Al pulled the van into a spot along the beach and turned off the engine. “My lady, we have arrived,” he announced.

“Is the party going to be here?”

Al smiled and his whole face seemed to glow, or maybe it was the pink hue of the sky. “Yeah, some of my friends usually show up sooner or later.” He leaned over and unlatched my seatbelt. “It depends. C’mon, let’s take a walk.”

Al jumped out, opened my door, and helped me down. Then, he hoisted an ice chest and a blanket under his arm. The blanket caught my attention, but I wasn’t about to say anything. Beachgoers still dotted the sand and besides, we were meeting his friends.

We both removed our shoes and Al took my hand. I felt lightheaded and dreamy as we floated through the rosy light toward the ocean, the sand under our feet still warm from the afternoon sun. Al chose a spot within sight of but some distance away from other picnickers. He put the ice chest down and cast the blanket out a few times until it settled evenly.

The cool evening breeze ruffled the corners of our blanket and chilled my bare arms. Neither of us wore sweaters. Al put his arm around me, and my heart revved in my chest. We nestled together facing the water, watching the waves tumble and the frisbee players and the joggers and the dogs chasing sticks or balls into the whitewater. The sky swirled like spin art in shades of orange, magenta, and purple. Every sense seemed heightened, every color more saturated. I could feel the brine of the ocean’s mist on my skin. I let the sand sift through my fingers and each grain seemed to contain a universe. I was acutely aware of Al’s arm, his soft hairs brushing against my neck, the moisture in the crook of his elbow, the warmth of his skin against mine. He hummed softly; a tune we’d been listening to on the drive, and as we swayed back and forth, our feet reached out and met in the sand.

“Your toes are funny.” I giggled.

“If you say so, Princess.”

“I do say so,” I stated.

Al combed my hair with his fingers, and I leaned my head into his hands and swished back and forth like I was getting a shampoo.

“I really like pot,” I said.

“I really like you, Miss Jackie,” Al whispered in my ear. Gooseflesh sprang up on my neck.

He stretched over me to the cooler, pulled out two beers, and popped the tabs. The golden liquid foamed over the sides and Al shook off the excess onto the sand. I took a long sip. It was ice-cold and felt wonderful as it went down my throat.

“That was refreshing,” I exclaimed when I had finished the last drop.

“Glad you enjoyed it,” Al said, laughing. “Want another?”