Page 73 of Meet Cute Reboot
“Um. The tour hasn’t— We’re wait—”
“We’re waiting for the tour guide to arrive,” Sarah says.
I peek at Luke and then avert my eyes from his well-defined chest as I try to regain my composure.
“It’s Sarah, right?” Luke asks.
“That’s me,” Sarah answers.
“I didn’t realize this was a threesome.”
I take a deep breath. I think I’m ready to resume adulting.
“She’s our videographer,” I say.
Sarah picks up my phone. Sun glints off its glass screen as she waves it in the air.
“Ah,” Luke says. “Yes. The livestream. I can’t wait.”
“That sounded sarcastic,” I say.
“It was,” Luke answers cheerfully.
I can’t argue with him, really. The idea of being entertaining for prying eyes is low on my list of fun things to do on a Friday morning. Hopefully, the tour guide will do the entertaining for us. I already asked her if it was okay to stream the tour. She said absolutely and was excited about the free marketing.
Speaking of, she arrives in a pair of khakis and a tan button-up shirt à la Steve Irwin with a young male assistant in tow whose arms are balancing several buckets and a plastic container full of beachcombing tools. Her flaming red curls bob in the gentle wind, framing her pale skin which should have an aversion to sunny Charleston, yet her complexion is fresh, freckled, and wrinkle-free. She smiles at us and welcomes us to the tour, explaining why she scheduled it at such an odd hour.
“We always schedule the tours during low tide because that’s when we find the most critters crawling and wiggling about.”
I tap Sarah’s arm. “I guess we should start recording.”
She logs into my Instagram account and starts the livestream. While our tour guide continues her welcome speech, I whisper into the phone.
“All right, guys. We’re here. Date number four.” I hold up four fingers. Why do I always do that? “Luke is here with me, and we have a videographer this time. This is Sarah, everyone.” I angle the phone toward Sarah, and she quickly turns it away. I forgot to ask her if she wanted to show her face. I just got my answer.
Our tour guide, who introduced herself as Alice, begins telling us about some of the unique features of Tidewater Island’s beaches.
“We do our tours on Seagrove Beach because this is where we tend to see the greatest variety of animals, particularly around the jetty where pools form when the tide goes out. You’ll get to poke around the beach, investigate the tide pools, and see what you can find. When you find an animal, bring them over to the touch tank. I’ll introduce you to each critter and tell you a few fun facts about them.”
I look at Luke. He’s focused intently on Alice. I focus intently on his veiny forearm that’s resting heavily on the recycled plastic tabletop. Sarah catches me and points the camera at my face. I stop myself just before scowling, and I flit my eyes back to Alice.
I’m not sure how riveting her speech is for the Instagram audience. I feel a bit antsy thinking I need to provide higher-quality entertainment, but I guess this is what they signed on for.
Alice’s assistant goes around and hands out shovels and dip nets, and then we head to the beach. Luke and I walk shoulder to shoulder along the long boardwalk that carries us over grassy dunes. Sarah follows us. I can feel the camera drilling into my back.
When we reach the sand, we start to spread out, but Alice calls us back. She takes several minutes to point out bumps andlumps in the sand, indicators of life, and she shows us how to retrieve the burrowed animals with our shovels.
After a few more interesting details about the beach’s ecology, she sends us off with our nets and our shovels to dig, poke, and wander in search of life.
“Shall we?” Luke points his shovel and dip net toward the ocean, prompting me to head that way.
“Um. Should we search the sand first, or—” Luke’s muscles distract me again. I’ve never seen such perfectly sculpted arms. Has he been chugging raw eggs and protein powder?
Sarah widens her eyes at us and circles her finger in the air, trying to rally the troops. We aren’t providing good entertainment.
I walk over to Luke, grab his elbow, and pull him toward the water’s edge. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” I whisper. “I feel self-conscious.”
“You? I feel like a hermit crab in a touch tank.”