“What is it?” she finally asks, gazing up at me. “It’s a poker chip, from casino night at the Surfbreak,” I explain, awkwardly scratching at the back of my neck. “I found it wedged between the slats on the pier. There’s a—” “Seagull on the back,” she cuts me off, smiling wide, eyes crinkling at the corners as she flips it over. “Yeah, I don’t know.” I lick my dry lips, one shoulder lifting in a casual shrug. “I saw it and thought of you.”
