it.”
As she brought the shell down, she found herself staring at his lips. She didn’t even realize how close she was to him. If either of them moved an inch, they would be kissing.
Lucie’s heart fluttered. She really wasn’t supposed to be doing this.
He watched her closely, trying to take in all of her cues. Then he spoke again, his voice filled with quiet resolve.
“Let me take you to the beach. We’ll find your favorite color in the sunrise and be back before the shop ever opens.”
Lucie let herself imagine it for a second.
Sitting next to him. Laughing easily. Painting on a checkered picnic blanket, white sand coating her toes.
Seeing the edge of the horizon and finding out if she was doing the sunset of blushes and apricots correctly.
She could actually get her own seashells.
Finally see if his tattoos extended from his chest down his back.
But—no, she shouldn’t—couldn’t be in a bathing suit.
There was no way she could cover up her bruises, and she couldn’t wear her turtleneck to the beach.
Her fingers brushed against the covered bruise on her cheek.
He noticed because he was infuriating and noticed everything about her, his expression shifting to concern.
“Look, if you ever need to talk about anything?—”
“No,” she said, pushing him back. “You should get going. My dad will be here soon. Thank you for the food.”