by Heather B. Moore, Kaylee Baldwin, Annette Lyon, Jennifer Moore, Shannon Guymon, Sarah M. Eden
“Oh. Sorry to interrupt,” Michael said, taking a step away. “You just look like someone I used to know. I’m kind of here... for something too.”
She eyed him up and down again, then nodded with the hint of a smile. “Yeah, you don’t look like you came to the beach to surf.”
“Not exactly.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. He didn’t want to leave, even though standing by a pretty girl wasn’t what Nate had in mind for this. She’d come here for something private too, it seemed. He took a step toward her, narrowing the distance between them, and stuck out a hand. “I’m Michael, by the way. And I don’t usually come to the beach dressed like this.”
She hesitated for a second before shaking his hand. “Alexandria. And I’ve never been to the beach.” Her small hand clasped his with a firm grip. He didn’t want to let go.
“Alexandria,” he said, trying the name out on his tongue. “Do you go by your full name?”
“Nah,” she said, shrugging and letting out a deep sigh and looking back at the ocean. “Five syllables is a lot. My sister calls me Dria, and so did—” She cut off and quickly added, “Friends usually call me Alex.”
Michael nodded in understanding, then couldn’t help but say, “So the first two syllables and last syllable are all covered. Anyone ever use the third one as a nickname?” At her confused expression, he clarified, “Anne. Although I guess that technically, it would be spelled with just an A and N, and that would just look weird. But it’s a thought.”
“Someday, maybe.” She laughed. “So the middle syllable doesn’t feel as left out.”
Huh. He’d had thoughts like that as a kid. It’s why he’d sometimes played with the action figures he liked least, so they wouldn’t feel bad because they weren’t Spider-Man and Batman, his two favorites. He’d never found anyone else who gave human qualities to inanimate objects— or, in this case, to sounds and syllables.
They both faced the ocean again, Michael making a point to stay where he was— to not step away again. He liked this girl, felt drawn to her. Not because she reminded him of Rachel, but because within a couple of minutes, she’d proven to be entirely unlike Rachel in a dozen ways. Their brief conversation felt like a breath of fresh air.
This is the kind of girl I could take on a second date. The thought should have terrified him, and after it crossed his mind, he waited for the familiar sick feeling in his chest. It never came. Of course, he didn’t verbalize the idea. Any sane girl would freak out at hearing something like that.
“So,” he said, trying to rock on his heels in an effort to be cool, but failing utterly. “Should I call you Alex? Anne? Dria?” He mentally said her name again— Alexandria— just to be sure he didn’t miss a syllable.
“Call me Alex,” she said with certainty. “I wouldn’t know who you were talking about if you called me Anne. And Dria is... well, only a couple of people have ever used that.”
“Of course. People you randomly meet on the beach definitely don’t fall into that category.”
“Right.” She seemed to be watching the waves as they broke on the shore, but Michael could sense her gaze still on him, possibly sizing him up. “What about you? Do you go by Mike? Or is it always Michael?”
He opened his mouth to answer but hesitated. There had been a time, many years ago, when people called him Mikey, back when he was a very chubby fifteen-year-old. The name felt like it belonged to another person altogether.
“Not for years,” he finally said. “Michael is all I go by now, although sometimes when my mother gets really upset, I’m Michael Lorenzo— Lorenzo after a great-great-grandfather. I couldn’t ask for a more dated name.”
“I don’t know,” Alex said. “I think my middle name could give yours a run for its money as far as old-fashioned ones go: Bertha.”
“Alexandria Bertha. Wow. That’s a mouthful. It’s amazing you weren’t bullied into oblivion as a kid but instead grew up to be the well-adjusted woman you are today.”
She gave a sardonic laugh at that. “Whether I’m well-adjusted is up to debate in some people’s eyes.”
Michael watched her smile fade as she looked out at the massive expanse of water again; he wanted to bring the smile back. Nate and any therapeutic homework were shoved aside. He nodded toward the pier. “Do you want to get some ice cream or a churro or something?”
She looked in the direction he’d indicated, and he immediately wanted her to turn back to face him. Or he could reach out to touch her thick braid— it was gorgeous. She looked at him again. “Straight sugar doesn’t usually—”
“Or, you know, something more like a meal. Do you like crêpes?”
She spun back around, her eyes alight. “I do, but good ones are hard to find.”
“I know the perfect place,” he said. “It’s a bit of a drive, but if you don’t mind that...”
She hesitated, biting one side of her lower lip. She looked out to the ocean, glanced at her purse, then back at the ocean. “I...” She didn’t voice any objection; her voice simply trailed off.
“I’ll drive,” he offered. “Then I’ll bring you back to your car so you can finish...” This time it was his voice trailing off. He gestured between her and the beach, twirling his hand. “Finish whatever I interrupted. I’m sure it’s important.”
He wanted to spend an hour or two with this pretty girl, who seemed quick and smart and fun— someone he felt comfortable around in spite of just meeting her. It was as if he’d found an old friend. An old friend who happened to be hot.
He’d come back later to drop her off, then find his own closure at the beach. Who said it needed to happen at the exact hour of the wedding? Nate did. But Michael brushed the intrusive thought away.
“I’d love to have a good crêpe.” Alex patted her purse. “I can take care of this later.”
Chapter Three
This is crazy, Alex thought as she rode in the car of a perfect stranger through the streets of L.A. He could be a serial killer or something.
So why didn’t she feel scared or anxious? In the oddest way, she almost felt as if she’d come home, but to a place she’d never been. Her sister would have a conniption if she could see her now. But Becca never needed to find out.
And if Michael posed some threat, wouldn’t she feel it?
Maybe I’ll end up as a Dateline unsolved case. She chuckled at the thought.
He glanced over and gave her a puzzled half-smile. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Doing something like this... It’s so unlike me.”
“Doing what, specifically?” He navigated a turn and continued down the street.
“Going out to lunch with a perfect stranger.” A perfectly gorgeous stranger. “Maybe I’m having a midlife crisis.” She furrowed her brow. “Except, twenty-three is a bit young for one of those.”
He grinned at that. “I doubt my friends would believe me if I told them about this either. Maybe we’re both having a midlife crisis. Maybe we should do something shocking to freak them out.” He waggled his eyebrows, then laughed, and Alex joined in.
She couldn’t help but picture Jason’s mother scowling at a news report about whatever mischief Alex and Michael decided to get caught up in. The texts, voice messages, and emails she’d get after the fact— no, MK would not be hearing about this... outing. Or whatever it was.
During the rest of the drive, she wanted to ask questions about him, but then he’d ask questions about her and why she’d come to the beach, and… She let the conversation lapse into a surprisingly easy silence, until Michael looked for a place to park.
He shook his head. “Nothing close. I’ve never had to park here before.”
At her puzzled expression, he explained. “I used to work at the crêpe shop.” He circled the block, looking for spots again. “Back then, I rode the bus.”
“And when you’re on the bus, you don’t pay attention to parking.”
“Exactly,” he said. “Let’s just park in here.” He
pulled into the lot of a big grocery store with plenty of parking. Soon they were headed across the street.
People packed the passageways between the small buildings and booths of the market, and Michael moved quickly. Just as Alex began to worry that she’d lose him, he slowed and reached for her.
“Here,” he said. “Take my hand.”
She did, and as their hands touched, she felt a flutter in her chest. He squeezed, smiled, then continued, weaving them through the throng with confidence. At last they reached the crêpe booth; Alex couldn’t have found her way back to the car without help. She looked up at the red menu boards, which had a ton of options— combinations she’d never considered for crêpes, both sweet and savory. She completely ignored the waffles and sandwiches; why get those when visiting a place specializing in French crêpes?
“What do you recommend?” she asked, genuinely having no idea what to order.
She’d said she didn’t want anything sugary, but the difference between a churro and a dessert crêpe was a culinary chasm. Yet she’d worked hard to lose the weight she’d regained and prided herself on the fact that she weighed seventy-one pounds less than she had in eighth grade.
“Each one is pretty big,” Michael said. “I could order a savory one, and you order a sweet, and we could split them.”
“And we each get a full meal, including dessert,” she finished. “Brilliant.”
“You don’t mind sharing?”
“I’d prefer it. See, I—” She cut off. No need to reveal things like how there had been a time when she would have wanted both a savory crêpe and a dessert one and could have easily polished off both. As much as she still enjoyed food, she never wanted to go back to everything the weight had brought with it. A preteen shouldn’t be bullied, for starters. But a preteen should also never have joint pain or be pre-diabetic.
In her case, those things were results of being shuttled between foster homes. The chaos of constantly moving, never knowing what the future held, frequently changing schools, trying to make new friends again and again... it all added up to food being the only “love” she could count on. Unlearning that had taken far more work and time than she’d ever imagined possible. Chances were good that she’d always hear food’s siren call, would always have to fight to keep her health.
“You okay?” Michael asked.
“I’m great,” Alex said. “Just trying to decide.” She purposely put her hands on her hips as she thought; feeling them was a tangible reminder of how far she’d come. “Honestly, all of the savory crêpes look great, so you pick your favorite, and then we’ll split a strawberry and Nutella dessert crêpe. That’s calling my name.”
“Mmm. Berries and chocolate,” Michael said with an approving nod. “Can’t go wrong there.” He looked over the savory menu. “How about the veggie crêpe?”
She found the description, and immediately her mouth started watering. “Sounds divine. But you’re welcome to get a whole one for yourself. You don’t have to share with me. I can always get a box for what I don’t eat.”
“Nah,” Michael said. “I don’t eat that much.” He stepped forward to order, adding offhand, “Not anymore, anyway.”
Wait, what?
But the forty-something man on the other side of the counter turned to them and exclaimed, “Michael, is that you?”
“Sure is, Carlos.” They shook hands, and Michael introduced the owner to Alex.
After starting on their order— ladling batter onto hot metal rounds— Carlos reminisced with Michael about when he hired Michael and they worked together in that very booth.
“Still don’t know how you didn’t put on pounds like the rest of us.” He took a wooden tool— a thin handle with a dowel attached perpendicularly at the end, which he used to shape the batter into perfect circles. “I mean, even after spending a summer at a fat camp, most people wouldn’t be able to keep it off, let alone being surrounded by things like Nutella and whipping cream all day.”
“It’ll always be battle,” Michael said with a shrug. “But I won’t go back there.”
Alex stood frozen in place, not believing her ears. How in the world could this hot guy have ever struggled with his weight? How had someone who looked like that ever been sent to a fat camp?
She’d thought the only thing they had in common was a love of crêpes. Apparently not.
He’d experienced something few people ever had. Suddenly, she wanted to tell him about her past, something she rarely did, because most people couldn’t handle even one part of her history, let alone the crazy mess that was being orphaned, bounced among foster families, and having a brief marriage to a dying teen.
Back at the pier, she’d welcomed the attention of a good-looking guy who clearly had money. At the time, she’d had no intention of telling him anything about herself beyond vague things like how she lived in Arizona, where she’d grown up— keeping past cities out of it, because she’d lived in at least eight. Maybe she’d mention that she had her own company in the fashion industry. She’d become adept over the years at avoiding uncomfortable topics and focusing on areas she could talk about easily.
She couldn’t help but let her eyes trail from Michael’s shoes up to the back of his hair. He used to be fat? She understood his words better than his friend across the counter did. They both fought the urge to medicate with food and always would.
After Jason’s death, she’d given up the fight for a year, regaining more than half of the weight back. On the first anniversary of his death, she’d promised herself to lose it all again, for herself as much as for Jason. And she had. As of two months ago, she’d lost the last pound— it had taken her three years. She wouldn’t throw in the towel again.
Michael laughed at something Carlos said, then waved, ending the conversation as he turned to Alex and gestured around the corner to one side of the booth, where four stools stood beside a short counter. She climbed on one, and he took another. “I’ve always loved sitting here instead of at one of the little tables,” he said. “You can watch the magic from here.”
She got to see how the savory crêpe was expertly folded and slipped onto a plate. With her feet on the bar at the bottom of the stool, she pointed as Carlos used a metal spatula to fold up the berry one, using quick, precise movements as if the spatula were an extension of his own hand. “You know how to do that?”
“I’m a bit rusty, but I used to make one mean crêpe.”
They waited as the final garnishes were added, and during that time, Alex felt as content as she could ever remember being. Only one thing would make it better: Michael had released her hand to pay but hadn’t taken it again. She wanted his strong, warm grip around hers, leading her confidently through the crowd. If she’d had the guts, she would have taken his.
Yeah, right. She’d never been so forward. And she’d met the guy not an hour before. So why do I feel so comfortable around him?
The savory plate was slid to them first, with the crêpe cut in half. Carlos held out two forks, which Michael took, handing one to her. “Dig in,” he said. “But I warn you, you’ll never be the same.”
She cut off a small piece and took a bite. Sure enough, the veggie filling melded into a paradise of flavors. She closed her eyes with pleasure. “Oh, wow.”
“Crazy, huh?” Michael said, cutting off a piece only after watching her reaction.
They made short work of the crêpe, then turned to the berry-chocolate one, which sat on another plate, also cut in half. Two clean forks rested beside it. Michael slid the plate over and handed her a second fork. “We’ll pretend that this is healthy because of the strawberries.”
Alex nodded with mock solemnity. “And because of the real whipping cream. The real stuff’s healthier than the fake whipped topping crap.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Michael said with an equally serious tone.
This time he cut into the crêpe first, but Alex’s bite followed shortly behind. She ate more slowly with this crepe, taking smalle
r bites as her appetite waned. She felt utterly satisfied, but comfortably so, even though several bites remained. Michael offered the rest of his half to her, and when she turned him down, he pushed the plate away and stood. Alex stared at the remaining food; she had a hard time grasping the reality of a man who didn’t put away twice as much food as the average woman, even if he did work out.
They walked back, through the maze of stores and booths, this time side by side and at a more leisurely pace. Alex couldn’t help but wish he’d take her hand again, then reminded herself that she didn’t know the guy and was being ridiculous. Out of the corner of her eye, she took in his body and wondered how on earth she happened to meet someone with such a significant similarity in his past, someone who knew what a weight struggle felt like and had come off conqueror.
She had to ask, but the thought of bringing it up made her jittery. Not everyone wanted to talk about past hard times; she knew that firsthand. They had to stop to wait for a group of people to move along a cross-corridor. He looked over and caught her eye— and winked. Instead of finding the action cheesy, she felt her face warm and her cheeks round with a smile. She turned away, hoping he wouldn’t see her blushing.
When they kept walking, she decided to force out the burning question. She had to know, and if she didn’t ask soon, she might never know. He’d take her back to her car, and she’d never see him again. She had to clear her throat— twice. “What did you mean back there?”
“About working there? It was a long time ago, when—”
“No, not that.” Now that she stood on the topic’s precipice, she wanted to wimp out. How did you bring up something potentially painful from the past without upsetting the other person? Then again, Carlos had talked about it almost like a joke. “I mean about— summer camp.”
“Oh, that.” He took a few more steps before answering, but he didn’t seem upset, only pensive. He ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, making it look adorably tousled.
“Did you really go to a fat camp?” she pressed.