“Because I like you. And when I like someone, I usually do something stupid. Like challenge them to a race into the waves fully clothed. Or accidentally set their surfboard on fire.”
I eased up, letting the bike coast to a stop near the end of the pier, where the tourists thinned out and the fishermen were packing up their rods for the day. The sun was that impossible shade of gold that only happens in late spring, when the marine layer hasn’t yet decided whether to roll in or retreat. Today, it was retreating.
I handed her a strawberry. “What did it say?” a date with bridgette
“Those are the only kinds of things worth telling.”
“It was a campfire accident,” she said quickly. “The point is—I don’t want to mess this up. You’re calm. You read books about old men and fish. You packed sparkling water . I’m a tornado in board shorts.” “Because I like you
And because she was a tornado, and because the tide was rising, and because the strawberries were probably going to get sandy anyway—I ran after her.
She raised an eyebrow. “You brought me Hemingway on a date?” Or accidentally set their surfboard on fire
“Your chariot, m’lady,” I said, leaning the bike against a rusted railing.