She raised an eyebrow. “You brought me Hemingway on a date?”
“Why?”
I held up the small cooler slung over my shoulder. “Strawberries. Sparkling water. And a copy of The Old Man and the Sea I found at a thrift store.”
“Okay,” she said, scanning the horizon with those pale blue eyes that always seemed to be reading the wind. “We’ve got about forty-five minutes before the best light is gone. What’s the move?”
She laughed softly. “I was scared to come out tonight.”
I eased up, letting the bike coast to a stop near the end of the pier, where the tourists thinned out and the fishermen were packing up their rods for the day. The sun was that impossible shade of gold that only happens in late spring, when the marine layer hasn’t yet decided whether to roll in or retreat. Today, it was retreating.
“Those are the only kinds of things worth telling.”