Page 55 of Moonlighter

“Duh.”

Alex looks dubious. “Trespassing is cute when you’re eleven. I don’t know if it’s a good look on me now.”

“We’re not going to break into the actual mansion, Allie. We’re just going to walk on their sand.”

“There could be guards. Or a big, slobbery dog.”

“Slobbery dogs aren’t so bad.” Maybe it’s all this talk of our youth, but my inner thirteen-year-old leans over and licks the side of Alex’s face.

She shrieks and pushes me away.

Ouch, my ears. “Climb the rocks, wild one. Here, I’ll start.” I find a toe hold and lift myself up to peer over the wall. “This mansion is dark. Nobody will notice if we run across.”

“Can’t we just go around?” she asks. “The tide is out.”

“You would say that. You’re not the one wearing long pants.” I jump back down, taking care with my knee. But I follow Alex to the water’s edge, anyway. She’s right—the water is only a foot deep in between waves. She hikes her skirt up a little and wades around the rocks.

I roll up my khakis as best I can, then wade in. A wave soaks my shins immediately. “Shit.”

“Thirteen-year-old Eric wouldn’t care about some wet cuffs,” Alex scoffs. “And since you threw me into the pool earlier, I don’t see how you can complain.”

She’s right, damn it. We wade onto the shore on the other side of the wall. By silent, mutual agreement, we don’t speak as we trespass across somebody’s private stretch of sand. The waves break with a soft rhythm, sending foamy water across our toes.

Alex is on the ocean side, so the next wave hits her first, and she checks her balance for a wobbly second. I grab her hand, even though there’s no danger. When a dog barks in the distance, our eyes meet. “I think he sounds extra slobbery, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” she retorts. Still, she picks up the pace.

I chuckle, wet but giddy. It’s been years since we snuck around on the beach, trespassing without a second thought. Back then, Alex hadn’t cared what anyone else thought. In fact, the first time we ditched the tennis instructor to dig up clams and sell them for ice cream money, I was the worrier. “Are we going to get in trouble?”

“No way,” she’d said. “The nanny isn’t paying attention, and the tennis pro already got paid. As long as I turn up for dinner in a clean shirt, no one will ask any questions.”

Nobody is paying attention now, either. We reach the barrier on the far side of the private beach without incident, and this time it’s a low wall of flat stones. “It’s like they’re not even trying to keep us out,” Alex says.

“Right?” We climb over then hop down onto the sand at the same moment. Our hotel is now in view. “Should we get a drink at the outdoor bar?”

“Yes!” she says. “Unless…”

She doesn’t have to finish—I know that she’s worried about running into Jared. “Let me ask Gunnar where he is.”

I have an answer thirty seconds later. “Jared is at a cabaret show in Honolulu. We’re free to go to the bar.”

“Sweet! I wonder if they’ll make me a virgin strawberry margarita.”

“But that’s just…a cup of strawberries and some lime juice?”

“Don’t judge. Look, there’s two open barstools. Oh, heck.” Alex takes off like a shot because another couple is heading for the bar from the opposite direction.

Lord, never get between this woman and a fruity drink. She gets there faster than Usain Bolt, and I jog up a few seconds later.

“Hang on, are you limping?” she asks, patting the stool beside her.

“No,” I lie. “My knee is a little tender, but it’s nothing.”

“Eric.” Her face falls. “Is this my fault?”

“What?” I sit down. “Why would you even think that?”

“Because of…” She looks over both shoulders to make sure nobody is listening. “The door.”