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I grin. “You could embroider that on a pillow.”

“Har-har. I just think it’s okay to be excited when something good and unexpected comes your way. Even if it is just a watch. Heck, even if it’s just a penny. It’s still, like… a good omen. Right?”

I want to make fun of him, and maybe in the past I would have. It sounds like something Ari’s abuela, who I’ve learned is very superstitious, would say. Good omens, the language of the universe, the power of intuition.

Except, I sort of have to believe in that stuff now, don’t I?

I wonder what the beachcomber thought when she dug up that earring. Does she believe it’s nothing more than a happy coincidence, or does she know, on some deeper level, that it was a reward, a cosmic thank-you for helping keep this beach clean?

I shake my head. “I usually won’t even bother to pick up a penny.”

“A lucky penny? Really?”

“It’s just a penny.”

He looks for a second like this is the saddest thing he’s ever heard. Like his disappointment in me cannot be properly expressed. But then his expression clears. “Probably for the best. Maybe the person who comes along after you really needed to find a lucky penny that day.”

“So a stray penny is a gift from the universe, but choosing to not pick it up is like… paying it forward?”

“Who are we to question the powers that be?”

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

Ever since my fall at Encanto, Iamthe powers that be. It’s a heady thought.

“Anyway.” Quint reaches for the bag at my side and withdraws a large stack of flyers. “I was just coming to get more of these.” He uses his fingers to fan through them, like thumbing through a flip book, then smacks the papers against his palm. I think he might be stalling, thinking of something else to say. “But let me know when you get hungry. Those gyros smelled amazing.”

TWENTY-FIVE

I watch Quint walk away, weirdly mesmerized by the way the sun glints off his hair. My insides flutter.

Noooooo, my mind howls at me. Why is this happening?Howis this happening?

I want to deny it. Oh, I desperately want to deny it.

But the evidence is right there in my traitorous little heart, which is still hiccuping from his presence.

Gosh darn it. I think I might be starting to like Quint Erickson.

I grimace. I am so annoyed with myself right now. To be crushing on lazy, irresponsible, goof-off Quint? It’s unfathomable!

Except… how much of that is true? I’ve seen him working at the center. He’s not lazy. He’s not irresponsible. He’s still relaxed and easygoing and fun. He’s still charming, friendly to everyone. He’s still quick to crack a joke.

But even if, by some bizarre twist of fate, it turns out that Quintissort of my type… there is no way that I could possibly be his.

Do you ever think you might be too hard to please?

My stomach curdles. I don’t think he was trying to be mean when he said that, but still, remembering the words makes me ache.

I’m startled from my thoughts by a commotion down the beach. I turn, squinting into the sun.

A log has washed up on the shore and some kids have abandoned theirboogie boards to gather around it. I hear a mom yelling—Don’t touch it!I frown. My feet carry me a few steps closer. A couple of adults are talking, pointing. Someone is cooing at the log, starry-eyed, like it’s… like it’s a…

An animal.

Like a helpless, frightened, friggin’ adorable animal that just washed ashore.

I start to run. I don’t know what I think I’m going to do, but Quint’s photographs are flashing through my memory like a reel of tragedy and trauma. In the weeks I’ve been working at the rescue center I’ve heard countless stories of how animals were found. Some of the stories seem implausible—like the time a seal clopped in through the back door of a local pub and was found hanging out in one of the booths the next morning—but most of the time, the animals wash up onto the beach, just like now. If they’re lucky, someone spots them and calls the rescue center. But sometimes people want to help. Sometimes they want to touch it.