Sandcastle Beach--Includes a Bonus Novella

by Jenny Holiday

  “What’s for dinner?”

  She snorted. “Packaged ramen. Dinner of champions.”

  The idea took hold on the drive back downtown. He was going up to Bayshore tonight to spy on the sous-chef at the White Rhino—his industry contacts reported that she ran the kitchen on Mondays. He figured even if Lawson’s Lunch was mostly on hold until after the grant announcement, he could still get the ball rolling on some of the big stuff—and there was nothing bigger than who was going to be head chef.

  He glanced at Maya. Why should she eat packaged ramen for dinner when he was going to literally have more food than he could stomach? “So, uh…” She turned. “I’m going to Bayshore for dinner tonight, and…”

  “Spit it out, Benjamin. If you’re gonna be late, you can drop me at Bluewater and Confederation and I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

  “No,” he said, probably a little too vehemently. But honestly, she thought he was just going to drop her at the side of the highway? “I’m going to check out the sous-chef at the White Rhino, but secretly.”

  “Ooh, you mean to see if you want to try to woo him away?”

  “Her, and maybe. I’m going to sample a bunch of dishes.”

  “Mmm, must be hard to be you right now.”

  “Right, so there’s going to be so much food that…” God, he felt like he was in junior high.

  “Benjamin Lawson!” she exclaimed so loudly he flinched. “Are you asking me to go to dinner with you?”

  “Well, not like a date.”

  “Ahh! Of course not. Why would you say that?” She made a noise like a cat coughing up a hairball.

  “Well, I don’t know. Asking someone to dinner usually implies—”

  “Gah. No. But are you trying to say you want to suspend hostilities long enough for me to help you with the problem of a feast that’s too big for you? That you need my particular expertise in hoovering an astonishing amount of food and passing judgment on it?”

  He chuckled. “That is what I’m trying to say.”

  “Then hooboy, yes! Wait. You’re paying for this nondate, right?”

  “Right.”

  She did a little fist pump. “Do I have time to go back to the Mermaid and change?”

  “Sure, but you don’t have to. The food is great at the White Rhino, but it isn’t fancy.” Most places in these beach towns weren’t. You couldn’t really have a dress code without alienating the tourists. “You look fine.”

  “Oh, but I want to look more than fine.”

  Maya’s hair was down, which was Law’s catnip. He used to think he liked it that way because it was so rare—he only ever saw it down in the Mermaid Parade. But then they started doing late-night truces, and it became almost normal. Except not. Because it never ceased to bowl him over.

  It came to well past her shoulders, and it was so…healthy-looking. That was probably a dumb observation. But he was a dumb guy when it came to hair knowledge. It was just that hers was so shiny and bouncy. And she made it worse—better?—when she opened the passenger-side window as they drove out of town. The wind made her look like a supermodel as she declared, “Hooboy! I am so excited!”

  There was also the dress. Which he was reminded of anew when they got out of the car in Bayshore. He’d seen her in dresses before, but only onstage. She didn’t wear dresses as herself.

  Objectively speaking, there was nothing particularly exciting about this one. It was a solid, regular blue—the color of the blue crayon. It had a neckline shaped like a half circle, and it showed a little cleavage but not much. As she started off down the sidewalk, he could see that it had a ruffle at the bottom.

  “What?” Her brow furrowed as she looked over her shoulder at him. He was just standing there slightly slack-jawed. But only, he told himself, because seeing her in a dress was so novel. And she was wearing strappy sandals instead of her usual high-tops. She looked down at herself. “Is this too much? Was I supposed to come in disguise as a tourist? Should I be wearing a shirt that says, ‘I heart Lake Huron’?”

  “No, no. You look fine.” Had he been saying that to her a lot lately? Like in the dunk tank? Maybe he should be a little more generous than “fine,” a little more specific. “Nice dress,” he tried.

  “It has pockets!” she exclaimed with a grin, sticking her hands in said pockets to demonstrate.

  “That’s, uh, great.” Maybe this had been a mistake. What were they going to talk about seated across from each other for who knew how long? They had no problem carrying on a conversation when that conversation largely amounted to picking at each other. And they had no problem sitting next to each other in silence and staring at a TV. And lately there had been a few instances, like on the roof at Eiko’s, or walking back from the Junior Achievement panel, when they’d talked more deeply than usual, but those encounters had been brief, and they’d been walking or sitting side by side.

  But sitting across a table from each other and carrying on a conversation for what could be a couple hours? Could they even do it?

  It turned out they could. After they ordered a truly ridiculous amount of food, Maya picked up her water and said, “Here’s to Lawson’s Lunch.”

  He clinked his glass against hers.

  “I haven’t heard a word about it from anyone in town,” she said. “So good job on that front. How are you keeping everything under wraps?”

  “Well, there isn’t really anything happening until late fall.”

  “I thought it was more imminent.”

  “Yeah, well.” He shrugged. He didn’t want to say that he was waiting for the grant results—that he was waiting until he beat her—because only then would he know what he was going to do locationwise. Mortgagewise.

  “Don’t sound too enthusiastic there. Wait. Are you getting cold feet?”

  “No.” Well, not cold feet exactly, but…“I do sometimes wonder, why do the restaurant at all? Why do more? Why can’t I be happy with what I have?”

  “Because you’re ambitious. I said it before—that’s allowed.”

  It sounded so simple when she said it. It sounded so reasonable.

  It was a relief when the server arrived. Make that servers, plural—it took two people to carry their food. Maya looked like she was trying not to laugh, which caused a mirroring sort of bubble to make its way up Law’s chest. To make it worse, the lead server was narrating as she and her helper set the dishes down.

  “Baby back ribs and garlic frites. Bánh mì bowl. Beet and buffalo mozzarella salad. Jackfruit crab cakes. Brown butter pickerel. Side of buttermilk truffle mashed potatoes.”

  Maya’s shoulders were shaking, and she had her lips pressed together. The bubble in his chest floated higher.

  “Caesar salad. Lobster bisque. Carbonara. Fish tacos. Steak.”

  Maya glanced at him—just with her eyeballs, though. The rest of her face stayed perfectly still in a way that was inexplicably hilarious. He started coughing.

  The server put her hands on her hips. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  “Yes. Could we please have some vinegar for our fries?” Maya said almost regally, still wearing her poker face.

  “And ketchup,” he choked out. He wasn’t as good an actor as she was.

  “Of course.”

  “And I believe we are going to need some butter, aren’t we, Benjamin?”

  He could not speak, but managed to nod even though he couldn’t see anything in front of them that would require butter.

  “And possibly some hot sauce?”

  She was doing this on purpose, trying to get him to break and laugh. “Yes,” he managed.

  The server turned away—he caught her sharing a look with her colleague—and Maya called after her, “And some mayo, too, please!”

  He held his breath until the servers were out of sight and, finally, let loose a great big belly laugh. Maya joined him, and it felt like they were allied somehow, the two of them against the world. Which was dumb. All they were doing was or
dering too much food.

  He eyed the still-laughing Maya, her grin lighting up her face and her honey-cream-ale eyes dancing.

  Aww, he was so fucked.

  She rearranged the dishes so the steak was in front of him. “This one’s yours. No cows for me.”

  “That’s Hinduism, right?”

  “Yeah. It’s a bit arbitrary, because we aren’t observant, and my mother is actually kind of vehemently nonobservant, but…” She shrugged.

  He wanted to ask more. He wanted to know everything about her, suddenly, about what she believed and why she loved theater and if she ever got scared about the future. It was a bit alarming, actually.

  He was distracted from his unsettling line of thinking when she picked up a rib, dragged her teeth along it to get the meat off the bone, and moaned. “Benjamin.”

  He had to kind of squirm around in his chair to get comfortable. Watching someone eat should not be such a turn-on, but as was well established, nothing about his cursed attraction to her made sense. “I’m guessing you like the ribs?”

  She moved on to a fry, which, hilariously, she dipped in mashed potatoes before putting in her mouth. She moaned again. “You must hire this woman.” She flopped back against the booth, which was upholstered in a royal-blue velvet. Her hair snagged on the texture and fanned out. It was like at his place on their last truce night, when he’d thought her hair looked like a reverse waterfall. It was like…

  He didn’t even know. She was the one who was good with words.

  “I am overcome, Benjamin,” she proclaimed. “I am overcome.”

  He knew the feeling.

  “Ugh, I don’t know if I can walk.” Maya’s stomach hurt, but in a good way. “I might fall into a coma on the way home.”

  “Let’s walk to the lake.” Benjamin pointed at the walkway that ran from the main street in Bayshore to the beach. “See it from a new vantage point. I’ll stick our leftovers in the car. Be right back.”

  Maya started to pivot. It was going to take a while for her overstuffed body to change directions, but she wasn’t going to argue with the guy who’d just picked up the five-hundred-dollar tab for the best food she’d had in ages, maybe ever.

  The walk to the beach would be good for them. By the time he was back from the car, she’d gotten herself pointed in the right direction, and they walked past the marina. When they arrived at the beach, he plopped down unceremoniously in the sand.

  “Hooboy. I may need a forklift.” She started to sit, and he reached a hand up as if to steady her descent. She looked at it—for a moment too long, perhaps, because he retracted it before she could grab it. She did her best to lower herself gracefully. She wasn’t used to wearing a dress.

  “What are you going to do with the grant money in the extremely unlikely event you win it?” he said.

  “Not close the theater,” she said automatically. “Oh shit.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. For a moment she’d thought she was talking to Nora or Eve. To someone who already knew she was that close to the edge with the theater. Damn him. He had seduced her into feeling all comfortable with him.

  “What?” He turned to face her, and his arm shot out like his first reflex had been to touch her, but he pulled it back before he made contact.

  “I mean, I’m going to use it to set up a fundraising program for the theater,” she said quickly.

  “No, hang on. You’re thinking of closing the theater?” His brow knit. “But you love the theater.”

  As if that made any difference when it came to the bottom line. “Yes? And?”

  “Why do you love the theater?” he asked, startling her a bit.

  “That’s a big question.”

  “Don’t overthink it. Answer it in a couple sentences.”

  “Well, when you go to a play, there’s this moment where the lights go down, just before anything starts, when it’s silent and dark. It’s only a few seconds, usually, but it’s enough for you to think, Wow, this is a total blank slate. Anything can happen. And you buckle up and let it happen.” She smiled. “That moment is the best feeling in the world.”

  He nodded as if he’d asked an exam question and she’d answered correctly. “Right. So you can’t quit.”

  “Well, as much as I love the theater, I’m not sure it loves me back.”

  “Is it really that bad?” he asked quietly.

  Yes, it was really that bad. But he didn’t need to know that. She had said too much already. She must be drunk on mashed potatoes.

  “You want me to take a look at your grant application?” he asked when she didn’t answer his question.

  Okay, whoa. She had been lulled by too much amazing food. She’d let her guard down and allowed herself to consider that maybe, just maybe, Benjamin wasn’t a total jerk. But here he was, being all paternalistic and condescending. Still feeling decidedly blimp-like, she struggled to her feet. “I have written dozens of grants in my time. Why would I need help from you?” Her voice had gone a little shrill.

  He blinked rapidly, tilting his head back to look up at her—he was still sitting on the sand.

  “Also.” She paused and ordered herself to speak in a lower register. She wanted to convey disgust, not hysteria. “Dude, I am your main competition. You think I’m going to let you see my application?” She scoffed. “Get up. Dinner’s over.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Rehearsal was going…not super well. They were a week and a half in, and Maya was starting to wonder if they’d be ready for their late-August opening.

  “Are you okay?” Maya called when Claudio tripped over his own feet and landed face-first in a box of plastic swords during what was supposed to be a serious funeral procession.

  Claudio, who was turning out to be not a bad actor if not the sharpest sword in the arsenal—there was a reason he was doing summer school, she suspected—waved and said, “Yeah, sorry.” But when he stood up, he had a cut on his face, causing Hero to gasp.

  “Okay, you need to go clean that up. Everyone take thirty.” She pointed at Holden. “Except you.” He looked up from the phone he already had out. “Let’s you and I work on Beatrice and Benedick’s first scene.” Holden was having trouble getting off book. She wasn’t officially requiring it until next week, but most of the others were doing chunks of some scenes without the script. She was trying to cut Holden some slack. He was new to acting, and even newer to the language of Shakespeare.

  They installed themselves in a corner backstage, and she said, “I think you should concentrate your energies right now on a couple pivotal scenes, and this is one of them. This is the first time we see Benedick and Beatrice sparring, and it will set the tone for the rest of their interactions, which are really the heart of the play. The comic relief, too. I’ll start. You ready?” He nodded, and she took a quick, cleansing breath to shift into character. “‘I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick: nobody marks you.’”

  He delivered his next line from memory, so that was some progress, though he sounded rather mechanical reciting it.

  On they went, wobbly but off book, until he said, “‘It is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you…’”

  “‘Excepted…,’” she prompted.

  “‘Excepted,’” he echoed, and it took him a while, but he came up with the rest of the line. “‘And I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart: for truly, I love none.’” It started out with the same woodenness, but he got so excited when he realized he was going to make it to the end of the line that he started “acting.” The problem was he was interpreting the line as an angry one. He was yelling at her, which wasn’t right.

  “Okay, pause. Think back to times in your life where you’ve been at odds with someone. Was there ever a time you were arguing, but you were drawing energy from that arguing?”

  “Like you enjoyed the arguing?”

  “Well, like, sparring, you know? Sparring can be invigorating, even if it’s not strictly enjoyable.”


  “Right. I get it.”

  He didn’t sound like he got it.

  “Okay, let’s take it from my next line.” Soon they were going back and forth. But they were not doing anything close to sparring. She signaled for him to stop.

  “Maybe the problem is that when you’re a celebrity, no one really spars with you,” he said. “People kind of do the opposite. They’re all deferential.”

  That was a smart observation. Not that it helped her, but it was interesting.

  “Well.” She patted his arm. “I can always start yelling at you tomorrow.” People were starting to make their way back in, so she raised her voice to reach everyone. “Let’s run the final song and dance, and we’ll wrap for the day.” One of the directing tricks she’d picked up in school was to try to end each day of rehearsals on a positive note, and everyone loved this part. The reprise of the play’s signature song let Holden shine. And when Holden sparkled, so did everyone else, because although he might be struggling with Benedick’s lines, he exuded charm when he sang and danced.

  The song originated earlier in the play and was sung by another character, but they were doing a reprise for the curtain call, in a pop-music format. She and Holden had choreographed the accompanying dance as a sort of pastoral romp with some steps lifted from Two Squared’s videos. It was all meant as a kind of lighthearted wink to the audience in keeping with the play’s upbeat ending.

  “I’m going to watch today rather than participate,” she said. A few people were struggling with the choreography, and she wanted to get a handle on where the weak spots were. She hit play on her phone and smiled as she sat back and watched…everyone except Holden dance?

  “Cut! Holden, why aren’t you dancing?”

  “I know the steps already. I figure I’ll let everyone catch up, then jump back in.”

  Arg. The other day, when Benjamin had accused her of looking like she was sucking a lemon, it had been day one of rehearsals. Now she feared her face was going to freeze in lemon-sucking mode.