***
"WHEN YOU SAID you were going to take me out," Vic says, leaning her hip against the door of Hadley's car, "I didn't think you'd take me here."
"Where were you thinking, then?"
"I was thinking," she says, placing a hand on his elbow, "some museum or some upscale restaurant. Not here. I would've dressed a little warmer."
A breeze blows from somewhere south of the sea, and it strikes them both. Vic inches a little closer towards him, and Hadley steps closer towards her, seeking warmth.
"I'm sorry," he says. "Should we go somewhere else?"
"No," she says. She closes her eyes. "I like this. It's nice."
Her hand slips down from his elbow and grazes his fingers. If touch could kill.
"Any reason you came to the pier, of all places?" she asks, letting their hands brush against each other. "Emotional significance?"
"I used to come here as a kid," he says, thinking of how he can take her hand, without being obvious about it. "Eat cotton candy, play games, eat some more. That sort of thing."
"And you brought me here," Vic says. "Very cute."
"You mentioned liking carnival games," Hadley says.
"That I did. Are we just going to keep standing around?"
She takes his wrist and tugs him towards the pier. It's cold, freezing, but he can feel warmth radiating from her hand, spreading onto his skin. He's not sure if it's magic. He's not sure if he can handle being around her for more than fifteen minutes—conversations on the phone are fine, he can do that; but actually being here, in the flesh? He's thirteen again, unsure of how to act, of how to carry himself, of how to say the right words.
Hadley had called her a few times, to distract himself from David's presence, and he'd been surprised at how easy it was to talk to Vic, when all he had of her was her voice. It took a week for Hadley to muster the courage to ask her out.
"Aren't you worried about leaving David all alone in your room?" Vic asks.
They're walking aimlessly, not stopping at any particular booth. Hadley doesn't mind. Her hand is warm and solid in his own, a comforting weight.
"It's not like he's a pet," Hadley says. "He can take care of himself."
"You're not worried he's going to run off with all your belongings?"
"He's had enough chances over the past week."
"Wait, this isn't the first time you're leaving him alone at your house?" Vic asks. "I'm surprised you trust him so easily."
"I mean," Hadley says, neatly side-stepping a puddle of spilled hot chocolate, briefly letting go of Vic. "It's not like I have a choice."
Vic holds Hadley's hand. The touch is still a shock. "You always have a choice."
They keep walking, making idle chit-chat. Vic talks about her siblings and her job at some supermarket and rude customers and crazy customers, and Hadley listens, asks questions. His pulse has started to slow down to a normal pace. Hadley offers to buy some corndogs or hot chocolate—she chooses the hot chocolate. It's nice. Nice not to think about his curse or how long Gregory and Morgan and Sebastian have been gone, only of Vic's body pressed close to his side, of how she slowly sips her hot chocolate. Some of her lipstick comes smudged off on the rim of the cup.
