Page 23 of Passing Ships

“IPA.”

“That’s not a cocktail,” I note.

“I’m not a cocktail kind of guy. I like beer and an occasional whiskey, neat.”

“Favorite food?” I continue.

“Seafood.”

“Which seafood?” I press.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Salmon, shrimp, lobster, crab?” I tick off choices on my fingers.

“Yes.”

I laugh. “Favorite place?”

He considers the question for a moment before he speaks. “I don’t have a favorite place.”

“Oh, come on. You’ve been around the world with the military, right? You can’t think of a favorite place?”

He shakes his head. “No. I have favorite moments. Favorite people. So, I guess my favorite place is wherever I am in the moment with those people,” he says.

I like that answer. I feel the same way. Places are only memorable if you can enjoy them with people you love. Like Hawaii. It was magical, but I don’t know if I would have enjoyed it as much as I did if Avie hadn’t been there to experience it with me.

“What about you?”

His question pulls me back into our conversation.

“Me?”

“Yeah, it works both ways, Legs. If we’re going to be friends.”

“My favorite color is teal. Cocktail is anything colorful and sweet. My favorite food is chunky peanut butter and honey sandwiches. And my favorite place is Sandcastle Cove—at the moment at least.”

“Peanut butter and honey sandwiches?” he asks in surprise.

I smile. “Chunky peanut butter,” I correct him.

“I figured you’d be more of a lobster and caviar girl,” he says.

“I like those, too, but the question was my favorite. My grandmother used to make the sandwiches for me when I was little, and nothing compares to them.”

“You’re close to your grandmother?”

Teasing wisps of memories from my childhood swirl in vivid color. My grandmother and I cutting flowers in her garden. Her teaching me how to make her famous chicken and dumplings from scratch. Me sitting at her feet on the front porch as we snapped green beans waiting for the mailman to pass by.

“She’s my person. Well, she and Avie are my people. I don’t need many. I don’t want many,” I reply.

“Why?”

“Because every person who is important to you eventually breaks your heart,” I say honestly.

“How’s that?”

“You lose everyone you love. By some petty, selfish mistake one of you makes or they simply get sick and die. Either way, they will be a loss you have to endure someday,” I answer.