Someday The Waves ✔ *Wattys15 Winner*

Chapter Three

"I'm going to be in so much shit." I snapped, imagining Poppy's reaction if she were to see me crawling in the sand, scooping up her hours of hard work, shaking out the grains of sand and stuffing them back in aggressively.

Bending down to join me, he began to file them back into neat rows. We were now side by side, silently working together and as he brushed against my bare arms, I tried to steal a better look at his face, now that I wasn't seeing double or black disorientating dots.

What I noticed, with those spare stolen glances was his lightly sunkissed skin and cheeks, and a trail of fair stubble that framed his strong jawline. I noticed that his brows were darker than his hair and that his eyes were the colour of caramel. Across his left cheek I saw a faint scar, etched into his skin.

He was, rather unexpectedly handsome.

I could feel my cheeks flush and burn, which was a typical reaction to thoughts I knew I shouldn't have, or encourage.

Because beautiful boys were a distraction, I really did not need complicating my already tangled thoughts.

When we had loaded the last of the cards into the now sandy box, he stood up and pointed towards the fallen, pink bicycle.

"It looks like you have a punctured tire," he announced, not making eye contact. "the back ones completely flat."

Another wave of humiliation washed over me. "It's not mine." I bleated out, quick to dismiss any ownership, of the garishly bright and childlike heap of metal.

Laughing a little, he pulled it back up right and wheeled it over. "Whose is it then?" he enquired, with a shy smile escaping his lips. I hadn't fooled him clearly.

"Well it is... mine but not through choice." I confessed with stumbled words, concerned that any shred of dignity I had, would now be well and truly lost.

"You're from Pesmo." he said, staring down at the wheel guards, running a finger cross them.

"How do you know that?"

Carefully placing the battered box back into the basket, he turned the bicycle around and nodded towards a large, worn away sticker. "Because of this."

In swirly, neon text Pesmo Beach and a crude illustration of the pier and cartoon dolphins stared back at me.

Wanting to rip every single, goddamn sticker off and abandon the bicycle in the ocean, I took the handlebars and shied away from him.

"I'm from Pesmo too actually." I heard him muse. "I recently moved there."

His reveal, sparked intrigue, leading my mind to sort quickly through all the faces I'd come across in the small, close-knit town because surely I would have remembered him, especially with a face like that.

But I came up empty and at a loss as to how to best reply. Did I need to ask why he had moved, ask him where and which street? Was it too soon to unload my reasons for being there?

A question intercepted the dilemma. "Do you like it there?"

"It's okay." I replied quietly.

His eyes grew wide, along with his smile. "Don't lie, we both know it's pretty lame."

"Yeah, it is."

"Hillside is better, most of the other towns generally are in comparison." he joked lightheartedly, again stroking his jaw that my eyes had remained fixated on.

Another wave of panic struck me, as I remembered why I was stood there, making small talk with a stranger and with the broken bicycle.

"I really need to get to Hillside." I groaned, running my thumb along the line of cards.