When Summer Ends

Not Quite Paradise

The gulls called in the distance; I looked down the shore, spying their shadows against the setting sun as they circled and dove in turns.  A fisherman stood down off the pier, tossing scraps from his haul out into the water.  My nose crinkled slightly; the smell of fish came in waves with the breeze.

It was appropriate for my first night in so-called paradise.  Here I sat, feet in warm saltwater while the sun sank low and blazed against the horizon.  If was a cruel joke that I was here in this poor excuse of a beach town.

I’m sure that once upon a time, it was a thriving hotspot.  It was probably even the place to be at one point.  The boardwalk back beyond the dunes left me wondering just what sort of shops had lined the wooden walkway before they were taken over by chachki peddlers and t-shirt airbrushers.  I couldn’t even imagine the current townsfolks’ reaction to having something as scandalous as a bar in their midst.

When I first heard from my parents that we were spending two weeks at the beach, I’d been thrilled.  It was a sort of last-chance family vacation before I moved three hours away and began attending college.  I envisioned… I don’t know, exactly.  Something else, for sure.  The warmth, the salt air, the bright sun was all exactly what I wanted.  But I also imagined sugary sand and the smell of coconut-scented tanning oil.  I imagined a cacophony of laughter and loud music from other beach-goers.  I imagined sneaking out late at night to drink a few beers by a bonfire with strangers while waves crashed wildly in the darkness.

I didn’t envision this.  This was disappointing. 

I let out a slow breath I didn’t realize I was holding, then begrudgingly hoisted myself up onto the worn, wooden pier.  My feet left wet footprints until I tugged my flipflops back on and turned my back on the gently-lapping water.

The sound of the gulls’ cries faded in the distance as I flip-flopped back up a long wooden walkway; dune grass occasionally brushed against my ankles, soft and tickly.  I glanced down, caught momentarily by the beauty of the grass peeking up through the gray wood.  I had been so annoyed since the moment we arrived here; I’d failed to find anything positive about this small, empty town… but now I was struck just so slightly.

I fished my phone out of pocket and dropped into a squat, framing the image this way and that.  Finally satisfied with the angle and the light, I snapped a few photos to be sure I had at least one that was perfectly clear before standing abruptly and feeling a hard, warm collision against my back. 

Stumbling slightly, I flailed outward for something to grab onto with one hand while clutching my phone with the other.  My hand made contact with the railing and my heart raced with relief, only to be replaced by a sharp prick of pain as a splinter found its way into my palm.

“Sorry!”

I whipped around at the sound of a male voice, my heartbeat increasing once again.  I was in an adrenaline-fueled state of surprise, pain, and utter embarrassment.  “Sorry,” he said again as our eyes met, his hand cautiously reaching out to offer assistance to my wobbly state. 

My pulse continued to race, but now it was an entirely different sensation.  The man standing before me was, to be blunt, f*****g gorgeous.

He stood tall, towering heads above me.  His hair was dark, nearly black, but with wisps of premature grey at his temples and widow’s peak.  Bushy eyebrows framed deep set eyes of brown that were alight with amusement and concern.  His frame was broad and rugged, but he was dressed in a way that made me think that he downplayed that fact – there were no exposed arms, no taut cotton tee alluding to the sculpted abs that were surely there.  No, he simply wore a button down with the sleeves rolled up, khaki shorts hitting at his knees, and a pair of simple slide sandals.  He looked like he’d be more at home on a sailboat, but without the pretentious stereotype that comes along with it.

I immediately felt both completely enamored and utterly unimpressive.

I was small and plain.  I stood at just a little over five-foot, my body just barely coming into adulthood with very slight curves.  I routinely stared in the mirror wishing I had bigger boobs.  Or a bigger butt.  Or even bigger hair.  My dirty-blonde hair hung in relatively loose waves around my shoulders with very little volume or movement.

“No—no, you’re fine,” I assured him, waving a hand dismissively at his apology.  He chuckled, a sound that sent goosebumps running along the back of my arms, before he gave me a crooked smile and a lifted brow.

“Well, thanks, you aren’t so bad yourself.  But I’m still sorry for bumping into you.”

My mouth opened and closed, my brain not quite computing quickly enough to fire back a witty response.  “No, I mean, it’s okay.. it wasn’t your fault.  That it’s fine, no need to apologize, not you’re fine, I didn’t…”  I just clamped my mouth shut realizing how utterly stupid I sounded.  “I’m just going to stop talking now,” I finally offered, my lips turning upward in a surrendering smile. 

“It’s probably a good thing you stood up when you did, I think I might have tripped right over you,” he added, raking a hand through his hair.  Was it a nervous tick?  A flirty gesture? 

Unable to meet his gaze any further, I glanced down at my hand to finally examine the splinter I’d given myself.  I knew I was going to have to get mom to pull it out; I was a complete baby when it came to stuff like this.  “Yeah, I was taking a photo.  I am definitely that person who will army crawl or climb a tree to get the right shot,” I explained, laughing slightly before my breath caught in my throat.  His hand reached out, grabbing mine gingerly before pulling it up to study the barely visible speck of wood embedded in my palm.

“Well you’re gonna have to get used to work-related injuries,” he mused, smirking slightly as he turned my hand in different angles, catching the setting sun just right until he could see the splinter.  “Deep breath.”

“I don’t think you can get it without—” I started, but I was cut off quickly by the precise way in which he grasped the speck of wood with his forefinger and thumb before yanking hard.  The sting was momentary, and I could feel by flexing my hand slightly that he’d succeeded.  “_-tweezers,” I finished, blinking up at him with an appreciative smile.

He smiled back, his face making my stomach flip slightly.  “All better.”

“Thanks.”  I gingerly pulled my hand back, not really wanting to lose contact but knowing that it was extremely awkward to stand there holding hands with a total stranger. 

The sound of voices back on the beach caught my attention, and I turned to see a group of three other men waving in our direction.  My mysterious splinter doctor laughed softly, then waved back and gave a shout.  “I’m coming, I’m coming!”  He grinned broadly, and I stepped to one side to give him plenty of room to move around me.  He gave me a nod, and what I thought was maybe a slightly lingering gaze, before patting me on the shoulder and stepping around me toward his friends.  I looked after him for a moment, feeling disappointment and regret seeping into my veins.  I didn’t even know his name.

Not that it mattered, I reminded myself as I turned back toward the boardwalk and continued my trek back to the quaint house my family was renting.  He was older; probably too old.  I had to guess he was at least late twenties.  I was starting college in two months, I’d have four years to make plenty of mistakes with guys that were too old for me.  I told myself that I really should just focus on making the most out of these two weeks with my parents.

Still…

I lifted my hand, examining the little divot where the splinter had been.  I could still feel his large, warm hand on mine.