The tide is lower at the beach tonight. The bases of the pillars are above water so you can see they're engorged with barnacles. Aiden takes my hand again where the long, stripped trunk of a tree arches, half-submerged in the sand, while everyone else is still distant.
"I don't feel like sharing you tonight," he says with a glance up the beach. "Let's hang out here, instead." He pulls me over to take a seat on the log. When I don't sit, he pats the space next to him.
I examine him. His normal intensity is warm tonight—his eyes pools I could dive into. His hair flutters in the breeze off the sea, tossing over his forehead, back and forth as he stares at me.
"What?" I ask him.
He shakes his head, smiles, leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at what must be the newly started bonfire in the distance, because I can make out thin, flickering slivers of orange and yellow reflected in his eyes.
