Moon Shell Beach: A Novel Read Free Page A

love to cook.”
    “You’ll have to show me sometime,” Jesse said.
    And something about the way he looked at her, his blue eyes so warm on her face, his whole presence focused on her, made her say, “Sure. I’d like to do that.” And she wasn’t even afraid when she said the words. She was ready.

    The Saturday after
she met Jesse on the ferry, she invited him to her house for dinner and a video. She told her parents about it, and they gave her their approval in their vague way. Clare didn’t tell Lexi because, well, she wasn’t even sure this was a
date.
Whatever it was, it was exciting, and frightening, and it was
hers
.
    Probably nothing would happen. Probably tomorrow she’d tell Lexi, and they’d laugh at what a geek she was.
    Still, she went schizo dressing. She tried on a pretty sweater, then cast it aside—too dressy. She finally chose a long-sleeved red tee that set off her dark hair and eyes.
    The evening before, she’d made a stew, so the flavors could mingle overnight. She was glad she’d prepared, because when Jesse arrived at her house, his presence took her breath away. He wore jeans and a white button-down shirt, a dress-up shirt that made him look like such a
man.
Her mind was completely befuddled.
    “Hi, Jesse, come in, dinner’s ready, I thought we’d eat in the living room, want to watch MTV?” She knew she was babbling; she couldn’t help herself.
    “Sure.” Jesse ambled behind her, completely calm.
    In the kitchen, she ladled out the stew and handed Jesse a plate. “I didn’t make a salad, guys usually hate salads, and besides, the stew has lots of veggies…”
What was she, a fifty-year-old nutritionist?
She wanted to clamp her own hands over her blithering mouth.
    “Smells great.” Jesse’s fingers brushed hers as he took his bowl.
    She nearly fainted. “Drink?” Her voice came out in a squeak.
    “Milk’s fine. Or water.”
    Clare led him into the den, and suddenly she was embarrassed by how alone they were in the room. “My dad’s off-island for a teacher’s conference,” she explained. She’d already set up the TV tables, and she put out the utensils and napkins with shaking hands. “And Mom’s in her bedroom—” Oops,
bedroom
. “She always goes up early, she takes a cup of chamomile tea and a book. She has a bad back from painting.”
    “My parents are off-island, too.” Jesse settled onto the sofa and pulled the tray toward him.
    The sofa!
Clare thought, her face burning, why had she put the trays side by side on the sofa? Why didn’t she just wear a big sign saying,
I hope my thigh touches yours!
She sat down, squeezing herself as far away from him as she could.
    “This is delicious, Clare,” Jesse told her.
    “Thanks.” She watched him lick his lips and her breath caught in her throat.
    “I like this song,” Jesse said, nodding toward the television.
    “Oh, me too.” She had to eat; she couldn’t sit there and gape at him.
    Somehow they got through the meal. When they were through eating, they moved the trays aside. Jesse helped her carry the dishes into the kitchen.
    “Um, ice cream?” She’d considered making a pie or a cake, but decided that would be too dorky.
    “Sure.”
    As Clare moved around the room, her every movement was defined by how close it brought her to Jesse. Finally she managed to hand him a bowl of ice cream without dropping it, and then they went back into the living room, where the television flickered and the lights were low.
    She sat on the sofa. Jesse sat, too, but closer to her than before. He ate his dessert, then put the bowl on his TV tray. He shifted to look at her full on.
    “Want to watch another channel?” she asked nervously.
    “Not really,” Jesse said. “You?”
    Clare shook her head. He was close to her. It was all so intense she felt she was about to cry.
    “Hey,” Jesse said. “Don’t look so serious. Let me see your million-dollar smile.”
    Clare blinked as she managed a tremulous