51. Birdie

Confession: My hero writes romance.

Introducing Cohen to my grandparents couldn't have gone better. They adored him—Grandma even pulled me aside after to tell me to bring him by the house sometime. They'd never asked that of Dax, opting to meet at the restaurant instead, and we'd been together for two years.

To celebrate, Cohen and I decided to grab dessert from Seaton Bakery before going to Seaton Pier. Most people from Emerson preferred Brentwood's beaches, so the risk of being seen was pretty low.

He held my hand on the way to the bakery and told me about some of the music that came through the speakers as we drove. Most of the musicians on his playlist had played at his bar one night or another.

"I can introduce you to the bands when they come," he said. "They usually have awesome stories."

The hope in his voice hurt. "When we can be together in public."

He gave me a look. "Academy parents don't go to bars like mine."

I tried to imagine any of the parents I worked with at Collie's, either on the dance floor or drinking a five-dollar draft while eating peanuts. I couldn't. "Good point," I said.

He turned another corner and pulled into the parking lot. "And besides, I don't think we'll have to keep doing this in secret for long."

"Really?" I asked. "Why do you think that?"

Taking both of my hands in his, he looked me in the eyes. "I'm taking the issue to the school board and changing the rule. It's archaic. And frankly, a pain in the ass."

I giggled. "It is. And I saw your speech."

He tilted his head, confused.

"You left it on your bedside table."

"Well then... any notes?"

"It was perfect."

He leaned across the console and gave me a gentle kiss before unbuckling and getting out. Walking into Seaton Bakery this time already felt like home. Gayle greeted us with a smile, and despite the Saturday morning rush, Chris came out to personally say hello.

With our orders in, Cohen and I sat at a small table by the window. I watched people around us eating and enjoying each other.

"You're very observant," Cohen said.

"Says the person observing me," I teased.

"Fair."

I shook my head, smiling at him. "When I was growing up, I was only allowed to be around one kind of people. I was friends with the kids of my parents' friends, and my parents were friends with people who could get them further in life."

"I know the type," Cohen muttered, looking at his clasped hands on the table.

My eyes traced his fingers. There wasn't a hint of his ring anymore—no indentation or tan line. Just a tattoo of an ocean wave on his middle finger. "When did you get that?" I asked.

He glanced down to see what I was referencing, almost as if he had forgotten it. "Seventeen. My mom chased me out of the house with a frying pan, and I decided it was probably time for me to leave."

My heart broke. Cohen didn't open up much about his past, but every time he did, I found myself wanting to hug the sweet man in front of me and the hardened teen he must have been.

"You're sad."

I shook my head. "Only sorry."

"Sometimes it feels like all of that happened to an entirely different person."

"I feel the same way about myself in high school. If I saw myself back then, I wouldn't recognize her."

"Maybe that's a good thing. A snake doesn't look at the skin it shed and see a snake."

Gayle brought coffee and cupcakes to the table and gave Cohen a kiss on the head before walking away.

I smiled between the two of them. "So how did seventeen-year-old Cohen spend his time? You know, other than getting tattoos."

He chuckled. "I spent a lot of time at the beach. Knew a guy who ran the surf shop and he always let me borrow boards on slow days."

"Really?" I hardly pictured Cohen as a surfer boy, but I liked the idea.

"Oh yeah. And sometimes a guy at the pier would fish with me, and we'd take them back to his house. If I cleaned them up, I ate like a king with him and his wife."

I smiled. "I'd love to see it through your eyes."

His smile alone lit the room. "Are you sure? Sometimes Emerson people go to the pier."

"We're friends, right?" I teased.

"Friends," he said, reaching for my hand and running his thumb over my knuckles. "And more."

I reveled in the sensation of this closeness with him, then when I realized I looked as googly eyed as some of my students, I pulled my hand back and took a sip of my latte.

We nibbled at the sweet cupcakes and drank our coffee, then Cohen took me outside with the promise to see Seaton Pier through his eyes.

It wasn't a far drive, maybe ten minutes from the bakery, and we had parked. The beach wasn't as pretty here as it was farther down the coast, and the air had the distinct smell of rotting fish. But the people here seemed happy. Kids chased each other over the battered wooden planks, and a long pier extended over the ocean with fishing poles silhouetted against the bright sky like multiple antennae.

"This is it," Cohen said, shutting off his car.

I smiled. "I already like it."

"Wait until you meet Carl."

"Carl?"

"He runs the corn dog stand and he's been here for as long as I can remember, but no one knows how old he is. He never ages."

I laughed. "So this is what Seaton urban legends look like."

"Something like that." He got out and came to my side of the car, taking my hand in his for a few seconds. My heart fell the second his fingers slipped from mine, but I reminded myself why we couldn't hold hands in public.

The closer we got to the boardwalk, the more I could hear the sounds of the people around me. It blended with the crash of waves, and I felt pleasantly at ease. Maybe it was the ocean, but more likely it was the strong and steady man next to me.

He pointed ahead of us, and I followed his finger to an unassuming dingy white cart with a man in equally dingy white clothing behind it.

"That's Carl?" I asked.

He nodded. "And he serves the best corn dogs you'll ever eat."

"I mean, Mara's made me microwave corndogs before, so the bar's set pretty high."

He chuckled. "You talk about Mara like she's your hero."

"She kind of is," I admitted with a small laugh. "I think you'd like her."

"I'd love to meet her one of these days. Maybe you could meet some of my friends too."

It wasn't a big deal, meeting someone's friends, not really, but it felt big to me. Like our lives were becoming even more intertwined, and he wanted it that way.

As we approached the cart, Cohen lifted his hand in a wave. "Hi, Carl."

"Cohen! How you doin', pal?"

"Good." He gestured at me. "Carl, this is my friend Birdie."

Carl grinned a happy smile missing a few teeth. "Let me get you two a dog, on the cart."

"You don't need to do that," Cohen said.

"I don't need to do anything." He reached into the cart and pulled out two corn dogs wrapped in thin paper. "I want to."

"Thank you," Cohen said, shaking his head and taking the food from Carl, then handing one to me.

We both thanked him and took our corn dogs, walking toward the pier.

"What are you thinking?" Cohen asked.

"I'm trying to picture a seventeen-year-old you out here."

He chuckled. "I can scowl for you if it would help."

I shook my head. "You're funny, Cohen Bardot."

"And you're beautiful, Birdie Melrose."

I smiled and nibbled at the corn dog. "Oh my gosh," I moaned. "Okay, I'm going to tell Mara this kicked her corn dog's ass."

"Told you," Cohen said, chuckling.

He approached an open space on the railing between two fishermen and leaned against the rail overlooking the ocean. I followed his gaze, admiring the space where the sky met the sea. "I can't believe I've never been here before."

He smiled over at me, the wind ruffling his hair. "I'm just glad you're here now."

Maybe it was the rush or the ocean waves, or maybe it was the way he smiled at me, but I felt brave, bold, and completely in love.

I closed the distance between us and pressed my lips to his.

He curled his arms around me, holding me close and kissing me like it was the first and last time.

And then I heard a stunned voice say, "Dad? Ms. Melrose?"