And the most arresting eyes I’ve ever seen—the piercing, arresting pale blue of the underside of an iceberg.
Maybe it’s just the slightly too long, shaggy, unkempt-but-sexy dark blond hair and the heavy stubble that's not quite a beard.
I don't know.
Why am I still thinking about him? I spent ten minutes max with him, and that was what…two, three weeks ago?
Ugh: no spots at this beach either, and this is the third one I've been to. Like, come on. I just want to chill at the beach for a minute before I have to take this online exam for my undergrad program.
Sweating and annoyed, I leave that lot and trundle down Main Street toward the fourth and last public beach within the downtown Three Rivers area.
And that bitch is full too. Wonderful.
Fighting tears—because I'm always on the verge of tears these days, it feels like—I sigh in resignation.
This calls for ice cream. I spot the Korner Kustard down the road a few blocks, and head that way. I have to park a quarter mile down the side street and walk, and then wait in a fifteen-minute-long line, but I walk away victorious with my M&Ms, Reece’s Pieces, and Oreo cement mixer. You gotta take the little victories when everything else is shit.
Losing Dutchie has taught me that.
I blink away tears at the thought of his name and focus on the ice cream. There's a bench across the street from the Korner Kustard, and my god, I hate that spellingso much. I sit on the bench and watch the water ripple and glint in the hot Michigan sun, and wish I were about to go swimming after my ice cream.
I feel the bench dip and hear it creak, stifling a groan at the loss of my solitude. I glance at my new bench-mate.
She's at least six hundred years old, with fat blue veins bulging out of rice-paper skin, white hair sprinkled with pink, blue, and purple streaks, and, I shit you not, a nose-ring. Like, through the septum. She's eating a triple-scoop waffle cone dipped in chocolate, and that old biddy is going totownon that shit.
I now stifle a laugh, not as annoyed for some reason. Maybe it's because I have a soft spot for kookie old ladies. They remind me of my GramGram.
She eyes me. "What crawled up your cooter and died, missy?"
I choke on my ice cream, spluttering and coughing. "Ex-cuseme?"
She gestures at me with her monumental ice cream cone. "I'm an empath. Felt you stewing from the counter."
I point at the beach with my spoon. "Beach is packed. I've been cramming for an exam for weeks, and I need a break. Thought I'd go swimming. But…" I gesture broadly at Three Rivers in general. "Tourists."
She chuckles. "You're not a tourist?"
I sigh. "I don’t know what I am. I'm not from here, no, but I've been here for over two months. I know that doesn't make me a local, but I'm not a tourist. I just wanted to lay out, listen to a podcast, and jump in the lake. But there's literally nowhere to even fucking park. Excuse my language."
She snorts. "Fuckin' fudgies."
I frown at her. "Fudgies?"
She cackles. "What we locals call the tourists. They come upooh-ing andahh-ing about all the fudge." She points at a nearby fudge shop, which has a line out the door. "Case in point. Fudgies."
I snicker, and the snicker turns into a burst of full-blown laughter. "Fudgies. I love it."
She drops a dollop of ice cream down her cleavage, squeals in shock, and fishes it out…and eats it. God, I love old ladies.
"What you gotta do is head north. 'Bout, oh…thirty minutes or so. There's a nice little spot on the left. Big old turnout, looks like one of them whaddyacallits, scenic overlooks. But it's a locals-only secret, so don't go tellin' no fudgies or it won’t stay secret."
I blink at her. “What's the secret?"
She snorts, takes a bite, and winces. "Ooooh, fuck, brain freeze. The secret is that there's a path down to the beach near the north end of the turnoff. Bit of a hike to get down there, so don't try to take a whole bunch'a shit, but it's a nice secluded beach. No rocks, nice and wide, and if there's anyone there at all, it'll be another local tryin' to get away from the fudgies."
"Oh. Wow, thanks, that's…god, you're saving my life." I have no clue what comes over me, next. "You, uh…you wanna come along?"
She slowly lowers the ice cream and stares at me. "You for real, missy?"
