He pointed up ahead. “That Mexican place, it’s right near the water. I thought it would be nice, since you’re going back to cold weather.”
She smiled up at him. “I actually missed the bulk of the cold weather this year—according to Instagram, it’s spring in New York now. The snow is all gone, flowers are out, I might not even need my coat when I get off the plane.”
He grinned. “Is it going to be warm enough for you to be able to wear that dress?”
She laughed. “Not for a month at least.”
They sat down, ate chips and salsa, and chatted about nothing important as they looked at the menu. How Michaela’s salsa was better than the salsa here, how Beau was going to try making croissants again from a different recipe he’d found, how Beau was going to get someone to restore some of the chairs in the library.
“Oh,” Beau said when the waiter brought their margaritas. “My mom is coming next weekend.”
“Wow, that’s great,” Izzy said. Had he planned on purpose for his mom to come after she left? No, she wasn’t going to spoil their last night with thoughts like that. “I’m sure it’ll be really good to see her again. And for her to see the house.”
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. And to get to see Michaela, meet the baby.”
Beau looked so happy at the thought of seeing his mom again. Now Izzy felt guilty for her momentary resentful thoughts. She reached for her drink.
“What time do we have to leave tomorrow morning to get you to LAX on time?” he asked.
Izzy looked up from her drink. “You don’t have to drive me,” she said. “I can—”
Beau shook his head. “You can just stop talking now, because I’m driving you.”
Izzy opened her mouth to say something else and then closed it. For once, she would obey a stop-talking-now directive. She lifted her glass and smiled.
After dinner, they walked down to the beach. Izzy slipped her sandals off and tucked them in her bag. There were other people on the beach, a few small groups, other couples walking hand in hand like them, but it felt quiet, peaceful. The only sounds were the waves crashing in to shore, and the faint music coming from somewhere farther down.
Beau held her hand firmly. She wondered what he was thinking. He’d said that he would miss her, and she knew it was true. She would miss him, too, so much. She thought, again, about asking him what would happen between them when she left. Would they keep this up? Would they keep in touch? Was this the end of everything?
But she hesitated. Everything between them had been wonderful for the past few weeks, better than any relationship she’d ever had before. But was it real? Was this one of those limited-time, fairy-tale romances, one of the ones that happened because of a castle and a curse and lots of magic, but that would vanish when real life started again? She hoped not. But she didn’t know.
But God, she didn’t want to leave the next morning. She knew that for sure.
The music got louder as they walked down the beach and she saw a string quartet playing outside at a restaurant.
Beau stopped and turned to her. “Dance with me,” he said.
She looked up at him. She could barely see his face in the darkness, but she knew he was smiling. She dropped her purse and put her arm around his neck.
They danced together on the sand, moving in a slow circle, the wind blowing the full skirt of her dress, his hand on the small of her back, as the music and sound of the waves soared around them. Finally, the music stopped, and she rested her head against his chest. They stood there together for a long time. Finally, Beau leaned down and kissed her, slowly, gently. She cupped his face in her hands.
“Let’s go home,” she said.
He kissed her once more. “Yes, let’s go home,” he said.
The next morning, they woke up to her alarm. It took everything in her not to cry when she realized this would be the last time she woke up with him like this. Instead, she cleared her throat and sat up.
“I’m going to go take a shower and bring the rest of my stuff down, okay?” she said. Beau had already brought her suitcase downstairs the night before.
Beau blinked at her sleepily and nodded. “Right. Okay.” Then he seemed to suddenly realize what she was saying, and sat up. “Yes. Get your stuff. I’ll get in the shower, too.”
She ran up the stairs to her room. She walked into the bathroom, this perfect bathroom that she’d loved so much. She felt silly about it, but she said goodbye to the bathtub that had felt like her only friend here at first, to the shower where she’d had so many good ideas, to the perfect selfie lighting at the mirror that she’d taken full advantage of. Then, after she’d showered and said her goodbyes, she pulled on her jeans and black T-shirt and Beau’s hoodie, threw all her toiletries into her new bag, and zipped it up.