I have never been out in Montauk at this time since I've only been here a couple of days and I was working in the afternoon. It is a whole new world to today's grey start. The weather has cleared up and the beach is crowded with people. The cries of seagulls and the kids that chase them, the calls of street vendors and the distant jingle of an ice-cream truck provides the soundtrack to the sunny afternoon. The streets are crowded with tourists and locals who all turn to stare as Don walks by.

And who wouldn't? I can't believe that I am with him. I know Lucille, who is taller, prettier and a lot more charming would kill for a chance like this. He must have girls falling at his feet – so why me? I shake the thoughts from my head; it doesn't do me any good to dwell on it and I'm bordering dangerously close to self pity, a feeling I avoid at all costs.

"Hey, Don?" I say instead. I am amazed at how confident I sound but then, the thing that shocks me most is how comfortable I feel around him.

"Yeah?" He looks at me and grins. God, he needs to stop doing that. It makes me stomach do summersaults every time.

"You're a pretty terrible tour guide, you know. We must have passed at least one significant landmark by now and you've said nothing."

"Was I supposed to be a tour guide?" Don laughs, "I was under the impression I was your date."

I laugh too and shake my head. "I don't recall you ever asked me. And what makes you think I would have said yes?"

"Why, have you got a boyfriend at home?" he asks, suddenly looking serious.

"No," I reply, "But why would that be the only reason? My, someone thinks highly of themselves! Did it ever occur to you that maybe if you asked me out – which you didn't, by the way – I might have just...declined?"

He frowns like he hadn't ever thought about it. I bet usually he just has to look at a girl and they're already ready to sign their names on a wedding certificate. "It hadn't, actually. But would you have said no?"

"Well, how would I know? You never asked me."

Don smiles so widely, I can't believe the whole street hasn't turned to look. All on a sudden, he stops dead, not even bothering to apologise to the man that almost crashes into him. He drops to his knees, holding out his hand in front of him with a devilish grin. "Oh, Sally," he says in a loud, dramatic voice, clutching his heart with his other hand, "I beg of you please, please, would you do me the honour of accompanying me on a humble date?"

People are stopping to stare and some have even got their cameras out. I feel my face flush, feel the heat of it in my cheeks. "Stop it!" I whisper, partly embarrassed but also trying not to laugh. He looks ridiculous. "People are looking!"

"Oh, I cannot!" he declares, faking desperation, "I cannot move until you accept my offer. Will you please be my date?"

I shake my head and laugh. I repeat his words back to him, "I was under the impression that I already was."

He laughs, a sound that makes my heart leap in a way it never has before, and rises to his feet. A few people around us clap and he bows, ever the charmer. When they've turned away again, he looks at me. He holds out his hand and I take it, his fingers sliding perfectly into the spaces between mine.

"Let's go," he says.

I look into his ocean eyes and I know I would follow him anywhere. A handful of minutes. That is all it took for me to give my heart away to this boy.


"The best thing – the only thing as far as I'm concerned – that's even worth eating in this town is the fish," Don announces as we walk down the promenade. "You hungry?"

I am. I hadn't even noticed but as soon as he mentions it, my stomach rumbles. "Yes," I reply, "But we're headed the wrong way. The restaurants are all back the way we came."

Don sniffs like he's offended by the idea. "You don't eat restaurant fish!" he says indignantly, "You catch it, you fry it on the beach and then you eat it. That is the one and only way."

He is so determined that I don't have the heart to argue. He's my guide, my date, and right now, I would eat about anything. I saw a couple shucking oysters back in a small seafood cafe which had looked disgusting but I would be willing to try even that.

We walk past the prettily painted stores and leave the town lights behind. The street turns narrow, winding off away from the main beach. Don walks straight ahead with conviction and I figure he knows where he's going better than I do. The houses along the street turned smaller and look a little worn down, more like Moira's house than dollhouses in the town centre. I wonder if maybe he is taking me to where he lived. That seems to be moving a little fast and I was beggining to doubt whether this was even such a god idea when he stops.

"You trust me, right?" he asks, tugging on my hand. He can't keep still and he'd bouncing on the balls of his feet. His wide green eyes and hopeful smile makes it impossible to say no. And I realise I don't want to.

"Yes," I reply.

"Good," he beams, "Follow me."

I have no other choice but to follow since he practically drags me down a narrow gravel path around the corner of a small house. A sign declares this private access to the beach, residents only. It makes my heart thump a little, knowing I'm doing something against the rules. I can't remember the last time I did anything even remotely rebellious. It's actually pretty thrilling.

The path widens out to a set of stone steps that lead down to the private stretch of beach. Unlike the tourist area, it is deserted apart from a man walking his dog. It's small and much rockier than the main stretch but it's stunning. Although the main shoreline is beautiful with its bright colours and tourist bustle, this beach is the epitome of peace. Even the sea looks more tranquil, like it's holding its breath.

"Don, it's beautiful down here," I say quietly. Though I know we probably won't get in trouble, I don't want to break the silence.

"This isn't even the best part," Don says and pulls me off the steps and on to the sand.

I stop to take of my pumps and feel the sand beneath my feet for the first time since I've been here. It envelopes my feet, inviting me to bury my whole body in it. I feel tempted to but I keep moving.

"Know what rocks are good for?" Don asks. When I shrug, he says, "Rock pools. And rock pools are good for fish."

"Yeah, small fish," I say, "Not the type you can eat, right?"

"Wrong," Don says grinning. He doesn't elaborate. It must be some kind of fisherman's secret. "I'll race you. On three?"

"Sure," I smile back. "Three."

I take of sprinting towards the rocks and I hear Don complain that it's not fair. He catches up with me in seconds and grabs me around the waist, lifting me off the ground. I laugh so hard the sound carries in the wind. The beach echoes with it. When my feet touch the ground again, I barely feel it.

Don looks at me, his face inches from mine. We're so close; I can feel his breath on my lips. I could spend forever memorising every line, every freckle, every eyelash, memorising him in this moment. His eyes shine with something like hope but there's a worry beyond his years, a worry that looks hundreds of years old, behind his expression. I think – I hope – that maybe he'll kiss me.

I've only ever kissed one boy, one time. It was in my sophomore year, my last year, at a party. He kissed me because his friends dared him and it was awful. But with Don, I feel like it would be different. It could be everything I had ever dreamed of, my first real kiss.

He leans closer to me, our lips almost touching. But the sky above erupts in a loud rumble of thunder and he looks up, just for a split second. When he looks back at me, the moment is gone. He steps away with a small, apologetic smile.

"How about them rock pools?"

I say nothing, afraid my disappointment will show, so I walk behind him to a shallow pool he stands next to. The trick, he says, is staying still and being really quiet. It's not hard to do when I don't really have anything to say. I study his face while he stares into the water. He has strong features, a classic face. It looks familiar because it's the kind of face artists like to give to gods in those classic paintings of the Olympians in their togas. There's a crease between his eyebrows as he concentrates on the water, like he's trying to call he fish to him.

Suddenly, he reaches into the water and pulls out a squirming red fish.

"Oh my God!" I exclaim as he yanks it out of the water. "How is that even possible?"

It's a red snapper, I recognise it from one of Uncle Rich's fishing books. But do they even swim this far out into shallow water? It's impossible.

"How did you do that?" I ask.

"Do what?" Don stills the fish with ease. The times I'd been fishing with my uncle, it had taken him a few tries until the fish stopped flipping.

"Catch that? You have to catch it far out into the sea."

Don winks. "Fisherman's secret."

We collect dry driftwood from the beach, dragging the pieces back to a pile away from the shore by a cluster of rocks. When we've got enough, Don lights a fire and stakes the fish. We eat it in silence, using our fingers. It's childish but every time our fingers touch when we reach for it at the same time, I feel butterflies take off in my stomach.

When we finish, we lean against the rocks, side by side, and we watch the sea. I don't even notice the sun go down around us.


UPDATE: Sorry to those who read this and spotted the mistake in the formatting! The first section pasted twice but I've fixed it now. Thanks for not judging me for my technology failure :)