question. “Do you think you’ll ever stop?”
“I don’t know.”
I couldn’t keep the concern off my face. Tor stroked my cheek, sending little fireworks down my back. I wanted him to kiss me. Really, really wanted him to kiss me.
He gazed at me oddly, a glint in his eye, dimples forming around a grin. He leaned in slowly. I stopped breathing. This was it—my first kiss. He gently rubbed his lips against mine, and little tingles swam down my arms and chest and throughout my body.
His lips were soft and full with a delicious hint of saltiness. If this was how Tor wanted to keep track of me, I didn’t mind.
“Enough serious talk,” he said quietly, pulling away. “Let’s go eat before Uncle Dex sics the sharks on us.”
I nodded, numbly. Food was the furthest thing from my mind.
CHAPTER TEN
School ended with more of a whimper than a bang. The next day I’d started picking strawberries at Becca’s farm. It was exhausting work, but I got to meet up with Tor at the beach afterward on the days I didn’t go into Saint John for swim club. Usually we grabbed a fruit smoothie and sat on the dock—me with my feet dangling in the water, Tor with his legs crossed safely on deck. Just sitting next to him was energizing.
When the strawberries were finished I spent most of my working hours helping Becca at her fruit stand on the boardwalk, which absolutely came alive during the summer. A myriad of kiosks sprung up from the barren winter beach—souvenir stands with miniature sailboats, dried out sea stars, sunglasses and beach knick-knacks; snack shacks with popcorn, hotdogs, soda pop and every kind of beach treat, along with a wide selection of seafood.
The town strung lights along the boardwalk in the summers so that business could continue after dark. Live music, usually Celtic or folk bands, played regularly on the makeshift stage that was built near the pier every summer.
Tor manned one of the seafood kiosks. I’d wondered how he and his uncle made their money and smiled at the thought of them harvesting mussels, crab and lobster in their private cove. Probably with a very personal touch.
Having Tor at the boardwalk made me happy since I could see him at least once in a while throughout the day. Even though we were spending a lot of after-hours time together, I never got tired of him.
July 1 st, Canada Day, traditionally meant a big sand sculpture contest on the beach. I was good at athletics and pretty strong in academics, but I couldn’t draw or do anything artsy to save my life. Because of this I’d never entered, but I always watched and cheered on my more creative friends.
The beach was marked out into sections. Each section had a little red flag staked into the ground with a number. This was where the artist created his or her masterpiece, which was judged by prominent locals including the mayor and the police chief.
Becca and Samara always entered and one year they came in third, which had made them deliriously happy.
The good weather and the national holiday had the tourists out in full force–mostly from Maine and New England, the Eastern Provinces of Canada and a sprinkling from Europe and Asia. I loved this part of summer, when people were dressed in every variety of tacky, and spoke with interesting accents or in languages I didn’t understand at all.
I saw Colby take position, along with Tiffany as his partner. They’d been hanging out a lot since Tor and I had gotten together. I wasn’t sure if they actually liked each other, or if they were just offering each other moral support. Colby’s normal reaction to me these days was a squint and a snarl. And even though I tried to keep things friendly, let’s just say our backseat rides to Saint John were less than comfortable.
Tor signed up to compete.
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” I said. “Is there anything you aren’t good at?”
“Mountain hiking. I need to stay at sea level.”
“Good to know.” Not like
“I don’t know.”
I couldn’t keep the concern off my face. Tor stroked my cheek, sending little fireworks down my back. I wanted him to kiss me. Really, really wanted him to kiss me.
He gazed at me oddly, a glint in his eye, dimples forming around a grin. He leaned in slowly. I stopped breathing. This was it—my first kiss. He gently rubbed his lips against mine, and little tingles swam down my arms and chest and throughout my body.
His lips were soft and full with a delicious hint of saltiness. If this was how Tor wanted to keep track of me, I didn’t mind.
“Enough serious talk,” he said quietly, pulling away. “Let’s go eat before Uncle Dex sics the sharks on us.”
I nodded, numbly. Food was the furthest thing from my mind.
CHAPTER TEN
School ended with more of a whimper than a bang. The next day I’d started picking strawberries at Becca’s farm. It was exhausting work, but I got to meet up with Tor at the beach afterward on the days I didn’t go into Saint John for swim club. Usually we grabbed a fruit smoothie and sat on the dock—me with my feet dangling in the water, Tor with his legs crossed safely on deck. Just sitting next to him was energizing.
When the strawberries were finished I spent most of my working hours helping Becca at her fruit stand on the boardwalk, which absolutely came alive during the summer. A myriad of kiosks sprung up from the barren winter beach—souvenir stands with miniature sailboats, dried out sea stars, sunglasses and beach knick-knacks; snack shacks with popcorn, hotdogs, soda pop and every kind of beach treat, along with a wide selection of seafood.
The town strung lights along the boardwalk in the summers so that business could continue after dark. Live music, usually Celtic or folk bands, played regularly on the makeshift stage that was built near the pier every summer.
Tor manned one of the seafood kiosks. I’d wondered how he and his uncle made their money and smiled at the thought of them harvesting mussels, crab and lobster in their private cove. Probably with a very personal touch.
Having Tor at the boardwalk made me happy since I could see him at least once in a while throughout the day. Even though we were spending a lot of after-hours time together, I never got tired of him.
July 1 st, Canada Day, traditionally meant a big sand sculpture contest on the beach. I was good at athletics and pretty strong in academics, but I couldn’t draw or do anything artsy to save my life. Because of this I’d never entered, but I always watched and cheered on my more creative friends.
The beach was marked out into sections. Each section had a little red flag staked into the ground with a number. This was where the artist created his or her masterpiece, which was judged by prominent locals including the mayor and the police chief.
Becca and Samara always entered and one year they came in third, which had made them deliriously happy.
The good weather and the national holiday had the tourists out in full force–mostly from Maine and New England, the Eastern Provinces of Canada and a sprinkling from Europe and Asia. I loved this part of summer, when people were dressed in every variety of tacky, and spoke with interesting accents or in languages I didn’t understand at all.
I saw Colby take position, along with Tiffany as his partner. They’d been hanging out a lot since Tor and I had gotten together. I wasn’t sure if they actually liked each other, or if they were just offering each other moral support. Colby’s normal reaction to me these days was a squint and a snarl. And even though I tried to keep things friendly, let’s just say our backseat rides to Saint John were less than comfortable.
Tor signed up to compete.
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” I said. “Is there anything you aren’t good at?”
“Mountain hiking. I need to stay at sea level.”
“Good to know.” Not like
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