A love that Won't Let Go

Dinner And Flashbacks

Chapter Four 

Jack

It was a summer morning at the Jersey Shore, and the sun cast a golden hue over the pristine beach of Cape May as it rose over the horizon. 

The rhythmic sound of waves gently lapping at the shoreline complemented the serene ambiance of the waking beach town. Just off the main strip of quaint shops and restaurants sat my father's beach house, nestled cozily among the sandy dunes adorned with fragrant wildflowers. 

As I reflect back on those halcyon summer days of my childhood, I can still vividly recall the refreshing scent of the salty ocean air that filled the house, carried in by the ocean breeze through open windows. It was an aroma that evoked feelings of freedom and endless possibility in my youthful mind.

When summer break came around each year, my parents and I could barely contain our excitement for that first morning when I ran through the back door of the house and onto the beach, the sunlight glinting off the waves as I sprinted straight for the surf. 

I remember the sun-kissed warmth on my skin as I floated in the gentle swells, and the delight of combing the beach for shells and sea glass after the tide went out. In the evenings, we'd gather around a crackling fire pit nestled in the dunes, roasting marshmallows and listening to my mom's strum soothing chords on her guitar over the whisper of the waves. 

Being my parents' only child meant that trying to enjoy the summer on my own was a must. With school out and most of my friends away at camp or on family vacations, I knew I needed to get creative in occupying myself during those long, lazy summer days. 

One activity I discovered that brought me joy was going for morning runs along the shoreline. 

Each day as the sun peeked above the horizon, I'd lace up my sneakers and head down to the beach while the morning air was still crisp and cool. I'd start my run at the old wooden pier, passing the bait shop and seafood shacks as they were just beginning to open for the day. 

The beach would be empty and peaceful, with only a few early-rising fishermen casting their lines out into the gentle surf. As I'd jog along the water's edge, the wet sand would sink slightly under each footfall, leaving a temporary track that would quickly be erased by the next incoming wave. The steady rhythm of my breathing and the shush of the small waves were hypnotic. 

I'd run for miles, watching the orange and pink sunrise reflections dance across the surface of the water. After working up a sweat, I'd turn around and run back toward the pier, feeling refreshed and ready to take on the day. 

Those solitary summer morning beach runs became a treasured ritual during my adolescence, providing me with much-needed freedom, reflection, and appreciation for the beauty of the natural world.

The summer morning of 2019 started like any other at the beach. The sun peeked over the horizon, casting its golden rays across the sand and sparkling ocean. Seagulls called out as they wheeled through the salty air. But as I slowed my morning stroll near the pier, something caught my eye that was different from the usual beachgoers - a watermelon-printed dress fluttering lightly in the breeze. My gaze traveled up to see a girl with shoulder-length hair fastened back with a red bow. She sat cross-legged on a blue beach mat, fully absorbed in the romance novel held open in her hands. From her focused expression, it was clear she was lost in the story.

I was no stranger to books, but romance was an uncharted territory for me. From my vantage point across the beach, I could see the cover of the book she held featured two young lovers locked in an embrace. 

Though I was well-read in many genres, romance had never captured my interest before. Though she appeared much younger than me, I wondered if striking up a conversation could unveil common ground between us. However, not knowing the customs of discussing romance novels, I hesitated to approach her. I resigned myself to being a spectator, catching glimpses of her reactions.