Beach Read

by Emily Henry

when the world felt dark and scary, love could whisk you off to go dancing; laughter could take some of the pain away; beauty could punch holes in your fear.

“I would pay one hundred dollars to see what a tuxedo under your laundry regimen looks like. And I’m extremely broke, so that says a lot.” He rolled his eyes. “I like to think of it as my laundry democracy.” “See, if you let something inanimate vote on whether it wants to be washed, it’s not going to answer.”

Again and again he told me I wasn’t myself. But he was wrong. I was the same me I’d always been. I’d just stopped trying to glow in the dark for him, or anyone else.

He fit so perfectly into the love story I’d imagined for myself that I mistook him for the love of my life.

“How much was it?” I asked, tearing off an enormous piece and lowering it dramatically into my mouth. “Three dollars, but it’s fine. Just Venmo me the dollar fifty later.” “Are you sure that’s not too much trouble?” I said. “I’m happy to go get a cashier’s check.” “Do you know where the closest Western Union is?” he said. “You could probably wire it.” “What sort of interest were you thinking?” I asked. “You can just give me three dollars when I take you home, and then if I ever find out I need an organ, we can circle back.” “Sure, sure,” I agreed. “Let’s just put a pin in this.” “Yeah, we should probably loop in our lawyers anyway.” “Good point,” I said.

“Do you feel like your mom just dropped us off here before homecoming?” I asked. “I never went to homecoming,” he said. I pretended to play a violin, at which point I realized I had no idea how a person actually held a violin. “What’s that,” Gus said flatly. “What are you doing?” “I think I’m holding a violin,” I answered. “No,” he said. “No, I can safely say you are not.”

That’s the key to marriage. You have to keep falling in love with every new version of each other, and it’s the best feeling in the whole world.”

It was just another good day. A perfect day. A happy-for-now, so vast and deep that I knew—or rather believed—I didn’t have to worry about tomorrow.