I reach for the plate of brownies, then hold it out the window as explanation. “I brought you these—as a thank-you—or sorry, I . . .” I glance at the dent in his bumper and feel silly and embarrassed, and it makes me talk fast, all in one string of words. “You were so nice to take me to the hospital after I hit your bus, and I feel so bad you won’t let me pay for it, and I know I acted strange yesterday; well, I acted strange the first day you met me too, and I—I’m sorry.”
I push the plate farther out the window, like the motion can make up for the stumbling mess I feel like I am. I am rusty at this—talking to people in general. But the way he just stands there with that smile, listening to every word, makes it ten times harder.
Colton blinks once, twice, then breaks into a wide grin and reaches for the plate. “Don’t be sorry. Especially not for bringing these. Brownies are my favorite.”
I have to stop myself from saying I know.
“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “You make ’em?” He leans his surfboard on the car, takes the plate from my hands, and pulls the plastic wrap back and picks out a brownie. Takes a bite. He chews slowly, like he’s doing a taste test or something, and for half a second I worry that I may have messed up the recipe while we were cooking because I was thinking about him instead of focusing on the flour and cocoa powder.
Finally, he swallows. “Wow,” he says, eyebrows raised. “That . . . is hands down the best brownie I’ve ever tasted in my whole entire life. Ever.”
I feel my cheeks flush.
“I’m serious.” He wipes the smile off his face to prove his point. “I’ve eaten my fair share.”
His face is so serious, it makes me laugh. “Thank you. I . . . I’m glad you like them.”
“I’m glad you came back.” He smiles. “And like is an understatement.” He polishes off the second half of his brownie. “What other secret talents do you have, and what are you doing today besides delivering the world’s best thank-you apology?”
I laugh again, glance down at my lap. “I don’t know. I was thinking of heading to the beach since I never made it there the other day.”
“It’s gonna get pretty crowded down there.” Colton glances over his shoulder at the dark kayak shop. “I could show you a great little beach . . . kind of off the beaten path. Kind of a locals’ spot.”
“Um.” I clear my throat. Entertain the idea for a moment. “No, that’s okay. I don’t want to take up any more of your time. I’m sure you have to . . .” I look at the shop now. “I just wanted to say thank you, and I’m sorry again about your bus.” I fumble for my keys, and they fall down the crack between my seat and the center console. Of course.
“It’s not a big deal,” Colton says. “I don’t have any other plans or anything. Let me just go change, and we can—”
“I shouldn’t. I have to be home at a certain time, and I don’t wanna end up somewhere far without my car and have to have you drive me back or anything like that.”
He shrugs. “You can just follow me—you know, not too close because of that tendency of yours to hit the gas pretty hard. That way you’ll have your car, and you can go whenever you need to.” He says it so simply, like it really is no big deal, then looks at me, waiting for an answer. “It’s just a day. And I need someone to share these brownies with, or I’ll eat them all in one sitting. So really, you’d be doing me a favor.”
He smiles, and the sunlight catches the green of his eyes, and that makes the choice for me.
“Okay. Just a day.”
“Good.” He grins. “Perfect.” He grabs his board. “I’ll just . . . I’m gonna go change then. I’ll be right back.” He rests a tan hand on my door, leans down, and hands me back the plate of brownies. “Here. Can you hold these?”
I take them from him, and he turns and jogs across the street to the kayak shop. Before he disappears inside, he looks back over his shoulder. “Don’t leave,” he calls. It makes me nervous and happy at the same time as I search for my dropped keys.
I couldn’t leave now, even if I wanted to.
CHAPTER TEN
Each heartbeat begins with a single electrical impulse, or “spark.” The distinctive sound we hear through a stethoscope, or when we place our head on a loved one’s chest, is the sound of the heart valves opening and closing in perfect synchronicity with each other. It is a two-part rhythm—a delicate dance of systole and diastole, which propels the heart’s electrically charged particles through its chambers roughly every second of the day, every day of our lives.
I PULL UP alongside the curb behind Colton, and before I can put my car in park, he’s out of his and heading in my direction. I turn off the ignition and step out into the salty air, where the low sound of water crashing over rocks drifts up from below the bluff we’re on.
“It’s a perfect day,” Colton says, looking out over the water. “Wanna check it out?”
“Sure,” I say. I don’t really know what we’re checking out, but I’m more than happy to find out. We walk across a grassy area where a solitary old man sits on a bench reading his paper while his little dog sniffs around the ground beneath him, and when we come to the thick rope at the edge of the bluff, I get a real look at the water and rocks below.