Summer with a Quantum Mechanic (Love Beach)

Chapter 6

The scent of hot sand and salt water hits me as we saunter down the boardwalk, fingers entwined. Love Beach is already bustling with morning energy - joggers racing by, seagulls circling for scraps, vendors setting up their wares. Despite the bustle, being with Miles makes everything feel more relaxed, like the world has slowed to a perfect summer's pace.

"Hey, let's check out that shop," Miles says, tugging me toward a quirky storefront with a bright purple awning. "Books and Baubles," the sign reads. How can I resist?

We step inside and it's like entering a whimsical cave, shelves towering with obscure titles and glittering trinkets. Miles gravitates toward the science section while I get lost in the labyrinth of fiction.

"Hey Hope, listen to this," Miles calls out, waving a book with a garish alien on the cover. "'How to Communicate With Your Martian Lover.' Think this could help us out?"

I snort, rolling my eyes. "Please, as if you're not already an expert in quantum entanglement."

"Excuse me, are you accusing me of stealing hearts across space-time?" He clutches his chest in mock offense.

"Guess you'll have to show me your wormhole secrets." I fire back with a wink, amazed at how easily our banter flows. It's like we've known each other for lightyears, not mere weeks.

We continue browsing occasionally holding up outrageous titles to make each other laugh. I can't remember the last time I felt this at ease with someone, this natural chemistry. It's both exhilarating and terrifying.

We exit the shop, squinting into the bright sun, Miles takes my hand again. "I'm glad we decided to do this today," he says, blue eyes crinkling with sincerity.

"Me too," I admit, heat rising to my cheeks that has nothing to do with the climbing temperature. "Though prepare yourself, I will crush you in sandcastle building later."

"We'll see about that."

**********

The day wears on, the heat becomes more oppressive, the humidity wrapping around us like a damp blanket. Or maybe it's just my own thoughts pressing in, a nagging voice whispering this fairytale can't last forever.

"Everything okay?" Miles asks as we pause in the shade of a palm tree. His brow furrows with concern, those too-blue eyes searching mine.

"Yeah, just a little overheated," I lie, forcing a smile. "Probably should have worn a hat."

He studies me for a moment, and I get the sense he sees right through my flimsy excuse. He doesn't push, doesn't demand I spill my tangled mess of fears right there on the sidewalk.

He nods towards a nearby bench. "Why don't we take a break? I could use a minute to cool off too."

We settle onto the weathered wood, close but not quite touching. Miles leans back, tilting his face to catch the breeze off the ocean. "You know, this reminds me of a problem I was working on last week. Trying to calculate the exact rate of evaporative cooling for..."

He launches into an explanation, hands gesturing animatedly as he describes some complex equation - charming but doing little to ease their incomprehensibility.

It's not the heat that's getting to me, not really. It's the suffocating realization that I'm in deep, that I've let myself get swept up in something I'm not sure I'm ready for. Something with an expiration date stamped on it from the start.

I sneak a glance at Miles, at the strong line of his jaw, the way the sun glints off his hair. He's still talking, but there's a tightness around his eyes that wasn't there before, a forced casualness to his tone.

He feels it too, the shift in the air between us. The way my walls are slowly creeping back up, brick by invisible brick.

I want to reach out, to reassure him that it's not him, that it's just my own neurotic brain spinning itself in circles. The words stick in my throat, held back by the fear that if I let them out, I might crumble.

So I sit there, hands clenched in my lap, and try to focus on the sound of his voice, the solid warmth of his presence beside me. I wonder how long I can balance on this tightrope between yearning and dread, between the giddy rush of falling and the cold certainty of hitting the ground.

A street performer catches my eye, a whirlwind of flames dancing around him as he juggles torches with practiced ease. The crowd around him claps and cheers, their faces lit with a mix of awe and apprehension.

"Hey, look at that," Miles says, nudging me. "Think we could give it a shot?"

I raise an eyebrow, my lips twitching despite myself. "With actual fire? Are you trying to get us arrested for arson?"

He laughs, the sound chasing away some of the heaviness. "Fair point. Maybe we could start with something a little less... flammable?"

Before I can respond, he's darting off to a nearby vendor, returning a moment later with an armful of colorful foam balls. He tosses one to me with a grin.

"Juggling for beginners. How hard can it be?"

Famous last words.

We find a spot away from the crowd, the foam balls clutched in our hands. Miles takes the lead, attempting a simple three-ball cascade. Key word: attempting.

The balls fly in all directions, bouncing off his chest, his face, narrowly missing a passerby. I can't help but giggle as he scrambles to retrieve them, his cheeks flushed with exertion and embarrassment.

"Okay, let's see you do better, Monroe," he challenges, tossing me the balls.

I take a deep breath, trying to channel my inner circus performer. I manage a few successful tosses, the balls arcing gracefully through the air. Then one slips, and suddenly I'm flailing, balls flying everywhere as I try in vain to keep the pattern going.

Miles is doubled over with laughter, tears streaming down his face. "Oh my god, your face," he gasps, clutching his stomach. "You looked like a startled octopus."

I throw a ball at him, hitting him square in the chest. "Like you were any better, Mr. Physics Daddy. I thought you'd have better hand-eye coordination."

He throws the ball back, still chuckling. "Hey, juggling wasn't part of the curriculum at MIT."

We go back and forth like that for a while, lobbing balls and insults in equal measure. The tension from earlier dissipates, replaced by the easy camaraderie that's become so familiar between us.

Even as I laugh and let myself get caught up in the silly, simple joy of the moment, I can't quite shake the weight in my stomach. The knowledge that this is temporary.

I push the thought away, focusing instead on the sun heating my skin, the sound of Miles's laughter ringing in my ears. I'll deal with reality later. I just want to savor this slice of happiness, fleeting as it may be.

Sand squishes between my toes as we stroll along the beach, the salty breeze whipping through my hair. Miles quirks an eyebrow at me, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I bet I can build a better sandcastle than you."

I scoff, pushing my sunglasses up on my nose. "Oh, you're on, Physics Daddy. Prepare to eat sand."

We drop to our knees, scooping and shaping the damp sand. I focus on my creation, determined to show him up. Our hands brush as we reach for the same patch of beach, sending a jolt of electricity up my arm. I pull back hoping he doesn't notice the flush creeping up my neck.

I glance over at Miles, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sculpts a tower. The sight makes me smile despite myself. I don't want to lose this—the easy banter, the comfortable silences, the way he makes me feel like I can let my guard down.

I know I can't let myself get too attached. I've been down that road before, and it only leads to heartache. Better to enjoy this for what it is—a fleeting summer fling, a bright spot in an otherwise monotonous existence.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the heavy thoughts. Today is about fun, about living in the moment. I can worry about the future later.

"Ha!" Miles exclaims, sitting back on his heels. "Beat that, Monroe."

I survey his creation—a lopsided lump with a few half-hearted spires. "Is that supposed to be a castle? Looks more like a sand turd." I laught out.

He clutches his chest in mock offense. "How dare you insult my architectural masterpiece?"

"Masterpiece? More like master-mess." I gesture to my own sculpture, a passable replica of a medieval fortress, complete with a moat.

Miles whistles lowly. "Okay, okay, I concede defeat. Clearly, I underestimated your sandcastle skills."

"Damn right, you did." I bump his shoulder with mine, ignoring the way my stomach flips at the contact. "I think this calls for a victory ice cream. Loser buys."

He grins, brushing the sand from his shorts as he stands. "You're on, but I get to pick the flavor."