Author's Note: Well, here's the next chapter. I'm pleasantly surprised at how much y'all seem to like this story. Minor revision to Chapter 3—Bradin will be 17 instead of 16. In the episode "Heat Wave" that aired Tuesday, July 8, 2004, Bradin was supposedly 17 even though it was clear in earlier episodes that he was 16. Anyway, I'm just trying to avoid silly problems for myself. On with the show…er, um...story…haha!

July 9, 2004

Disclaimer: I don't own Summerland or any related characters or places.

Your Beautiful Soul

Chapter 4

"Good surf?" Nikki asked in passing, heading for the back door.

Before he could reply, she was gone, and the door slammed shut. Bradin shrugged to himself. She was probably rushing off to go do something with Cameron again, trying to get in all the time together she could before he left to stay with his mom in North Playa Linda.

Bradin, once again, had to thank his lucky stars that his parents had never gotten divorced. Back in Kansas, he'd known a few kids whose parents had separated, and here, almost all the kids he'd met had divorced parents or their parents were never home. It was a real mess for them—though he supposed having separated parents was better than having none.

He hurriedly pushed the last thought from his mind. There was no use dwelling on it and making himself depressed again; nothing he did could bring his parents back. Besides, he had Maggie now, and that was exhilarating happiness in and of itself.

No matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept drifting back to his parents: how much he missed them, how much he loved them; how much they'd loved each other.

I hope I find someone like that when I want to get married, he thought. He had felt strangely wonderful and peaceful with Maggie the night before; he'd connected with her somehow, and he couldn't help but wonder if that was the way his father had felt the first time he had kissed his wife-to-be.

After he had taken a shower, pulled on his board shorts and gray t-shirt from earlier, Bradin headed out the door. The ten-minute walk to Maggie's residence seemed to take hours, but as he finally ascended the steps to the porch, the mellow tones of a low brass instrument floated out to greet him in the breeze. He knocked on the sliding glass door. The music stopped abruptly and there was shuffling beyond the curtains, then the door opened.

"Hi," Bradin greeted her.

"Hey, right on time, I see." Maggie laughed. "Come on in."

"I heard you playing. It sounded great," he smiled.

"Thanks. I have to confess that this is the first time I've played my euphonium in probably a month. I mainly just play trombone with the quintet." Maggie placed the gold-plated instrument in its case and turned to face Bradin.

"Oh, hey, want to go get lunch at the pier? I found a little café down there that has great burgers."

"Mm, sounds really good," she said over her shoulder, slinging a small red and black messenger's bag over her head pushed it back on her hip. As she turned around, Bradin caught her with a kiss. He let her go and saw a tinge of red creep onto her cheeks.

"Let's go," Bradin said, pulling her towards the door.

"Okay," Maggie followed willingly.

By 12:30, Bradin and Maggie were seated in The Pier Café, a little-known family-owned waterfront eatery tucked neatly behind a clothing store and a gift shop. The café was full, but not crowded, and they easily found a small booth near the back. They were laughing over a cartoon on the wall when their orders were delivered to the table.

"So what was that rehearsal for this morning?" Bradin asked between bites of his quarter-pound cheeseburger.

"Oh, it was a quintet down at the college. I'm filling in for their trombonist for a wedding gig. My best friend tipped them off that I was free, so one thing led to another…" She dipped a French fry in ketchup and bit off the end.

After a lengthy pause, he asked, "What kind of music do you like?"

"Um…Mahler, Shostakovich, Rimsky-Korsakov, Ives, Dvorak, Elgar, big band, jazz, country, and some selected pop when I need a major pick-me-up. How 'bout you?"

"Simple Plan, Switchfoot, Gavin DeGraw, some rap." Bradin was a bit taken aback. He marveled at the fact she could run off the names without a single pause or breath. If he'd tried to, he was sure he'd be choking on the mouthful that is classical composers. "What kind of pop?"

"Boybands," she allowed the word to slip out.

"Who?"

"Um…" she paused. "You're just gonna laugh."

"I won't, I promise," he smiled.

"Backstreet Boys," she confessed quietly, covertly glancing around the small café.

Bradin snickered, more for her benefit than for the hilarity of what she'd said.

"You promised you wouldn't laugh." Maggie threw a French fry at him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Hey—hey! No food fights." He blocked another flying French fry. They laughed.

"Oh, that's me!" Maggie realized, rummaging in her bag. She plucked out a small silver cell phone—triumphantly ringing the William Tell Overture—and answered it. "Hello? Oh hey—how've you been? Today, really? You need another person? Yeah…totally. See ya there—bye."

"What was that about?" Bradin questioned.

"Do you play volleyball?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we have a little unofficial high school volleyball league around here. We've got a match today and we need an extra person." Maggie pulled a wallet from her knee-length board shorts and pulled out a five-dollar bill.

"I'm there," Bradin said, doing the same.

In a few minutes, their check was paid and they were making their way along the beach, heading toward the volleyball nets.