Can I call you Julia? I feel like after reading your book, I know you. Thank you for offering such a detailed account of Donald Gaskins’ crimes…
The letters go on and on, each personal and compelling. I flatten them into a stack and put them in the cubbie for fan mail, making a note to tell my mother to read them as soon as she gets back. Only two letters fall in the “psychos” category, and frankly, I’m not even sure if they count. Both are just a little over the top, professing their love for my mother and her works.
I’ve finally made a dent in the mail when a text comes through from my mother.
Spending the day in Seattle! It’s cold and I need to feel the sand on my toes! Great news though—my agent passed on a request from the New York Times. They want to interview us about the book. Yes, US! They want to do a story on our family, the area, and all that. Great press for the books and store!
I reply quickly: Tell me where and when and I’ll be there!
Expect a call soon. They’ll interview us separately and then again together.
She adds that they’re headed into Northern California the next day and that she’ll see me on the 6th—the day after her visit to LA. Then a hug emoji.
Another text comes through a minute later. It’s Whit.
Want some lunch?
I respond in all caps. YES!
I’ve managed to get most of the desk clear by the time the bell on the door chimes, followed by Anita’s loud greeting.
“She’s in the back,” I hear her say and I stand, straightening my skirt from sitting on the floor. I’m about to get up to go meet him when he appears in the doorway. Whit’s tall, lean frame fills the space. His skin is already deeply tan—did he ever lose it? And he wears a tank with Ocean Beach Surf School across the front. He carries a box of delicious-smelling pizza in his hands and I smile.
“Is that smile for me or the food?”
“Is it wrong to say both?”
“Nope,” he says, entering the office. “I think that’s an acceptable answer.”
He holds the square box at his side and bends down to kiss me. He tastes like the sun and surf. He pulls away and I take the box, leaving it on the desk. I flip open the top and notice two pieces are missing.
“Your cousin snagged those on my way in.”
“I’m eating for two, you know!” she shouts from the front.
I roll my eyes and shut the door from her nosy ears, then we grab slices and napkins and sit on the small gray loveseat against the wall. The pizza is amazing, perfect crust and lots of cheese. “Tell me about your day.”
“Not much going on…I have a few lessons this afternoon. School isn’t out so it’s not super touristy yet, although there are enough college students down for Beach Week to keep us in business.” He laughs. “They just don’t get up until noon.”
“Beach Week?”
“It’s a thing down here. All the colleges celebrate the end of the school year with a trip to the beach. Lots of fraternities and sororities.” He glances around the room. “They’re probably too hungover for book shopping, but the guys love to show off for the girls, pretending they can surf.”
I think about how Whit and Justin look out on the water. I understand the appeal.
“You kind of love your job, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I kind of do. If I could work there all year, I would. But you know, school and all that.”
Whit’s family has a legacy of attending the Citadel. He hates it but finished his first year. I thought maybe once he attended he’d like it better, but there’s a hint of depression about him when it’s brought up. I hate that he feels so stifled and saddled with this obligation.
“Maybe—” I start, but he cuts me off, kissing me on the lips.
He moves diligently, lingering on my mouth, jaw, and neck. Whit’s a confident man, which is why it’s surprising he hasn’t pushed our relationship further. He seems experienced, although I don’t ask, I just know all the guys have a notoriety around here for short-term relationships. Maggie and Ivy made that clear last year. But nothing about Whit feels temporary when he kisses me. Not the way his lips travel down my throat, near my collarbone, and across my chest. Shivers tremble along my spine.
I’m breathing heavy when he comes to a slow stop. “You’re going to spoil me for lunch if you keep doing things like that.”
“You think lunch was good, wait ‘til you experience dessert.”