Evermore - Alyson Noel [53]
“Who’s they?” I ask, shaking my head. “Sound more like you.”
He shrugs. “Hmmm, maybe it is me. Nonetheless, I guarantee there are much better ways to spend a morning. Because Ever,” he says, squeezing my hand, “we don’t have to do this. And, you don’t have to wear this.” He removes my sunglasses and lowers my hood. “The weekend starts now.”
And even though I can think of a million good and valid reasons why we absolutely should not ditch, why the weekend should wait until three o’clock just like any other Friday, when he gazes at me, his eyes are so deep and inviting, I don’t think twice, I just dive right in.
Barely recognizing the sound of my own voice when I hear myself say, “Hurry before they lock the gate.”
We take separate cars. Because even though it went unspoken, it’s pretty obvious we have no plans to return. And as I follow Damen up the sweeping curves of Coast Highway, I gaze out at the dramatic stretch of coastline, the pristine beaches, the navy blue waters, and my heart swells with gratitude, feeling so lucky to live here, to call this amazing place home. But then I remember how I ended up here—and just like that, the thrill is gone.
He makes a quick right and I pull into the space beside him, smiling as he comes around to open my door. “Have you been here yet?” he asks.
I gaze at the white clapboard hut and shake my head.
“I know you said you weren’t hungry, but their shakes are the best. You should definitely try the date malt, or the chocolate peanut butter shake, or both, it’s my treat.”
“Dates?” I crinkle my nose and make a face. “Um, I hate to say it, but that sounds awful.”
But he just laughs and pulls me toward the counter, ordering one of each, and then carrying them over to the painted blue bench where we take a seat and gaze down at the beach.
“So which one’s your favorite?” he asks.
I try them each again, but they’re both so thick and creamy, I remove their lids and use a spoon. “They’re both really good,” I say. “But surprisingly, I think I like the date one best.” But when I slide it toward him so he can taste too, he shakes his head and pushes it back. And something about that small simple act pierces straight through me.
There’s just something about him, something more than just the strange magic tricks and disappearing acts. I mean, for one thing, this guy never eats.
But no sooner have I thought it than he reaches for the straw and takes a long deep pull, and when he leans in to kiss me his lips are icy cold.
“Let’s head down to the beach, shall we?”
He takes my hand and we walk along the trail, shoulders bumping into each other, as we pass the milkshakes back and forth, even though I’m doing most all of the slurping. And as we make our way down to the beach, we remove our shoes, roll up our hems, and walk along the shore, allowing the frigid water to wash over our toes and splash on our shins.
“Do you surf?” he asks, taking the empty cups and placing one inside the other.
I shake my head, and step over a pile of rocks.
“Would you like a lesson?” He smiles.
“In this water?” I head toward a bank of dry sand, my toes numb and blue from just that quick dip. “No thanks.”
“Well, I was thinking we’d wear wet suits,” he says, coming up behind me.
“Only if they’re fur lined.” I laugh, smoothing the sand with my foot, making a flat space for us to sit.
But he takes my hand and leads me away, all the way past the tide pools, and into a hidden natural cave.
“I had no idea this was here,” I say, gazing around at the smooth rock walls, the recently raked sand, and the towels and surfboards piled up in the corner.
“Nobody does.” He smiles. “That’s why all my stuff is still here. Blends into the rock; most people walk right by without even seeing it. But then, most people live their whole lives without ever noticing what’s directly in front of them.”
“So how’d you find it?” I ask, settling onto the large green blanket he’s laid out in the middle.
He shrugs. “I guess I’m not like most people.”
He lies down beside me, then pulls me down too. Resting his cheek on