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Every summer after her college semester is over, Cherry Adams travels back to her small hometown in South Carolina to visit her family. Each summer is the same. Work at the diner, go to the beach, and smoke weed. She expected thi...
"We need music," I tell Cherry once we enter the old-fashioned styled kitchen. The floor tiles are checkered, matching the style of the lobby exactly. When I first walked into the diner tonight, it felt as if I had stepped into a time machine. Like I suddenly had a black leather jacket on and was about to meet the characters from Grease.
"We have four things to wash," Cherry says, dumping the glass into the deep, gray sink. "We don't need music. We'll only be back here for two seconds."
"That's two whole seconds of a song we could listen to," I argue, pulling out my phone from my back pocket. I go through my library of music and select "Kiss Me Quick" by Elvis. As the song begins to play throughout the kitchen, Cherry's pretty face brightens.
"You listen to Elvis?" she asks, now running water over the dirty dishes.
"Is that so surprising?" I respoond, moving beside Cherry and in front of the sink. I grab the pink dish soap that sits on the corner of the sink, squeezing the liquid over the dishes and water that is beginning to accumulate.
"It is, actually." She grabs a sponge and scrubs the first saucer, and when all of the red, gooey pie filling has disappeared, Cherry hands it over to me. I rinse the dish off, and we discover this is a pretty effective cleaning method. She continues, "I love any music that was made in the fifties and sixties. Not a lot of people share that interest with me here."
"Well, I'm glad we have something in common," I look at her, allowing my eyes to concentrate on her aqua-colored eyes. She smiles bashfully and looks away quickly, moving her focus back to the dishes. It's almost like she doesn't want me to see her smiling. She doesn't want me to know she's enjoying this conversation as much as I am.
Elvis hasn't even finished singing his song by the time we've dried all of the dishes and put them away. She was right, this wasn't going to take us much time at all. Honestly, coming back here was just my plan to talk to her more.
"So," I lean my back against the counter as I wipe my hands dry with a dish towel, "what's your story?"
She's now standing in front of me, her freckle-coated arms crossed over her chest. She looks at me and snickers, "Too fucked up to explain all in one night."
"What a shame. I was looking forward to hearing you talk," I grin, rolling up the dishtowel that dried my hands. I throw it at her, and she catches it, trying her best to not crack a smile. "You have a boyfriend?"
"You are just not stopping with the questions, are you?" she finally smiles. "But, no. I don't have a boyfriend. I don't plan on dating anytime soon, either." She then turns the conversation on me, stepping closer with each question she asks. "What's with you then, huh? Do you have a girlfriend? If not, why?"
"Okay," I laugh. "I get the point. I'll stop interrogating you."
"It doesn't feel good, does it?" she asks another question, stepping closer to me again. What was once a large space between us has now changed to only a few inches, making my heart thump harder.
"Talking to someone feels good, yes. Being asked a thousand questions all at once, no."
Cherry grins. "Now you know exactly how I feel."
"I don't have a girlfriend, though. To answer your question," I tell her while being hypnotized by her bright eyes.
"Good."
"Why is that a good thing?" I ask, feeling my right eyebrow rising on my face.
"I didn't mean it in the way you think. I just meant, if my boyfriend were in a kitchen, alone with another girl, asking her a million questions, I'd be hurt," she tells me. I can tell she's getting flustered, as her cheeks flush and the rambling that just went on.
"Good to know, Cherry," I grin.
When the song that was playing ends, "A Little Less Conversation" by Elvis begins to play. Cherry and I both start singing along, completely in sync with one another. I guess she loves this song just as much as me. Impulsively, I grab her hand and spin her around, catching her off guard as she begins to burst into laughter. The old Ethan would have never done this with a stranger, but no one here in this town knows me besides Wyatt. And, it's easier to be who you want to be when no one knows you or your past.
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I take another step, and to my surprise, I slide on a wet spot on the floor and fall forward, catching myself by placing my hands up against the wall. The only problem is that the wall is behind Cherry and her back is now up against it. My arms are on both sides of her head while my hands still press on the wall. Our bodies are the closest they've been all night. I'm noticing a lot more personal things about her, like how she smells like the ocean and I can almost sense her quickened heartbeat.
We look into each other's eyes for what feels like the longest time. So long that I know she has freckles you wouldn't be able to notice by sitting across from her in a booth. Her eyes are even more intimidating the closer you get to them and her ginger hair is more vibrant up close somehow.
Breaking the long silence between us, Cherry clears her throat and says, "It's getting late."
"Um, yeah," I cough. I quickly remove my hands from the wall and step back, allowing there to be great space between us, once again.
