Great Big Beautiful Life(59)

“It’s just a little snake,” I say, trying to be soothing.

“I hate snakes,” he says.

“I thought you grew up playing in the woods,” I say.

“I did,” he says, “and every time we came across a snake, I had to completely disassociate and pretend it wasn’t happening so the kids I was hanging out with wouldn’t find out.”

I start forward again, and his arms come around my waist, pulling me back toward him. “It’s fine,” I say, wiggling out of his grip. “It’s gone.”

“It might just be waiting to strike right over the edge,” he says.

“It’s not,” I tell him.

“How could you possibly know that,” he says.

“I know,” I insist. “Can’t you disassociate and pretend that didn’t just happen?”

He shakes his head. “It won’t work. I’m not afraid of humiliating myself in front of you.”

I feign offense.

“I just mean, I can’t imagine you making fun of me for it.”

A smile uncurls over my lips. “Well, I’m willing to try, if that helps.”

“Your heart won’t be in it,” he says. “It won’t work.”

“Well, we’re almost to the water,” I point out. “Let’s just run.”

“You’re wearing a skirt,” he says.

I’m sure I have a full-blown Cheshire cat grin now. “Are you worried for my virtue here?”

“I’m worried for your ankles,” he clarifies. “I don’t want you getting bitten.”

“I won’t get bitten,” I promise, and start forward again.

“No, no, no.” He hurries after me, bending and sweeping me off my feet and into his arms.

My yelp of surprise becomes a breathless laugh as he essentially runs past where the snake disappeared, as close to the opposite railing as possible, then moves back to the dead center of the walkway. I try to tell him he can put me down, that he doesn’t have to do this, but I’m laughing too hard.

As we reach the beach, he slows, the grass and any hidden reptiles now in the rearview.

“I can’t believe you risked your ankles for me,” I tease, the moon glowing behind Hayden’s head.

“I’m wearing pants,” he reminds me.

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if I’d gotten bitten,” I say.

“I would’ve blamed me.” He comes to a stop and bends a little to pour me back onto my feet. His forearm brushes up my thighs in an electrically charged way, slipping under my skirt in the process and leaving me shivering and weak-kneed by the time my feet meet sand.

“Sorry,” he says thickly, reaching out to pull my skirt back into place, and the light tug of his hands on the fabric doesn’t have the cooling effect I’d guess he’s hoping for. Instead we wind up standing chest to chest, the dark humming around us, like we’re two tuning forks vibrating in resonance.

I start to panic, because the more this happens—the more we find ourselves acting like something other than friends—the less likely that I think it is he’ll keep being my friend, and even though it’s only been a couple of weeks, I would miss him.

“Should we go down to the water?” I ask, a little too loudly, and turn on my heel to start trekking that way without even checking that he’s following.

He is, of course, and with his long strides, he comes even with me almost instantly.

We stop just before we reach the edge of the ocean and sit, our legs stretched out across the sand, eyes on the dark horizon.

“What’s your life like?” I say. “Back in New York.”

He looks over at me. “What do you mean?”

“I just only know you in this bubble,” I say. “It’s kind of strange.”

He thinks for a minute. “Well, I work a lot.” His eyes flick back to mine. “As I’m sure you do.”

I nod.

“I’m busy all the time,” he says.

“Do you like it?” I ask.

His head cocks to one side, his lips parting. “I like being busy with work,” he says. “But sometimes the pace gets to me. Or maybe it doesn’t, but then I come someplace like this and…” He holds an arm out toward the ocean.

“It’s nice, right?” I say.

“I used to think I’d get so bored if I lived anywhere else,” he says. “Which is weird because I actually loved growing up in the middle of nowhere. Other than the whole mayor’s-family-under-the-microscope thing.”

“Me too,” I say. “I mean, small towns definitely have their drawbacks. Especially when it comes to gossip. But I love the pace here.”

“And LA?” he says.

“I love it there too,” I say. “I mean, the food’s great, and it’s sunny every single day, and I’ve got a good group of friends there.”

“Did you always want to end up there?” he asks.

“I did,” I admit. “I started writing to deal with the stuff going on with Audrey, and then, unrelated, I was always obsessed with Hollywood. I loved magazines, but my parents would never spend money on them, so I’d literally just sit in an aisle of the grocery store and read about clothes and beauty trends and celebrities. My mom was always so annoyed when she found me. She’d have been waiting for me at the checkout for a while, and I’d still have to go put the magazines back.”