Ember rubs her face with both hands. "We met at the Korner Kustard." She smiles as she watches Faye paddle this way and that with her hands only a few feet out from shore. "She reminds me of my grandmother. I dunno…I like her. She's funny as fuck and unpredictable."
“Yeah, no shit she’s unpredictable,” I mutter. "So, how's the bus running?"
She shrugs. "Fine. She's a fickle old beast, my Pumpkin, but she's home."
I glance at her, searching her face; and look, I know I've spent most of the time I’ve been around her staring at her tits, but she really is a stunningly beautiful woman. Even, symmetrical features, a graceful jawline, elegant throat, high, sharp cheekbones, deep, wide, bright silver eyes, and that fucking amazing white-blonde hair, currently in a loose braid down her back.
I tear my gaze away before I get gigged for staring again. "Can I ask about that?"
She shoots me a sidelong look. "About what?"
"Living in the van."
"Bus," she corrects.
I chuckle. "Sorry, bus."
She sighs, gazing out at the horizon. "It's a long story." She meets my eyes. "I thought you weren't gonna ask unless I felt like telling."
"That was about the box in particular. This is more of a general 'what's your deal' sort of question."
The bright fire in her eyes dims a bit, weighed down by the burden of sorrow. “Honestly, Felix, I'm enjoying my first day at the beach in a long time—since…" she cuts off with a shake of her head and an audible gulp. "In a long time. So, I guess if you don't mind, I'd rather not go there."
"I can respect that," I say. "Didn't mean to bring up anything painful. I'm sorry."
She points a sharp, quizzical look at me. "I appreciate the understanding."
My heart pounds in my chest as another, very different question percolates inside me. "How about over dinner?"
She peers at me with a carefully blank expression. "Are you asking me out, Felix Crowe?"
"Yes, I am, Ember…" I trail off, hoping she'll fill in her last name.
"James. My name is Emberly James."
"Emberly, huh?" I say, grinning at her.
She rolls her eyes at me. "Donotcall me Emberly."
"No?"
"Nope."
"So?" I ask, prompting her to answer my initial question.
She doesn't answer, but the nature of her silence is thoughtful. I couldn't say why it feels that way, but it does, so I let the silence reign until she breaks it.
"Felix, I…" she sighs.
"Forget it," I say. "Don't worry about it."
Rejection stings worse than that time I threw a rock at a hornet’s nest. Swallowing the burn in my throat, feeling like a world-class fool, I shoot to my feet, scooping my slides, book, and shirt into the towel I was sitting on. I grab my cooler and head for the stairs.
"Felix, wait, hold on." I hear her feet squeak-crunching in the sand behind me. "It's not like that. I just—I'm not—I don't—"
I pause to let her catch up. Her hair has come loose from the braid, a long tendril sticking to her plump, pink lips. "You don't owe me any explanations, Ember. You're not ready, you don't want to, you're just not into me, whatever. Doesn't matter. It's cool. I get it. Enjoy the beach."
My hand, clearly possessed by some other entity besides my brain, steals out and tucks the flyaway tendril behind her ear.
