Page 29

“He got my size wrong,” I explain. “Downside of him being spontaneous. I can't—hey!”

With a firm yank he pops the ring off me. It looks pathetic in his big palm. The edges are smooth, the only unique thing about it is my blood stain. Jordan's frown becomes a snarl; he crushes the ring, makes a fist, then throws it into the waves.

My eyes are so big they might fall from my head. “Now who's crazy?” I ask. “Dezmond is going to be pissed I lost the ring.”

“Worry about yourself first.”

“I am,” I argue. “My brand new fiancé will wonder why his ring is in a fish's stomach.”

“I'll tell him it fell off in the sand, that I helped you look for it, but it was useless.” He studies me again. “You shouldn't wear something that doesn't fit you.”

“Like I said, he never asked for my size, I didn't have a choice.”

“Not the damn ring, I'm talking about the expression on your face. The way you look right now. Don't you dare let me catch you looking like this again.”

Thunder rumbles inside my heart. “Like what?”

The sound of the parade is in the air; soon the crowd will crest the dunes with sparklers undulating like flags and flowers adorning their bodies. Wind tugs at Jordan's hair, making the salt and pepper stripes more obvious. The sun is just behind his ear—it burns hot, but next to his seething rage, it's a speck of frost. “Like you're ready to lie down and die.”

Jordan leaves me where I am. Watching him vanish over the dunes, beating the arrival of the floats, I swipe my palms over my sodden clothing.Oh shit. My phone.I dig it out of my pocket, realizing it's ruined before I even try to turn it on.

Water drips from the screen as I shake it.Mom must be going nuts wondering where I went.With the adrenaline gone from my body, I'm finally aware of how wet and cold I am.

Trembling on the beach, I make the slow climb up the sand. My legs are covered in damp grit all the way to my knees before I get to the pavement. From there I jog to my car, confirming that Mom's car is long gone.She'll wait for me at home.

Unlocking the shop, I head into the backroom. I keep a change of clothes there—this isn't the first time I got soaked from a rogue wave. It hurts me to take money from the register, but I need a new phone. There's a small store not far from here; I make a quick stop, purchasing the cheapest brick of a phone that I can. Money is always such a miserable cloud hanging over me. Whether I'm poor or loaded, it doesn't matter. It's never brought me any bliss.

With all that complete, I stand by one of the street's blockades, flower petals blowing against my shoes, and consider my options. Do I go home and face Mom? She'll want to know why the hell I'm getting married to Dezmond. She knows enough about him to know it's weird. I mean, beyond the fact that me getting marriedat allis out of character.

I don't want to see Dez if I can help it. I'm praying he's off celebrating his “engagement”with his buddies. Maybe he'll get his ass beat again tonight. That makes me smile.

My mind drifts to the beach again. I can't shake the memory of Jordan tearing off the ring and chucking it into the abyss. It was such a visceral reaction. I want to figure out what he's thinking. Because whatI'mstarting to think makes my pulse race.

Was he watching in the crowd when Dez proposed?He had to have seen, why else did he know where I went? He chased me to the water, retrieved me from the waves. His voice, soft as smoke and just as deadly, swirls in my brain.Don't you dare let me catch you looking like this again.

I breathe out sharply and walk downtown where the parade goers coalesced on their way to the beach bonfires. I don't plan to go anywhere near the party, but I'm drawn back to the sand that the water loves to stroke. Climbing over a blockade, I head towards the shoreline. I can see fireworks in the distance to my right—there's half a mile between me and the parade chaos. I can hear them, but I'll be left alone here.

I take off my shoes and socks and hook them around my neck on their laces, then roll my pants to my calves. The wet sand coats my toes everywhere I step. I love the sensation; it's very soothing. As I walk, I scan the ground.Let's see … ah!I don't have to search for long. Squatting down, I pick up the little greenish stone. It's smooth as glass thanks to years of pounding waves.

I've collected sea glass since I was small. It was like treasure to me; I pretended they were mermaid tears. Then as I got older, I recognized their worth and began using them in my crafts. With the help of my parents, I grew my talent in ceramics. Vases, plates, tiles … I made them all, and I decorated them with sea glass.

My mother was excited because she, too, loved art. Flowers were her pride. I enjoyed helping her, but this was my real passion, and my father was happy to encourage me by paying for a small kiln. He surprised me with on my thirteenth birthday, looking proud as hell as I jumped and squealed. He even built a small work shed in our backyard.

It was a good memory.

Now it just hurts.

“Hey, Lori! Is that you?”

I jump up, spinning, ready to throw one of my shiny glass rocks. The young Black woman standing there is wearing a stunning pink and purple dress. Gold glitter decorates her cheeks, all the way up and over the outside of her temples where a crown of roses weaves through her braids. Her pretty round eyes are made rounder by distress. I guess I look a bit crazy with my fist in the air. Her unease makes me unable to recognize her for a second.

Cadence Carver—one of my oldest and closest friends. Or she used to be. My hand shoots to my side self-consciously. “Cadence, hey! You surprised me.”

She glances at sea glass I'm still gripping. Her bemused smile creates deep dimples. “I can see that. I didn't mean to scare you. I saw you walking over here and thought I'd just … say hi. So, hi.”

“Hi,” I repeat nervously.

Cadence digs her painted toenails into the sand. Behind her I can see the smoke rising from the bonfires into the sky. They'll glow brighter when night comes, but we're still many hours away from that. Finally, she clears her throat. “How have you been?”