The Pier

Even after Jane took her time disposing of their empty cups, Pat still had difficulty squeezing out of his side of the faded beige two-seater. It was even more difficult than before; Jane had to tug on his arm to get his knees unstuck from under the dashboard. Pat clumsily stumbled out, Jane almost toppling over when he bumped into her. It was Pat’s turn to help her out, and with a sudden embrace, he kept her from stumbling easily in the winds that had picked up speed over the nearly two hours they had been out and about aimlessly driving around and stopping at every intersection with each unlucky red light.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he loosened his arms from Jane’s torso.

“No, it’s—” She chuckled lightly and stepped from his lanky arms. “Thanks.” She gave him a cheap smirk and turned around, quickly jogging up the few steps that led up to the old pier.

Pat was able to quickly catch up and followed Jane all the way past the few tiny shops to the end of the pier, a rusted, link chain with a faded, red-lettered sign reading Do Not Dive From Pier blocking the single pathway to an easily fun time. A sudden gust of wet wind blew across the chain, the sign waving back and forth on the zip ties holding it to the chain. With his hoodie on his arm and a Phoenix Suns jersey loosely draped over his shoulders, he could feel a chill run over his body.

Without hesitation, he shook out his hoodie and placed it over Jane’s shoulders as her back faced him, looking out at the Pacific. She jumped a bit when the warm cotton touched her shoulders, but accepted it nonetheless. When Pat stepped up beside her, he could see her small fingers generously fold over the zipper-lined edges as she humbly voiced her thanks over another strong breeze that left her teetering in place.

“Does it ever get this chilly in Arizona?”

“Barely,” Pat replied, sticking his rough hands into his pockets. “Maybe every once in a while during winter, but rarely even then, unless you’re actually in the... the desert.” Another gust of wind blew the hair from their faces and back across their necks as a thin sheet of goose bumps coated Pat’s forearms. “It gets cold at night out there,” he casually added, shrugging his shoulders. Awkward, trivial conversation was not his forte.

Jane glanced to her side and could easily see the lumps lingering on his skin. “Clearly.”

She unclenched a side of his hoodie and reached out to run her index finger over the back of his bent wrist sticking awkwardly out of his front pocket. Pat turned from the water and took out his hand, his fingers easily slipping out the loose skinny jean fabric. He bit his lip in an attempt to hide a chuckle, but couldn’t prevent a single nervous laugh from escaping his lips as he ran his fingers from the underside of Jane’s wrist, across her palm, and along her fingers. Jane let out a small, diffident, embarrassing giggle as Pat lingered his hesitant fingers under her fingertips.

“That doesn’t bother you?” he asked, still marveling at the their jittery fingers.

“Not in the slightest,” she quietly assured, running a finger over a blister on his upturned hand.

“Good,” he muttered.

She let out a similar nervous chuckle before loosely grasping his fingers with hers; Pat let out a laughable breath as he ran his thumb over her knuckles.

“Your hands are soft,” he observed just over the breeze.

“Mmhm.”

He ran his thumb over her fingers again. “But your hand feels cold.”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “Not as warm as yours, though.” She could feel an inevitable shiver shake her entire body as a breeze ruffled her hair.

Pat chuckled before quickly dropping her hand and enveloping her in a warm hug. He quickly pulled away, though, overcome with mentally self-chastising embarrassment, and ran his hands up and down her arms. “Better now?”

“Yeah,” she laughed, tugging the two edges of the jacket tighter across her chest. “Do you not come here at night? It’s always freezing. It doesn’t matter what time of year.”

“Not really. I’m usually sleeping.” He gave a chaste smile and licked his lips, his demeanor suddenly expressing fearful rejection. “I’ve… ugh.”

Jane smiled up at him, urging him to continue his words with a nod of her head.

“I-I’ve been…” He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’ve actually been coming here on my days off to see if you’d be at the…” He ran his hands over his arms, trying to keep warm in the ocean breeze. “I leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow…” She gripped Pat’s thin jacket even tighter over her shoulders.

“And I was wondering if…” Pat paused, nervously licking his lips. “I want to see you again, Jane. Next time I’m here, I want to…” His voice trailed off as his nerves got the best of him.

“Want to what?”

“I’m just drawn to you, Jane.”

Pat hesitantly raised his curled fingers, biting his lip. He let the back of his knuckles gently graze her cheek before he let his hand drop back down to his side. She didn’t keep her eyes off of him and it made him even more nervous and doubtful.

“I-I-It’s stupid, I know.” He shrugged and gave a half-hearted chuckle. “I mean, I don’t know you as well as I’d like, yet here I am, just exposing myself on a last chance. I mean, it even sounds creepy, like… ‘I was here almost every day must to see if you’d show u—’”

Pat shut his mouth the second Jane stepped forward, nervously gnawing on her lip. She let go of Pat’s jacket between her fingers and wrapped her arms around his neck in an embrace that suddenly warmed him from the breeze across the ocean. He automatically brought his arms over her shoulders, his jacket slightly sliding down out of place. With a large, blistered hand, he was able to cup her head as she buried her chilly nose against his neck. He held back a bright grin to a small, sad smile and let a few fingers stroke over her hair in place. Besides the distant whisper distorted by the low-pressure winds, the only other clue she was speaking to him was the sensation of her lips brushing against the collar of his Suns jersey. “I know what you mean.” Another bothersome breeze blew. “I know exactly what you mean,” she repeated. Pat let his sad smile slightly grow, but his buzzing, sporadic thoughts still kept his lips like closed curtains.

“What time is it?” he blurted from his dozens of thoughts running through his mind.

“Don’t you have your phone?” Jane asked, uncurling her arms from his neck. A thin blue vein in his neck barely showed under a distant shop lamp as he nervously clenched his jaw.

“Dead.” He pinched his neck and ruffled his hair as Jane quickly slipped her phone out and back into her back pocket.

“It’s nearly midnight. Do you need to check in? Or… something of the sorts?”

Pat eagerly nodded and speechlessly grabbed her hand before running down the planks for her car. The warmth from his red, bumpy fingers excited Jane’s nerves to a calming buzz, the feeling even more pronounced than it had already been the entire night.