Besides, she was like a dish he wanted to take his time to savor, and not just scarf down like a gluttonous pig. Just as he’d done to his slice of pizza, he thought, looking down at his empty hands.

  In between bites they talked about their lives, but he skimmed over the major details of his past and discussed only the superficial ones. Frankie described growing up in the city, but was never descriptive enough to give him a clear picture of her past. She came from money, but didn’t flaunt it in her appearance or behavior, and she focused on him, asking questions he didn’t mind answering, but he kept his answers vague. Their small talk was interesting enough, despite the blatant attempts they both made to keep the messy truth out of it.

  He left out the fact that he was a lonely divorced bachelor, and focused on his love of the ocean, of music and of their mutual childhoods spent in Oakwhite Bay—his as a full-time resident, hers reserved for weekends and Fourth of July celebrations. She loved to sail, she mentioned, and he wondered if he should invite her onto his boat, but then thought better of it. He didn’t know where this woman was headed, or for how long she’d be in town.

  Still, it didn’t matter. She was much younger than him, which meant this couldn’t turn into anything but a nice beach dinner, even if with each passing minute, with each star that emerged in the darkening sky, their connection grew, explicable or not.

  While she recounted her summers in Oakwhite, he noticed her tendency to drop her head, even when she laughed. It was as if she were carrying a deep-seated sadness on her delicate shoulders, and it gave her an elegantly uncomplicated side to her classic exterior. And, despite how fresh and young she appeared, he liked her. A lot. And hoped she’d stick around to lighten up his dark world.

  “Can I ask why you were so upset earlier?”

  Again, she tucked a strand of almond hair behind her ear, exposing a set of piercings, all silver, that climbed up the edge. Her expression darkened, and she clammed up, igniting his fear that she’d retract, that his question had frightened her, killing any chance he had of getting to know her better.

  seven

  Frankie

  “It wasn’t only because of a milkshake, was it?”

  They were having a good time. They’d talked up a storm and had revealed nothing too personal, but now he’d asked her directly, and she didn’t want to lie to him.

  “It’s complicated…” she said.

  The corner of his mouth kicked up. She was being flippant—a characteristic she hated in others—so then why was she doing it now to him, she wondered?

  She took a deep breath. “I was caught with…” She stopped, hesitated, and gauged his reaction. He remained straight faced. “A married man.”

  She thought it wiser to leave out that he was a movie star, and how lewd and disgraceful their encounter had been. And especially how it was now littering the Internet.

  His brows furrowed, and he nodded. Eased by his kind eyes, she appreciated how there wasn’t one ounce of judgment in his expression. If he was judging her, then he was good at hiding it.

  “Do you mind me asking how old you are?”

  “I’m twenty-two.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed with his hard swallow. Frankie knew she was younger than him, but she’d spent her entire life surrounded by older people—it was all she’d known. She hoped their difference in age wouldn’t make him run because she liked him and this inexplicable bond forming. She didn’t want their night together to end just yet.

  A small laugh drifted over his lips, and he waved a hand through the air. “Christ, you’re young. Don’t be so mad at yourself.” He cracked another beer open and swapped it for her empty one, placing it back into the case. “Our twenties are for experimenting and making dumb mistakes. Trust me, I made quite a few myself back then.”

  “And how long ago was ‘back then’?”

  He busied himself with shutting the pizza box. “Oh… about twenty years,” he answered, rubbing his neck without meeting her eyes. “I’m forty-one.”

  Younger than her father, she thought. Then she thought about how handsome Henry was, and how his eyes still had a boyish charm that made him even more endearing. The light in his eyes soon faded, replaced with something she recognized as regret. He steered his gaze toward the ocean, losing himself in his thoughts, holding his beer bottle in mid-sip.

  Deep curiosity grew inside of her, urging her to ask questions he might not want to answer. After all, they were strangers sharing a bite and a drink, relishing the anonymity. But she couldn’t deny she found him intriguing. His age didn’t bother her, after all, Jason was near forty himself. Her thoughts then drifted to her phone, and she wondered if he’d bothered to call and check in. But when she looked back at Henry and watched the storm brewing in his focused expression, she found her thoughts of Jason floating away like the soft evening breeze.

  So far, Henry had been kind, attentive, and hadn’t been condescending. He’d been the complete opposite of the people who filled her social circles—he listened, he took in her words and heard what she said. And she believed he could even hear the words she hadn’t said aloud.

  Aware it was too soon to let down her guard around him, she still felt as if she could be herself. Her true self. As if being a stranger to him let her strip herself bare of what she showed everyone else. She took a deep breath of salty sea air, enjoying the unfamiliar freedom that seeped into her bones.

  Frankie stood up and stretched, then walked to the water’s edge, dipping her foot in, feeling the cool crispness of the Atlantic run between her toes. A childlike laugh escaped her mouth. When she looked over her shoulder, she caught Henry watching her, enchanted, with a peaceful grin on his rugged face. It made her heart skip a beat.

  This was all wrong. She shouldn’t be doing this, not when her life was a veritable shit-show, but she couldn’t ignore this sensation blossoming inside. Like a moth to a flame, he drew her in. And though that moth had broken wings, it still wanted to make its way into that bright white flame of his, unconcerned with what pain it might cause them both. There was something magnetic about him—his hair that battled between being brown or red, those blue eyes that held such pain and stared off into space as if in search of some deeper meaning to life; a life he wasn’t happy with.

  The sun had all but disappeared below the horizon. Henry told her the beach was closing soon, and it was time to go. They left, their heads hanging, her heart heavy.

  When they arrived at the ice cream shop, her chest tightened with the inevitable gloom of saying goodbye. She didn’t want to leave his side. The thought of returning to the empty hotel room where her mind would fill with worries made her stomach sour. She considered finding a bar and drinking her worries away, but that would only draw unwanted attention. The last thing she needed now was to attract more greedy, curious eyes.

  “This was a lot of fun.” Her eyes didn’t dare meet his. “Thank you, Henry.”

  She leaned in, giving him a peck on the cheek. His stubble tickled her lips and ignited a spark deep within her belly, sending a rush through her body. She forced herself to pull away, which now seemed almost impossible.

  “It was my pleasure, Frankie.”

  She was close enough to smell his beer-laden breath, the heavy scent of hops appealing. They shook hands, but didn’t release their grip right away, holding it much longer than necessary. Like two ships lost at sea, dependent on one another to make it through a tumultuous storm, they refused to let each other go. The probability of what was about to happen grew with each second her hand found warmth in his, but with one last breath, she drew her hand away.

  “Goodnight, Henry.”

  They were the saddest words she’d ever said to anyone, and she became confused by the pain that surged inside. There wasn’t a single part of her that wanted to leave. She’d go anywhere, even sit on a stupid park bench, so long as she could keep listening to his deep voice and enjoy the way it washed over her like hot summer rain. He made her smile, heartfelt smiles, and he asked her important questions as if he wanted to know her soul, and not just her body. Something she longed for more than any milkshake.

  eight

  Henry

  Frozen to the sidewalk, his body remained, but his eyes followed her up the block. With a solid lump wedged in his throat, he said the words as his feet ran.

  “Frankie. Wait!”

  She turned around, her eyes questioning but also amused. His mouth opened, then closed, as if realizing how idiotic he was being. He should have let her walk away and let her return to her hotel, alone. He shouldn’t want to ask her out for a nightcap. And yet, with the same certainty he knew summer was almost over, he feared her leaving his side. Like the coward he was, he blamed it on his worry: she was still too brittle to return alone, not because of his own selfish desires.

  “If you’re not doing anything,” he began. “Do you want to go for that drink?”

  The three beers he’d already had sat lodged in his stomach, but he would gladly drink more if it meant her not leaving his side. From above, a street lamp flickered on, lighting her face but casting her eyes in shadows.

  “I’d love to,” she replied.

  Maybe it was foolishly optimistic, but he believed he saw elation in her soft features.

  This was so unlike him, he thought as he pushed the wooden door to his cottage open, the hinges creaking. With hesitant steps, he walked into his home, Frankie right behind him, and watched her look around. His house wasn’t much, by any means, but it used to belong to his parents and had been his full-time home since his divorce. His previous home, one he’d fixed up and worked on every single weekend, was now Barbara’s. And from what he’d heard from friends, she now delegated all current repairs to her new husband.

  Already five years, he thought. Most days it felt like yesterday.

  The two-bedroom sea-side cottage was cozy, even with its sparse furnishings. It was old, but well maintained. The crisp, salty scent of the ocean drifted in through the half-open windows. But no matter what Henry did, a musky, humid smell always lingered.

  Frankie didn’t seem to notice any of these things and just smiled. Or maybe she was very good at hiding what she thought.

  “Make yourself comfortable.” Her eyes drifted to the bright yellow sofa that was over thirty years old and had belonged to his parents, and it embarrassed him he couldn’t provide her with a better place to rest. “Want a beer? I’ve got wine, too.”

  They’d each had a pint at the local pub, but Frankie nodded just the same. They hadn’t stayed long. A surprise crowd of college students enjoying their last days of summer break had come in, ruining their quiet conversation. Before he’d known what was happening, he was offering her a ride back to his place.

  Now, as he stood watching her in the middle of his living room, wringing her hands, he realized that this may not have been such a great idea.

  “White or red?” she asked.

  “I’ve got both.”

  “White, please.” She wandered over to the back porch and her jaw dropped. “What a view.”

  He reached around her and pulled the door open. They stepped out onto the screen-wrapped porch and looked out at the evening sea. Barely more than a sliver in the night sky, still the moon lit up the water and the shore. Out here in Oakwhite Bay, unhidden by the pollution of city lights, the stars often blanketed the inky sky like flickers of white paint.

  “It’s so incredible. I can’t believe it. You never see stars like this in the city,” Frankie said, echoing Henry’s thoughts.

  He remembered how he missed the night skies of his hometown after a few years away. “No, you definitely don’t. I never get sick of it. Every night looks different, no matter what.”

  Her sigh filled the thick summer air and her arm tickled his, making him aware of how close they stood. From the corner of his eye, he saw her watching him, her eyes big and round. Expectant. It made him swallow hard as he took a step back.

  “How about I go get that wine?”

  Returning inside, he headed to the kitchen, his heart racing, his palms sweating. From the back of his vintage refrigerator, he pulled out a beer and the bottle of Riesling he had tucked away. A cool shiver ran along his neck, as if he was being watched. When he looked up, he found her standing nearby. The smell of the ocean wafted from her skin like a conch shell he picked up and brought home. She licked her pink lips and watched him go about the kitchen with heat-filled eyes, making him hard.

  She shouldn’t be here, he thought. Though he didn’t want her to leave, he hoped he wasn’t making yet another life-altering mistake by having her stay. Her eyes drifted toward the fridge, where they locked on a photo taped to the door.

  “You look happy here,” Frankie said.

  The bottle of white slipped from his hand, but with quick reflexes he caught it before it slammed into the counter.

  “I was… at the time.” The photo of him and his ex at the beach was ancient, taken in an era when they were both youthful, eager and hopeful. He realized now how much had changed since, and wondered why he hadn’t taken the photo down yet.

  “It left a mark, didn’t it?” she asked, as if she sensed the baggage that surrounded the two lovers in the photograph.

  “More than one.” Talking about Barbara and his divorce was his least favorite subject. Even more so now, with this mysterious beauty mere inches away.

  With their drinks in hand, he guided her back outside, desperate for some cool air against his now boiling skin. He hoped it would cool down his urges, too. He switched the stereo on, the soft croon of Otis Redding filling the space.

  With a heavy sigh, she placed her glass on a table and peeled off her baggy sweater, revealing a tight white tank top that did a poor job of hiding her pebbled nipples. Forcing his gaze elsewhere, he reminded himself why he shouldn’t do what he’d been thinking of doing all night long. But when she came closer, bridging the gap between them, and her hands reached for his shoulders, all arguments flew out with his short exhale.

  He wasn’t used to this. Women rarely approached him. At least not women like her. She ran her fingers through his hair, brushing it back. The touch of her fingertips sent electricity through his dormant body, as if bringing it to life.

  “I love this song,” she said, swaying her hips from side to side.

  She shut her eyes and lowered her head to his shoulder. Henry realized she wanted to dance, something he hadn’t done in years, but with her, it came naturally. It was intimate, and it broke down the walls his loneliness had spent years putting up. He’d been living captured, but had been unaware of how severe his imprisonment was. He breathed in her scent, of flowers, light and fragrant, reminiscent of a soft spring day in the apple orchards of Vermont.

  She ran the back of her hand down his chest to his stomach, forcing him to suck it in. He didn’t want her noticing the small paunch he’d developed over years of bachelorhood and beer. Lifting her head, she looked up at him through those long lashes, her eyes swimming with unasked questions and unspoken fears. Though she remained silent, it was as if she were shouting, and he understood every word she refused to say.

  “Is this alright?” she asked.

  She hadn’t defined what this was, but he knew what she meant, and he nodded. And he couldn’t deny that it was more than alright. He brought her here, after all. This was a crazy idea, but he knew how long it had been since someone had shared his bed and he wanted her the minute he saw her on that bench outside his shop. With unwavering certainty, he was aware he’d met no one so earth-shatteringly attractive and complex before.

  She slid her hand down his arm and took his beer, which he’d forgotten he was holding, and put it down next to her wine. She returned her gaze to his, this time keeping her hands on his broad shoulders. “I really like you, Henry, and I need you to know that I’m alright with tonight going further.”

  He swallowed as her fingers brushed along his neck. Henry had heard of women these days and how they enjoyed casual sex. This thing called Tinder was all the rage, too. His heart filled with sudden disappointment at the prospect that Frankie might be one of those girls.

  But in his heart, he believed she was more than just someone looking for a one-night stand. Her eyes remained filled with unexpressed sadness and grief, running deep, deep down, telling him she couldn’t be that shallow. Even so, he wondered if she was the type to use sex to mask what was happening inside.

  nine

  Frankie

  Henry’s hesitation, the way his mind seemed far away and his hands touched her hips without conviction, made Frankie think he didn’t want her the way most men usually did. She knew she was attractive, young, smart, rich. Then again, he didn’t know about the latter. The men she slept with knew her full name and who her father was. They had a ballpark figure of her net worth in mind. If this wasn’t the case with Henry, then he’d invited her into his modest home because of who she was as a person. And that probability frightened her.

  But what if things weren’t that simple? What if him not knowing about the legacy, or about the multi-billion-dollar sign that hovered over her head, kept him away? Finding a boyfriend had never been difficult for Frankie. Since the age of thirteen, she had a line of them waiting. Each trust-fund baby, or heir to their daddy’s fortune from Manhattan, had graced her doorstep, so to speak, all waiting to be the next on her arm and in her bed. Perhaps very obvious to the outside world, Frankie had never thought it was only her wealth that drew them in. Had she been naïve in believing that it was more than her fortune that drew people to her?

 

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