We find a space across the highway from the restaurant, along the side of the road on PCH, the water to our right. I ask him if he wants to grab anything at the shack, but he says no, so we get out of the car and make our way down the rocks onto the sand below. I adjust my glasses against the sun.

I didn’t have a plan when I picked him up. I thought it would be a quick trip to the movies even if my heart pounded some at the sight of his dark curls and skin when he got in my passenger seat, but I didn’t want it to end when the movie was over. He didn’t seem to care one way or the other. It wasn’t even noon when we left the cool theater and stepped into the summer heat.

We sit on the sand, take our shoes off, and watch as sunbathers goop lotion onto their skin, people running along the tide, some families setting themselves up for a few hours in the sun. I look over at his hand and remember feeling it in the theater, the calluses on his palms when our hands finally met. I look back over the water and wonder how long we’re going to sit here.

I didn’t know anymore if it was a good idea to prolong this as we got on the freeway, or if I was trying to make this last just because I didn’t want to go home yet. We didn’t have much to say during the trailers, and even less during the movie itself, but pretended it was because the story was so good and we didn’t want to be rude to the couple of other people in the theater, though they whispered to each other just fine.

Later, when we’re back on the highway, the greenery and dry brush blurring by, we stop at a light, he leans over to kiss me, and it tastes metallic, and even though he reaches his hand out to me again, I know we won’t see each other again.