Page 25 of Sea La Vie (The Outer Banks #1)

“ Y ou came,” I say, grinning.

Emma smiles, “Of course I came. Where are you taking me today, Beau?”

I point east. “Do you see that lighthouse?”

Emma shields her eyes with a dainty, delicate hand, and looks where I’m pointing. “Yes.”

“That’s where we’re going.” I hoist the picnic basket up on my shoulder then swing one leg over my bike.

“I don’t have a bike,” Emma frowns.

“I didn’t figure you did,” I say. “But that’s okay. You can ride on my handlebars.”

Emma smiles mischievously. “I’ve never ridden on someone's handlebars before.”

“Well, now you can say you have,” I grin. “Hop on.” I hold her hand as she climbs onto the front wheel, then sits.

“Can you still see?” she asks.

“Yep,” I tell her. “Just hold on tight.” I kick off the ground and start pedaling. Emma’s laughter fills the air, and the wind blows her copper strands back from her face.

“This is amazing!” she says. She tilts her face up to the sky, basking in the sunshine, and lets out a squeal. It takes all my effort to focus on the road and not her. She’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen, her beauty unmatched.

We arrive at the lighthouse moments later and Emma hops off.

Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes sparkle, a new energy about her.

“Follow me,” I say, tucking the picnic basket under my arm.

I glance around quickly before jiggling the doorknob a few times while kicking in the bottom left corner of the door.

“Are we allowed up here?” she asks. The door flies open on its rusty hinges and sunlight filters in through the window a few hundred feet up.

“Technically…no,” I say sheepishly. “But all the kids come up here and I’m sure the city knows we do. If they wanted us to stay out, they’d secure it up a little tighter.” I glance at her, searching for any signs of hesitation. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“No way,” she says. “Take me to the top.” I smile. I knew I liked this girl.

We climb all the way to the top, and Emma immediately runs to the edge to peer over.

“Be careful,” I laugh. “She’s sturdy but she’s old.

” I follow behind her and rest my arms along the railing.

“Do you see that out there?” I point to a sandbar to our right.

“That’s only visible when the tides come out.

If you go there by boat, you can sometimes find sea glass. ”

“Can you take me there, too?” she asks, turning toward me.

“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go,” I tell her.

She smiles, pleased with my answer then nods at the picnic basket. “Is that for us?”

I open the basket and spread a blanket onto the grated deck of the lighthouse. She sits, tucking her knees under her, and I pull out two sandwiches. “Ham or turkey?”

“Turkey, please.” She unwraps the sandwich and takes a bite, leaving a small dollop of mayo above her lip. “Did you make this?”

“I wish I could say yes,” I say. “But I picked these up at the deli earlier.” I reach behind me and pull out two cups and a bottle of wine. Emma eyes the wine hesitantly.

“I’ve never had wine before,” she admits.

“Would you rather have water?” I ask, not bothering to tell her I haven’t had it, either. When I was searching for the picnic basket, I came across this bottle and snagged it, thinking a glass of wine at the top of a lighthouse at sunset was the epitome of romance.

“No,” she says, boldly. “I’m fine with wine.”

I grin and pour her a glass then offer it to her. She takes a tentative sip, then smiles. “It’s good. Thank you, Beau, for all of this. I have a feeling this is going to be a good summer.”

“Me too,” I say, pouring myself a glass. A seagull flies nearby, crying into the sunset.

“I’ve never done anything like this,” she says. “I feel so…reckless.” She covers her mouth with a hand and lets out a mischievous giggle.

“What’s life like in Charleston?” I ask her.

She takes another sip of wine. “Stuffy.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Stuffy?”

“We’re always at an event or some kind of party, and I always have to be on my best behavior. I can’t remember the last time I had true fun. Until now.” She grins at me and I reach a finger out to wipe off the lingering mayo, emboldened by her statement. Her cheeks flush in response.

“Life is the furthest thing from stuffy here,” I say. “But I wouldn’t mind getting out, exploring a little.”

“Have you always wanted to be a fisherman?” she asks.

I finish the last bite of my sandwich and ball up the paper it was wrapped in. “I’d love to build boats.”

“Well, why don’t you do that?” she asks.

“I don’t really think that’s an option,” I tell her. “I live with my dad and fishing is all we really know. We don’t have much, but we have a boat, so that’s what I’ve always assumed I’d do.”

She stares out at the horizon for a moment before turning to me.

“What’s it like?” she asks. “To live like this? All my life, I’ve had someone telling me what to do, when to do it, and how to do it.

I’ve never got to make a decision for myself.

I didn’t even get to choose nursing to study this fall, and my parents already have a suitor set up for me for when I return home. ”

My heart sinks. “A suitor?”

“John Aiken. The son of my dad’s colleague,” she explains. “His family is quite wealthy, and while he's truly a great guy, I don’t want to marry him. I want to live a little for heaven’s sake.”

“I don’t want you to marry him, either,” I blurt. My face heats in embarrassment, and Emma grins mischievously.

“I like you,” she says. “You’re so fun and different from what I’m used to. You’re refreshing.” She winks and takes another sip of her wine. “I’m sorry if I’m being too forward. I think this may have to be my last taste.”

I gulp, the effects of the wine making me a little bolder too. “Come here,” I tell her, scrambling to my feet. I offer her my hand and help her up.

“What are we doing now?” she asks.

“Dancing,” I tell her.

“We don’t have any music,” she giggles.

“You don’t need music here,” I tell her. “Can you hear the waves crashing against the shore and the seagulls crying?”

Emma pauses then nods.

“How about the bullfrogs and crickets?”

She smiles and pulls me closer to her. “Yes.”

“There’s our music,” I say. “The symphony of summer.”

She rests her head on my shoulder. “I never want it to end,” she whispers. “This dance, this song…this summer.”

We sway gently until the sun finally dips below the water. “When do I need to take you home?” I ask.

She squeezes her eyes shut. “Never?”

I laugh. “As much as I would love to stay out here with you all night, I need to take you home so your parents don’t keep you from me all summer.”

Emma pouts. “I guess you’re right.” She gathers the blanket, and I pick up the picnic basket. I offer my hand as we begin to walk back down the stairs. Emma slips her hand into mine and everything inside me feels statically charged; I wonder if she can feel it too.

When we finally make it to the bottom, I help her back onto my handlebars then pedal through the dark back to town.

“There you are, Emaline,” a man’s voice says from behind us.

“We’ve been looking for you since dinner,” another voice, a woman, says. Emma scrambles off the handlebars and I flip my kickstand down.

“Daddy, Momma,” Emma starts. “This is my friend, Beau.”

“How do you do?” I ask, offering my hand. Her dad stares at it for a beat before shaking it. He assesses me behind his round, wire frame glasses.

“Pleased to meet you, Beau,” her dad says. “Did I see you docking a boat out there earlier?” He lets go of my hand, then wipes it along his suit pants. I’m instantly mortified but somehow find my words.

“Yes sir. I’m planning on taking over my dad’s fishing business one day soon.”

“Hmm,” he says. “I must get Emaline and her mother home now that we’ve found her safely.” He turns to Emma. “Please don’t stay out past dark like this anymore.”

“Yes, sir,” she says. “I’m sorry.” Her dad takes his wife’s arm and they begin walking down the sidewalk. Emma runs over and whispers in my ear quickly, her breath hot against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She shoots me a wink, then walks quickly to catch up with her parents. When she turns to look over her shoulder for one last glimpse, I blow her a kiss in a moment of confidence.