A California Christmas (Silver Springs #7) - Brenda Novak Page 0,46
as well let her finish out the evening in whichever way she liked. “Okay. Why not?”
She pulled out her phone to request the rideshare. “I’m too full to eat anything else, but what do you say we stop by the liquor store on the way and buy a bottle of wine? We have to get firewood, anyway.”
Dallas felt his pulse pick up. This trip to the beach was beginning to sound very romantic. That made him uncomfortable, given that he was already struggling with a growing desire to touch her in a way that was decidedly beyond friendship. But she didn’t seem to be aware of that or think anything of putting them both in such an intimate situation.
It would be okay, he decided. She’d made it clear that she wasn’t in the market for another relationship, and that was a boundary he would never cross, especially with a woman who’d so recently been through what Emery had been through. “I won’t sober up if we continue to drink,” he pointed out, trying to nix the wine, at least.
More control was better than less, he thought. But she had her mind made up. “Then we’ll sleep on the beach,” she said as if it didn’t really matter one way or the other.
* * *
It was too hot to sit close to the fire, and it was too cold to sit far away from it. But if they stayed on the cheap blanket they’d purchased, right at the edge of the circle of light leaping and dancing on the sand, it was comfortable. Maybe a little too comfortable. Emery didn’t want to leave this place. She found it surprisingly cathartic. As a news anchor, she’d covered almost everything there was to do in the sprawling metropolis, was always looking for something new to report or a fresh angle she could use to highlight a place or activity people may have seen or done before. But she looked at the city, and this beach, with different eyes now that she didn’t have to package it for the viewers of KQLA’s morning show. She didn’t have to worry about creating an enticing hook, how best to present the information in the shortest amount of time or how to follow up with a highly engaging social media post so that she could extend her reach and continue building her career.
The pressure was off; she could simply sit and enjoy.
She had to admit, for the here and now—this moment in isolation from all others—it was nice not to have an agenda. Relaxing with Dallas while sipping merlot from a cheap plastic champagne flute and listening to the crack and spit of the fire above the powerful crash of waves not far away made her grateful just to be alive.
After the past month, it was wonderful to feel as though that was enough.
“This was worth the effort,” Dallas decreed, tipping his head back to gaze up at the sky.
He was wearing a contemplative expression as he studied the stars.
“You must see the sky without the intrusion of city lights all the time,” she said, “what with camping out so often.”
“I do.”
He didn’t elaborate, didn’t describe his life, but she was curious about it. What would it be like to face such formidable physical challenges on almost a daily basis? To look down and to know that a fall would be certain death? And what about the other aspects? To be totally indifferent to what most other people—people like Ethan—prized so highly? To not care about getting a more lucrative job, a bigger house, a nicer car or any other material object? Dallas seemed content to have only what he needed to get through each day. And it was clear he didn’t give a damn about impressing anyone, which was partly why he did impress her. He was free in a way few people were.
“You told me you mostly live on beans and greens. But you’re not a vegetarian, like Alex Honnold. I’ve seen you eat meat.”
“Occasionally. But from what I saw in that documentary about him, we have a similar approach to food.”
“In what way?” She remembered one scene that showed Alex whipping up a big pan of beans or something else on a camp-style stove and eating it right out of the pan. “As long as it’s healthy, you’re happy?” she guessed. “You’re not too picky?”
“Basically. During my climbing months, food is simply fuel.”
She poured him another glass of wine before wedging the bottle back