Second Chances in New Port Stephen - Chapter 93

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Second Chances in New Port Stephen - Chapter 93

Something caught Nick’s ear: the tinny strains of music being pumped through a portable
speaker. He walked down the steps, and the lyrics started to take shape. It was some early-
aughts alt rock; he recognized the tune and probably could recite all the lyrics, but he couldn’t
have named the band for all the money in Palm Beach. It was some one-hit wonder that had
played on the radio every hour for a few months before crumbling into obscurity. He
remembered listening to this song, or ones like it, back when he and Eli were dating. God, he’d
been so young. So foolish.
He reached the sand, and the entire picture came into view. Eli was there, lounging on an
oversized beach towel with blue and white stripes. The portable speaker sat atop a hard plastic
cooler. There was also a tote bag on the corner of the towel, containing who knew what. Eli had
not yet noticed his arrival, too absorbed with scrolling through what looked like a playlist on his
phone.
Nick cleared his throat. “What’s all this?”
“Hey!” Eli scrambled to his feet, phone still in hand. He was flushed, his hair damp and hanging
in his eyes. He was wearing swim trunks, this time with pink flamingos patterned all over them,
and a largely unbuttoned linen shirt that clung to his skin. “Nick, hi. I’m glad you could make it.”
“Did you go swimming?” Nick asked.
“Yeah.” Eli dragged a hand through his hair. “After that bike ride, I was kind of sweaty, so I
thought—” He gave Nick that lopsided grin. “Doesn’t matter. Come on, take a load off.” He
gestured at the expanse of the beach towel, then busied himself with juggling the speaker so he
could open the cooler.

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Nick approached slowly, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He felt justified in his wariness. The last
time he and Eli had been alone together, on Christmas Eve, Eli had taken off without even
waiting for the sweat to cool. Now it looked like he was trying to re-create one of their high
school date nights. Anyone would feel the whiplash.
“Aha!” Eli brandished a bottle of Boone’s Farm, the strawberry kind they used to share as
unsophisticated teens. Bits of ice and rivulets of water sloughed off the bottle to patter into the
sand. “Can I offer you a Solo cup of this vintage?”
“You brought wine?” Nick knew his eyebrows were rising, but he couldn’t help it. “How’s that
work with you being sober?”
“Okay, first of all, it’s barely wine. Second—” Eli bent over the cooler and fished out a can of
Walmart-brand seltzer. “This will be my drink of choice tonight. I just thought the wine would be
funny.”
“Yeah.” Nick crossed his arms over his chest. “Hilarious.”