I take another sip. Fuck him. I’ll sip this disgusting beer like a dainty princess if I want. Though, honestly … “The repulsive taste kinda grows on you.”
“Huh?”
“The beer. It’s bitter, but not in a bad way … I think. Dark. Yet smooth. You said it’s locally brewed?”
“Yeah. A friend of mine’s dad kinda has a whole thing. He runs the fair, up by Hopewell Harbor, north side of the island. You like fairs?”
“I’m not a big Ferris Wheel fan, honestly. But I’m all about that cotton candy. Ooh, and corndogs.”
“And games?”
“Fuck yeah. Give me all the games. I love throwing big balls at targets and making things go ding-ding-ding.”
Kent laughs. “Nice. You should check out the fair while you’re here, then. Maybe you’ll win yourself a big squishy stuffed donkey or something.”
“I’m pretty good at games. And I’m mad competitive. I have to warn you, just in case you’re the one I’m playing against. I get vicious.”
“Vicious?”
“And ruthless. And I’m also a sore loser. I’m probably scaring you, huh? I’m doing this all wrong, clearly. Most people try to sell themselves a bit better when walking on the beach with a cute guy they just met.”
Kent lifts an eyebrow. “You think I’m cute?”
“My name’s Jonah.” I clear my throat and dodge his question. “Since you asked and all.”
He nods slowly. “Jonah.” He seems to taste my name with his tongue. “Jonah … hmm.” It’s sexy, hearing him try my name out. “Kinda fits you.”
I could hear him say my name a hundred more times. His voice is so intoxicating. “Really? Fits me?”
“Sure. Never knew a Jonah. Never met a Jonah. Not a single customer I’ve ever sold a funnel cake or muffin to has been named Jonah. You are literally the first I’ve ever met. And so yes,” he finishes. “That fits you.”
I take another sip. “Why does that fit me?”
“Because you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”
My heart stirs from his words. It’s easy to fall under his spell. Too easy. I shrug and play it cool. “Well, likewise, Kent. Never met a Kent before, myself. Or have I? Maybe I had a Kent in one of my classes in high school. Or was that a Ken? … Kenneth? … Never mind.”
A wave crashes in, coming closer than the others and sweeping over our walking feet. I’ve since taken off my sandals to walk better in the sand, and the cool and salty water feels so good skittering over my toes that I have to close my eyes and smile.
When I open them, I find Kent looking at me. I shrug. “What? I haven’t been to the beach in a while. Give me a break for having an orgasm from a wave rushing over my toes. It feels amazing.”
He chuckles and gestures at the water. “Hey, be my guest. The sea’s your foot masseuse.”
“And she’s damned good at it.” Another wave rushes over our feet. This one almost makes me trip. “Wow, she’s getting feisty.”
“Careful.” Kent comes to a stop, gazing out at the water. “There’s an old saying: Don’t fall in love with the sea, because she’ll never love you back.”
I stare out at the water, too—its infinite darkness and crashing waves. “Sounds like a warning.”
“It is.” He elbows me. “But it only applies to visitors like you. The sea adores me.”
I look at him. I know he’s joking, but as I gaze on his face and the way the breeze dances in his messy hair, I find myself completely captivated. It isn’t so difficult to believe an emotionless, immortal ocean would find love in its cold, watery heart for someone like him.
Soon, we’ve rounded about and are heading back, the music of ocean waves in our ears. “So tell me, what are you getting away from?”
I give him a glance. “What do you mean?”
“Everyone who comes here is trying to get away from something.” He claws a stone out of the sand and pitches it at the water where it vanishes without a sound. “So what’s your thing?”
I take a sip and shrug. “I guess the daily grind of work. Of my life. Of all the tedium and routines and—”
“Nah. It’s something else.”
I laugh. “Really? You know me so well suddenly?”
“It’s like saying you go to the restaurant because you’re hungry. Everyone who comes to Dreamwood Isle is taking time off of work. Everyone has a tedious life, even if you live here like I do. Everyone is tired of the routine. Even frying up funnel cakes loses its fun after a while. It’s gotta be something else you’re getting away from. Come on, Jonah, dig deeper.”
I give him a look. “Look, if there’s some super specific answer you’re looking for, I don’t have it.”
“Alright. If you say so. But I know better. I see it in your eyes, and the eyes never lie.” He goes for a sip, then shakes his can, discovering it empty, and pouts.