5. Nolani #3
We walked beyond the crowded portion of the beach until umbrellas and families thinned behind us, and the Gulf occupied most of what I could see.
The breeze lifted my curls across my face.
I tucked them behind one ear and caught Landon looking. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I been staring all day.”
“That doesn’t make it less noticeable.”
“I wasn’t trying to hide it.”
I looked away before my face gave him anything else to work with.
Landon stepped out of his loafers, rolled the cuffs of his linen pants above his ankles, and walked straight into the edge of the water.
I laughed.
“You planned this whole day in expensive clothes just to walk into the Gulf?”
“They pants, Hershey. They’ll recover.”
A wave came in higher than expected and splashed halfway up his shin.
I laughed harder.
He looked down. “Tide got ambitious.”
“I thought water taught patience.”
“It also teaches disrespect.” Another wave rolled around his feet. He looked toward me. “Come here.”
“I have sandals on.”
“Take ’em off.”
“I just bought these.”
“Put ’em beside mine.”
“You don’t know somebody won’t steal them.”
“Ain’t nobody walk this far for your shoes.”
I stared at him.
He didn’t come closer.
Didn’t reach for me.
Just stood ankle-deep in the Gulf, waiting to see what I decided.
I slipped off my sandals.
The sand held the last warmth of afternoon beneath my feet, and the first rush of water around my ankles was cold enough to make me inhale.
Landon looked entirely too satisfied. “See?”
“I’m alive.”
“Barely.”
“Dramatic.”
“Says the woman who issued a security assessment over sandals.”
We wandered along the shoreline without deciding how far we were going. Some steps brought our shoulders together. Others left space between them. The sun lowered slowly, turning the Gulf gold and coral in stretches.
At some point, I stopped thinking about the shop.
Not intentionally.
I simply realized I hadn’t thought about it.
That felt different.
“The beach does something to my brain,” I said.
“What?”
“Makes it stop talking.”
Landon looked toward the water.
“Then we ain’t gotta talk.”
So we didn’t.
For several minutes, we walked with nothing between us but wind and water.
A wave shifted the sand beneath my foot, and the back of my hand brushed his.
Landon turned his palm upward.
That was all.
No joke.
No invitation spoken aloud.
Just a hand beside mine.
I looked down at it.
Then at him.
His attention remained on the water.
I placed my hand in his.
His fingers closed around mine.
Warm.
Steady.
Simple.
My pulse behaved as if none of those words applied.
We continued walking.
He didn’t squeeze my hand every thirty seconds to call attention to the fact that he had it. Didn’t lift it to his mouth and turn the moment into something bigger than I was ready for.
He held it.
That was enough.
By the time the horizon had gone coral, our footprints had disappeared behind us beneath the incoming tide.
Landon looked at his watch.
“Dinner waiting.” I sighed. “That sounded disappointed.”
“I was enjoying this.”
“Good.” He gave my hand one squeeze. “We can come back.”
Something about the casual certainty of we warmed me more than it should have.
I let him lead me toward our shoes.
Night had begun settling over the marina by the time Landon walked me toward the yacht.
I stopped.
“Dinner is on a boat?”
“Yacht.”
“That’s a boat with generational wealth.”
He laughed. “Come on.”
He stepped aboard first and turned toward me with his palm open.
“Your hand, Hershey.”
“You know I can get on a yacht by myself.”
“I know.”
“And yet.”
“And yet I like holding your hand, so this argument got diminishing returns.”
That shut me up.
Temporarily.
I put my hand in his.
He helped me aboard and kept it for another second after my feet were steady.
The dinner table waited on the upper deck beneath warm lantern light. Candles flickered between a small arrangement of white daisies and baby’s breath, while the harbor stretched beyond the railing in dark blue and gold.
Landon pulled out my chair.
I looked at him.
“Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
I sat.
He pushed the chair in and rounded the table.
A server brought water and disappeared again while I looked at the flowers.
Landon noticed.
“What?”
“They’re pretty.”
“They are.”
“Nana would like these.”
“I figured.”
“How?”
“Fresh flowers on her table yesterday.”
I smiled.
“She changes them every week.”
“Makes sense.”
“What does?”
“Nothing in that house looked accidental.”
I looked at him for a second.
He unfolded his napkin and placed it across his lap.
No follow-up.
No wink to make sure I understood he had noticed the love inside Nana’s home.
He just noticed it.
That was becoming a problem.
“So,” I said.
He looked up. “So?”
“Did you survive Nana?”
“Barely.”
“She didn’t threaten you.”
“She cross-examined me in front of a jury eating pralines.”
I laughed. “She asked questions.”
“She asked follow-ups. Different jurisdiction.”
“You kept smiling.”
“I was establishing favorable diplomatic relations.”
“You were charming her.”
“I was trying to leave with my date.”
“You had already arrived with your date.”
“Exactly. High-stakes negotiation.”
I laughed into my water.
Landon leaned back. “Did it work?”
“Did what work?”
“The charm.”
“She invited you back.”
“That ain’t who I meant.”
Heat climbed into my face.
He looked away toward the harbor and gave me enough time to recover.
I hated how much I liked that.
The server returned with citrus crab cakes over sweet corn purée.
He placed mine down first.
“For the beautiful lady.”
Landon glanced up.
“Aight, my guy. You serving food or submitting an application?”
The server laughed. “Just giving the lady her due.”
“Then we agree. Proceed.”
I waited until the man left before looking at Landon. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Nah. Diplomatic. I recognized his position, established mine, and avoided unnecessary escalation.”
“That was jealousy with vocabulary.”
“I ain’t jealous.”
“He called me beautiful.”
“Exactly. Man standing there reporting established facts like he broke the story.”
I laughed.
Landon cut into his crab cake like he hadn’t said anything at all.
The first bite hit lemon, sweet corn, herbs, and enough spice to make my eyes close.
“Hershey.”
I opened them.
He was looking at me.
“What?”
“You do that every time food good?”
“Do what?”
“That face.”
“What face?”
He shook his head. “Never mind.”
“No. You started it.”
“I know when to preserve evidence.”
“Landon.”
He laughed. “You close your eyes for half a second. That’s how I know something got you.”
“You’ve been studying my face?”
“I’ve been looking at you all day. We already established this.”
“Too much.”
“Subjective.”
I shook my head and returned to my food.
The server replaced our first course with herb-crusted salmon for me and rosemary lamb for Landon.
I tried not to look at his plate.
Failed.
“You want some?”
“I’m admiring presentation.”
“You looked three times.”
“Observation goes both ways.”
“Good. Then observe this.” He cut a piece of lamb and extended the fork across the table. “Hershey, taste the food.”
I leaned forward.
The lamb was offensive.
Rosemary, garlic, butter, some kind of reduction that made my salmon feel suddenly underqualified.
“Oh, that’s disrespectful.”
Landon laughed. “To who?”
“My salmon.”
“It knew competition existed when it arrived.”
“You are so full of yourself.”
“I’m full of lamb. You the one betraying your entrée.”
I laughed, then cut a piece of salmon and held my fork toward him.
“Since we’re sharing.”
His eyes moved from the fork to my face.
Something changed there.
Then he leaned forward and took the bite.
Slow enough that I became very aware of the fact that I had just fed him.
He sat back.
“That’s good.”
“Better than yours?”
“Let’s not damage the diplomatic relationship.”
“Coward.”
“Strategist.”
Dinner moved easily after that. We argued about whether peach cobbler outranked sweet potato pie, agreed raisins had no legitimate place in macaroni and cheese, and discovered we both considered people who put sugar in grits worthy of investigation.
Somewhere between one conversation and the next, Landon mentioned a boy from one of his youth teams.
“He used to show up thirty minutes early and sit by the fence. Never asked for extra reps. Barely talked.”
“What did you do?”
“Started getting there forty minutes early.”
I looked at him.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“You never asked why he was there?”
“Eventually. Didn’t need to interrogate him first. He kept showing up. I made sure somebody was glad to see him when he did.”
I sat with that.
“That’s why you coach.”
“That’s one reason.”
His eyes drifted toward the harbor.
“Football gave me structure when I needed some. Somebody cared about me without making me earn the right to be cared about. I can return that.”
The answer sounded more like Landon than any polished mission statement could have.
I reached for the last dinner roll and broke it in half, dropping the larger portion onto his plate before thinking about it.
Landon looked down, then at me.
“What?”
“You gave me the bigger piece.”
I looked at the bread. “Did I?”
“Mhm.”
“It’s bread.”
“I know.”
He picked it up, broke off part, and put it back on my plate.
I laughed. “What are you doing?”
“Resource allocation.”
“I gave that to you.”
“And now I’m redistributing.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Makes perfect sense. Everybody eat.”
I looked at him.
There was no lecture attached.
No comment about how I gave too much of myself away.
Thank God.
Just half a dinner roll back on my plate because he’d noticed I gave him more.
I buttered it. “Equity-minded?”
“Very.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Also documented.”
The server returned, carrying brown sugar cheesecake beneath warm praline sauce.
“Compliments of the kitchen.”
Landon glanced up. “This because you flirted with my date?”
“This is because y’all been laughing all evening and making my shift entertaining.”
“Strong recovery.”
“I learned from the best.”
When he left, I looked at the single slice and two forks. “You assumed I’d share dessert?”