“True.” He nods. “But maybe you should like your job first and think of the money it gives you as an added benefit—makes having a job less like an obligation.”
“Easier said than done!” I scoff and then cover it up with a laugh. “I don’t see how anyone can like flipping burgers or dealing with rude customers on a daily basis or mopping up puke at a bar—so much easier said than done.”
Just when I think he’s got some real flaws after all, he says, “Oh, trust me, I know. You’re absolutely right.”
“I’m confused,” I say out loud when really I hadn’t meant to.
Luke reaches down and picks up a handful of sand and lets it fall slowly through his fingers. Once the last of it falls into a tiny mound between his feet, he smiles over at me.
“It’s hard to explain,” he says. “And we don’t have much time left together. I think I’d rather use what’s left of it to know more about you. What do you enjoy? And I’m not talking about what your favorite television shows are, but what do you really love to do?”
Although I do want to know his philosophy on work and listen to him explain himself out of that one, I don’t press the issue. Instead his question about what I love doing excites me.
“Photography,” I tell him right away. “I love finding the best angles, the most emotional shots, capturing moments with my lens that tell a thousand stories.” I pause, lost in the imagery. “I got my first camera as a birthday present when I turned ten. Been doing it ever since.”
“Then why aren’t you doing that instead of”—he waves his fingers dismissively—“whatever that is you do that almost makes you cry?”
My smile fades and I pick up a handful of sand, letting it fall into a little mound in front of my crossed legs.
“I was going to,” I say, “but there’s not much money in freelance photography—at least, it’s not guaranteed, anyway.”
“It’s guaranteed for those who kick ass at it, I bet.”
“Maybe so,” I say with the gentle shrug of my shoulders, “but when you have bills to pay, you tend to do what you have to rather than take unnecessary risks.”
Luke nods but doesn’t say anything.
He dusts the palms of his hands together and then gazes out at the ocean. For a long moment neither of us speaks—I’m thinking about how much I’d like to stay and how in just a few minutes I need to be leaving. I wish I knew what Luke was thinking, staring so intensely into the ether. With a gaze like that, there’s always something important going on behind it. Something profound. I feel so drawn to him, so fascinated by him. His way of looking at the world, how everything he says intrigues me and just makes me want to know more about him. He seems so free-spirited, so positive, so alive. Our conversations, although few, mean something, even the little things—most guys who have ever tried to get to know me have been either too shy and nervous to open up, or too focused on trying to impress me to have any kind of intelligent conversation. Luke is gorgeous and confident and intelligent and everything every other guy I’ve ever met, isn’t. And I’ve never had so much fun! Just in the short time I’ve spent with him on this beach, I can’t help but wonder what other exciting emotions I’ve got locked away inside of me that he could easily draw out.
Snapping out of my thoughts, I stand up and fish my shorts from my bag. But the thought of leaving begins to weigh heavier on my heart the closer it comes time to go; a pang of disappointment settles in my chest, and I find myself struggling to do the simplest of things: stepping into my shorts, buttoning them closed, finding the right words to say good-bye—there are no right words, I quickly realize.
Luke is still staring out at the water.
After shuffling my feet into my flip-flops, I reach down and take up my bag, shouldering the lighter weight of it without my towel inside.
Luke is still staring out at the water.