I set my makeup bag on the breakfast bar and place my hands on my knees as I sit across from him. “I’m going to picture the ocean. You don’t have to tell me what you’re going to meditate on.”
“I wasn’t planning to tell you,” he replies.
“Good because I don’t want to know.”
“I’m sure you can guess, though.”
“I’m sure I can, but I won’t.”
I shake my head as I take a deep breath, ignoring the sexy grin on his face as I close my eyes. I expel the breath slowly and imagine that all my worries about Chris and college are being pushed out at the same time. Drawing in another deep breath, I imagine standing on the beach, breathing in the salty air as the ocean waves roll in. I breathe out and focus my attention on a sailboat floating on the distant surface of the ocean. The jagged silhouette of the boat bobs against the skyline and I imagine the motion of the water carrying me out to sea on that boat, so far that I can no longer see the shore. I lie back on the deck of the boat and gaze at the blue sky above me. The clouds swirl in and out of view behind the giant sails. I close my eyes and allow the boat to rock me gently, swaying and pitching softly up and down as my tension melts away.
I open my eyes and Adam’s eyes are still closed. I wait a moment until his eyelids flutter open and he lets out a deep sigh.
“Man, that feels good. I can see why you’re addicted to this.”
“I’ve never meditated with anyone other than Fallon, and that was only a couple of times. This is different, but cool.”
He shakes his head as he looks at the floor between us. “Okay, I lied. I didn’t meditate. I stared at you the whole time.” He reaches across the space between us and grabs my hand. “But it did feel good.”
“You’re such a sleaze,” I say, smacking his hand away. “Go take a shower.”
He takes a quick shower, makes us each a strawberry-banana smoothie, and we’re out the door within thirty minutes.
We’re walking down the steps outside his apartment when I have a mini-epiphany. “Wait a minute. You work at a construction company and you don’t know how to light a pilot on a stove?”
I glance over my shoulder and he grins sheepishly. “I wanted to give you a chance to show off.”
“How generous,” I mutter as we reach the landing and I set off toward his truck.
He grabs my hand and I’m yanked backward. “We’re walking to the beach.”
“You’re taking me to the surf tournament?”
“The Summer Swell Pro-Am. It’s the only one in this area and it’s today.”
“Where’s your surfboard?” I ask, when we reach the sidewalk.
I don’t bother to mention that he’s still holding my hand and just as this thought crosses my mind he threads his fingers through mine.
“I’m not surfing. Today we’re watching the pros.”
We make it to the corner of Charlotte and Lumina and I’m suddenly aware of all the pedestrians on their way to the tournament. I’m hyperaware that Adam and I must look like a couple. I hit pause on my love life so many months ago; I almost forgot what it feels like to be a couple in public. Girls in short shorts pass us as we cross the street and some of them make no attempt to hide their ogling. I glance up at Adam to see if maybe he’s egging them on, but his gaze is fixed straight ahead to where Charlotte opens onto the beach.
The street is packed with tourists in shorts and visors and, with no sidewalks, they all roam through the middle of Charlotte Street laughing and talking among themselves. When we reach the sand, I glimpse the bleachers constructed on the beach. Off in the distance, I see a stage where people are already squeezing in against the platform as sound equipment and instruments are set up for a concert. The briny smell of the ocean hits me as a breeze sweeps over us, lifting the hairs that hang loose from my ponytail and making my skin prickle. The sand is warm on the surface but cool when my feet sink down. I haven’t been to the beach in a couple of weeks and I always avoid the beach during big events like this.
My hand is getting sweaty. I feel an intense urge to let go of Adam’s hand to wipe the sweat on my hip, but I don’t. Being uncomfortable is part of being on a date, right? Like holding in your farts when you’re in a new relationship. It’s a necessary evil. Suddenly, I think of the first time I farted in front of Chris and I can’t help but smile.
“Why are you so happy?” Adam asks as we trudge across the sand toward the bleachers.
“I’m thinking of how sweaty my hand feels right now.”
He grips my hand tighter. “Too bad. I’m not letting go.”