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A Date With Bridgette [work] 95%

She grinned—wide, genuine, a little crooked. “You’re weird. I like it.”

“Why?”

I held up the small cooler slung over my shoulder. “Strawberries. Sparkling water. And a copy of The Old Man and the Sea I found at a thrift store.” a date with bridgette

The water was cold. It always is. But her hand in mine, as we stood there shin-deep in the darkening Pacific, was warm enough to forget that. She grinned—wide, genuine, a little crooked

Bridgette hopped off with a surfer’s grace—barefoot, because of course she was. Her board shorts were faded teal, and she wore a loose gray sweatshirt that she’d cut the sleeves off of. Around her neck, a simple shell necklace she’d probably made herself. She wasn’t dressed up. She never was. And that was the point. “Strawberries

“Okay,” she said finally, taking the book from my hands and setting it in the sand. “Race you to the water. Fully clothed.”

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She grinned—wide, genuine, a little crooked. “You’re weird. I like it.”

“Why?”

I held up the small cooler slung over my shoulder. “Strawberries. Sparkling water. And a copy of The Old Man and the Sea I found at a thrift store.”

The water was cold. It always is. But her hand in mine, as we stood there shin-deep in the darkening Pacific, was warm enough to forget that.

Bridgette hopped off with a surfer’s grace—barefoot, because of course she was. Her board shorts were faded teal, and she wore a loose gray sweatshirt that she’d cut the sleeves off of. Around her neck, a simple shell necklace she’d probably made herself. She wasn’t dressed up. She never was. And that was the point.

“Okay,” she said finally, taking the book from my hands and setting it in the sand. “Race you to the water. Fully clothed.”