Claim Me(115)

“Another missing piece of your childhood,” Damien says, when I tell him as much.

“That’s okay. I’d rather one day biking with you on the beach than an entire summer as a kid.”

“For that, I’ll buy you an ice cream.”

We park the bikes by a bright-blue painted ice-cream stand and order single dip cones with sprinkles. Then we put our flip-flops in Damien’s backpack and walk down to the water’s edge. Since it’s the Pacific, the water is freezing even in the summer, and I am amazed that the people actually playing in the water haven’t turned blue.

We walk in the breaking waves, letting the sand slide out under our feet, holding hands and eating ice cream. A teenage girl is tossing a stick for a big yellow dog, and I tell Damien how I always wanted a puppy and how, surprise surprise, my mother repeatedly refused. He tells me how he brought a stray Lab home one night, but his father wouldn’t let him keep it.

“Considering how often I traveled, it was for the best,” Damien says. “The poor dog would have been kenneled all the time.”

“But wasn’t that the point? You were telling your dad you wanted the dog because you wanted off the circuit. You wanted home. You wanted the dog. And you didn’t want the traveling.”

Damien looks at me with a curious expression. “Yes,” he finally says. “That was it exactly.”

“Did you ever get a dog? Once you quit tennis and became Mr. Business Dude, I mean.”

“No,” he says, and his brow furrows. “No, I never have.” He nods playfully toward the girl. “Think she’ll sell me hers?”

“I’m gonna say no.”

We return to the bikes and head in the opposite direction, toward Santa Monica. We take it slow, watching the tourists and locals, talking, enjoying the day. When we reach the mall, we lock up the bikes and walk down the Promenade toward the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. Armed with frozen mochas, we continue to stroll the shopping street until Damien says he’s starving for real food and it’s time he buys me dinner.

He suggests The Ivy, which even I know is a see-and-be-seen kind of place. “One, I don’t think they’d even let us in dressed like this,” I say. “And two, it’s not exactly the best place to avoid the paparazzi.”

“Pizza by the slice it is,” he says, and we end up eating foldable slices of pepperoni pizza at tiny metal tables.

“There’s no way The Ivy could be better than this,” I say, and right now, for this day, with this man, I absolutely mean it.

I glance at the sky once we finish our pizza. “It’s getting dark. Should we take the bikes back?”

“Soon,” Damien says. “I want to show you something.”

What he wants to show me is the Pier, though I tell him that I’ve been before. “But have you ridden the Ferris wheel?”

“No,” I admit. “Is that where we’re going?”

“Man of mystery, remember? I can’t share my secrets.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“That’s one of the things I most admire about you. Your cunning intellect.”

I grin as we walk the rest of the way, then get in line for the ride. It’s surprisingly short, and we only have to wait through two rounds of passengers before we’re shown into our own little basket. Then the attendant shuts the door and up we go.

I laugh, delighted. Not only have I never been in this Ferris wheel before, I’ve never been in any Ferris wheel. It moves slowly, but the basket sways, which would be unnerving except for the fact that it’s Damien beside me, Damien with his arm around me. And now—as the basket stops at the very top—Damien reaches for the backpack he set on the floor beneath his feet.