Page 49 of Set to Love

“Thanks,” I say, my throat suddenly so dry, the word barely makes it out.

Inside, my pulse has gone into full-on Riverdance mode. This is the first time a guy has ever stopped just to call me beautiful. The feeling melts straight through me like a rich, dark chocolate truffle.

“Um . . .” I gesture toward his feet where his phone is lying on the sidewalk. “You might want to get that.”

“My mobile?” He blinks a few times. “Er, right.” He bends down to retrieve it, wiping the screen sheepishly on his new shorts before slipping it into his pocket.

“I’m just going to toss this into the car,” I say, holding up the shopping bag. “Anything you want to put in there, too?”

“Yes, if it’s not too much trouble.”

After a quick trip back to the 4Runner to ditch our old clothes, we toss our new beach towels into one of my empty reusable grocery bags. Max insists on carrying it, slinging the Organic Kale tote over his shoulder like it’s a designer accessory.

We bypass the main tourist swell by the pier, heading south for a quieter stretch of beach. The sand is warm and soft, like walking through a bowl of powdered sugar. A salty breeze tugs at the loose strands of hair escaping my ponytail.

“So,” I say, shielding my eyes from the midday sun as we approach the sparkling water. “Time for the ice-cube test. Let’s see how it is.”

“Wait.” Max catches my arm, stopping me just short of the water’s edge. His fingers are warm against my bare skin, sliding down slightly to rest right over the pulse point at my wrist. A sudden, electric jolt shoots straight down my spine, and judging by the hitch in his grip, he feels it too.

“I’d better go first,” he says, his voice a little lower than before as he finally lets go. “Can’t have you going into shock on my watch.” He gives me a playful wink before slipping off his socks and sandals and wading into the foam. He stands there for a beat, letting the retreating tide sink his heels into the sand.

“Well? How is it?” I ask.

“Perfect. Come on.”

I take a breath and step into the surf, bracing myself. It’s a little cold for my liking—I prefer my water closer to scalding—but on a hot day like this, the cool swirl feels refreshing.

I take a few more steps, but the shifting sand gives way and I feel a sharp pressure in my heel. “Ow,” I mutter, wincing as I stop walking.

“Are you okay?” Max asks, turning back toward me mid-stride.

“Fine. Just stepped on a shell.” I lean over, pluck the jagged piece from under my heel, and toss it back into the surf.

He winces. “That looked painful.”

“It wasn’t too bad. Just what I get for walking barefoot on the beach.” I scan the shallows again, watching the next wave roll back and uncover another scattering of shells, pebbles, and bits of sea glass. Then I spot what I’m looking for.

I walk over and place a small dark shell in his palm. “Here. A souvenir from your first Florida beach walk.”

He holds it up to the light, turning it over in his hands.

“It’s a shark’s tooth,” I say, feeling slightly proud of myself. “I can text my dad and ask him what kind if you want. He’s an expert.”

“That’d be brilliant,” Max says without any hesitation. “I can’t believe you just found it. Right there on the shore.”

“They’re all over the place if you know how to look.” I gesture down the shoreline where the tide is pulling back. “Give it a half hour or so and we could probably find enough to string together a bracelet. Or at least a very intimidating keychain.”

Max’s eyes gleam with a competitive spark. “All right, Keller. Show me how this works.”

I give him the quick rundown—how to spot the triangular silhouette, the polished black sheen, and the serrated edges that set them apart from the standard ocean debris. We wander down the shoreline with our heads down, scanning the wet sand as each wave retreats.

Max is surprisingly dedicated to the cause, though he keeps holding out black pebbles and bits of fossilized wood accompanied by a hopeful, “Is this one?”

It breaks my heart a little every time I have to tell him no.

As we make our way farther down the beach, the flat sand gives way to a rocky, uneven stretch, and my ankle begins to ache. It’s been behaving itself lately, but a week of long shifts at Lina’s hasn’t done it any favors. I try to ignore the dull throb until my foot sinks into a hidden dip, forcing me into a jarring step forward.

“Everything all right?” Max asks, pausing a few paces ahead of me and turning back with a look of concern.