Page 97 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

“It really has.” I think I see his hand swipe a tear away from the corner of his eye.

Simon collects himself, as if he’d been lost in a memory. “Come in, come in.”

I follow him into his small apartment, which is outfitted entirely in white microfiber and nautical prints. “I love the aesthetic here,” I tell him honestly. “It’s perfect for the coast.”

Simon smiles proudly, wheeling himself over next to the sofa. “If I’m going to be stuck in a home, it absolutely must feel like home.” He surveys the space. “I had all of this brought over from Beach Haven. Apologies if what’s left isn’t quite up to snuff.”

I don’t have the heart to tell him that the house smells like decades-old mothballs and could desperately use a facelift. And a solid cleaning. “It’s perfect,” I offer. Because honestly, for what I need at this moment in my life, it really is. In so many ways.

“I brought these for you.” I hold out the bouquet of dahlias, lilies, and vibrant wildflowers that I picked up at the corner market on my way out of town. “Do you have a vase? I can put them in water for you.”

“Thank you, Ivy, they’re lovely. Yes, there’s a vase up in that cupboard there.” He gestures to a cabinet near the door.

“So, tell me how you’ve been,” I say. While he talks about his injury and the subpar food the residents get, I busy myself with finding the vase, filling it with water, and arranging the flowers. When Simon finishes giving me his update and asks how I’ve been, I’m not even sure where to begin.

I’m even less sure when I set the vase down on the end table next to Simon and am startled by a photo of my grandfather staring up at me.

Grandpa’s eyes are vibrant, crinkling at the edges. He must be in his 30s here. He still has all his hair and the long, lithe frame that he lost when he got his desk job after my dad and uncle started high school. I recognize the shirt he’s wearing; it’s one I saw on him in so many of the photos my dad pulled for the funeral slideshow. It must have been one of his favorites.

I don’t have time to puzzle through why Simon has this photo in such a prominent position before he notices me gawking at it. “Handsome man, your grandfather.” He gives me a pleasant smile. “You have his kind eyes.”

The Venn diagram of people who know both my grandfather and me well enough to notice we have the same blue-gray irises, the same lashes several shades darker than our hair, is pretty simple to imagine. Simon’s the only person in a 100-mile radius who could land squarely at the center.

“I’ve always loved that he shared them with me.” I try to smile gracefully, even though my mind is reeling from both the photo and the memories it conjures.

Simon looks down at the photo, too, and something melancholy clouds his gaze. He blinks it away as quickly as it appeared.

I try to imagine losing my best friend; try to figure out who I even love this much now, much less after the countless decades of friendship Simon and Charlie had. Maybe Laurel. If life hadn’t taken us in such different directions, maybe Amie could have made my list. Now, though, I’m unsure if I’ll ever see her again. We haven’t so much as texted in six months.

It occurs to me that, if my heart continues crying out for Oliver like it has been, maybe losing him would be like this for me. But of course, that’s a different kind of love.

And I really don’t want to think about losing Oliver.

“So tell me, Ivy.” Simon’s face betrays none of the sorrow it was just reflecting. “What do you do for work?”

I perch on one edge of his immaculate sofa and explain that I’m a librarian; that I’m looking for a new job. “I actually got a call for an interview this morning,” I hedge.

“Well, that’s wonderful.” Simon’s smile is so effortless; he has the casual charm most businessmen spend their lives chasing without much success.

I shrug. “I suppose that it is, yes.”

Simon tilts his head and pinches his lips. “Something about your tone suggests it’s anything but.”

A small chuckle escapes my throat, not because anything is funny, but rather because he sounds so much like Charlie that I can’t quite believe it. “If you’d asked me six months ago if I’d want this opportunity, I would have offered a resounding, even desperate yes. But things have changed for me. And now I’m feeling a bit stuck.”

“Does this have anything to do with your work for Maisie?”

Simon can see through me, I’m fairly certain. There’s nothing but kindness in his face, but it’s as if he’s riffling through my thoughts as they occur.

“Yes, I think so. And there’s…someone, here.” My cheeks heat as the essence of Oliver swirls through my mind. His smile; his faint cedar and vanilla scent. The brush of his hand against mine; the way he tastes like the future.

I clear my throat, not wanting my thoughts to stray too much in a place that feels decidedly devoid of sensuality. “Not to mention, this has been my favorite place on earth since childhood.” My lips turn up. “There’s just something about how dominoes are falling for me this summer. Ever since I got here, really. It’s making me feel like the path has never been more apparent.”

Simon nods, slowly at first, then with more conviction. “When the universe clears a path for us, we owe it to ourselves to follow.”

I’m not sure how he manages to sound so wise. Most lawyers I’ve met are decidedly less profound. “You’re probably right. I’m just not sure how it will all work. The money, for one thing. And with…someone.”

Simon looks like he wants to laugh at me, but, to his credit, he refrains. “Well, maybe those dominoes just haven’t fallen yet.”