Life In Reverse(46)

The breathtaking view of the sea makes me pause and my chest flutters. Water may have taken my brother’s life, but there is no denying its beauty. The way it glistens and sparkles in invitation, blue-green waves curling before they break against the shore.

It’s fairly deserted this time of day. The sun is playing hide and seek with the clouds, doing some sort of indecisive waltz. Four tall white birds perch beside a rock, their noses digging in the sand looking for buried treasures to eat.

It doesn’t take me long to spot Vance, though even on a crowded beach he would stand out. I stop to watch him for a minute. His feet are bare, shirt off, the hills and valleys of his back shimmer in the hazy sun. Fine hair dances along his neck, the slight breeze moving it and I shiver, almost as if I can feel the sensation across my own skin.

One arm glides back then forward, a stone leaving his fingers and skipping along the calm surface of the water. The way his body curves inward toward the ocean, giving it his full concentration is truly beautiful.

“You’re really good at that.” I interrupt his quiet moment, but the way his lips bow as he turns toward me makes me glad I came.

“Heyyy,” he chirps, and my eyes move over the ripples of his chest then quickly back up to meet his grin.

“You can stare all you want, Mickey. I don’t mind.” The ground suddenly grabs my interest. I’m hoping it might suck me in like quicksand, making the warm flush spreading across my face disappear. As if he senses I need an escape, he keeps talking. “How are you feeling?” he asks, and that I can handle.

“Much better.” I bypass his chest this time and go right to his face. “Thank you for that hangover cure you left. What was that, anyway?”

“Fresh squeezed orange juice with a hint of Ginger Ale.” He chuckles. “The Advil I can’t take credit for, though.”

“Wait.” I edge a few steps closer to him. “How did you make the orange juice?”

“I did it the old-fashioned way.” His blue eyes gleam. “You know, I squeezed oranges… with my hands.”

“In my kitchen?”

“No. In your front yard.” He smirks. “Of course in your kitchen.”

“Oh.” A tiny flutter pings my belly at his sweet gesture. “Thank—”

His hand comes up between us, cutting my words short. “Don’t say it. I think we’re good with the thank you’s for a while,” he explains, and I let out a small laugh.

“Okay.”

“So how did you know where I was? Because this is kind of a hike for you.” He looks back toward the water as if it’s calling him.

“I stopped by your house and caught Julian on his way to a client.”

“Ah.” He bends down to pluck another rock from the sand and I catch a glimpse of his tattoo. My fingers itch to glide along the curved letters. “You ever skip stones?” When I shake my head no, he motions me closer with a jerk of his chin. “C’mere.” As I get near enough to see the beads of sweat dotting his chest, he points to my feet. “Take off your sneakers. You know, to get the full effect,” he adds, and I kick them aside. He positions himself behind me, close enough that his breath whispers over my cheek, and places the warm stone in my palm. “It’s all in the wrist,” he explains, his fingers circling my hand and flicking it a few times. Goose bumps travel up my arms and I’m praying they’re invisible. “Okay, on three.” We count backwards and release it into the air. The rock plunks into the ocean and sinks to the bottom. “Good try.”

Despite two more unsuccessful attempts, Vance remains encouraging while I blow out a frustrated breath. “Do you want to try again? Fourth time’s a charm,” he teases, and I nod. It isn’t a difficult decision because I want him to keep holding my hand. “Okay, same motion. Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” I answer, and together we let go of the stone. It skips once, twice, three times across the water and I squeal. “I did it!” I spin around, still squealing, and nearly fall into him.

“You did at that.” He lifts a finger to tuck a wisp of hair behind my ear. His hand lingers and my breaths come faster—too loud now, overshadowing all other sound. But then he blinks out of the moment, as if he realizes what he’s doing, and lets his hand drop to his side. He clears something from his throat and turns to face the water. “You did good, Mickey.”

Moving to stand beside him, I peer at the ocean, the tide breathing in and out as it reaches then pulls back from the shore. My eyes track a seagull flying overhead as the grey bird swoops down in search of food. “It’s so peaceful here.”

“It is,” he agrees. “And it’s a great place to read.” He points behind him to two books sitting on a slab of rock. “I saw my mom earlier today.” He glances over at me with a smile that reaches his eyes. “She was having an unusually good day.”

“Yeah?”

“She knew who I was when I walked in.” His happiness is contagious. It blooms inside of me and I rest my hand on his arm. He looks down at it but doesn’t pull away. “She told me my hair was too long, but that she liked my earring.”

“I’m so thrilled for you.” I give his arm a squeeze then let go.

“Thanks. I told her I’d see her tomorrow, and…,” he hesitates, his voice littered with emotion, “even though she might not remember me tomorrow, I feel like I can keep today in my pocket for when I need it.” He casts an uncertain glance my way. “I know that probably sounds odd.”