He took the photo from her. In it she was smiling so big and glowing so bright that it took his breath away. He smiled at her. “Wish I could have seen it.”
She took the photo back and put it carefully away. “Tatiana has a video. Maybe you can see that sometime.” But Trace knew it wouldn’t be the same as experiencing it with her.
“You swim out in the ocean a lot, right, Trace?” asked Tatiana. “For training? You probably swim with dolphins and whales all the time.”
“Not so much. We’re usually too busy trying to survive. No time to frolic with the wildlife.”
Monte jumped up after they had all finished eating. “Let’s go to the Wild Arctic Interaction. Then we don’t want to miss Shamu—but we can do that on our way out of the park.”
Meg grinned fondly at him. “How old are you? Twelve?”
He winked at her. “Today I am.” He linked arms with her and Tatiana and they trooped out the door into the park. Meg reached back and grabbed Trace’s hand to pull him up beside her.
By four o’clock they were headed across the parking lot. Everyone had seen most everything they wanted to see, but Monte and Tatiana had to get on the road and head back to LA before it got too late. After they had retrieved Meg’s bag from Monte’s car everyone hugged goodbye and Monte and Tatiana had promised to come back for the big SDDI Showcase in a few weeks. They pulled out of their parking space and headed for the exit as Trace and Meg hopped aboard a passing tram headed toward his parking section.
They decided to stop for an early dinner on the way back to Trace’s house. “I know this great little place if you don’t mind slumming.”
“Are you kidding? I have seal snot and whale spit all over me. Where else are we gonna go? I was thinking we should go through a drive-thru somewhere.”
“No, this’ll be fun.”
She teased him, “I trust you with my life.”
After a while he pulled into a crushed shell parking area beside a good-sized shack on the beach. “Hideaway” was painted crudely over the door. It looked like a dive, but Meg gamely jumped out of the Jeep after he parked. There were only a couple of other cars there.
“It’s still pretty early for this place. It’ll be jumpin’ later, though,” he said as he took her hand.
He pulled the door open for her and they entered a dimly lit room. It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust after coming in from the late afternoon sunshine outside. Meg heard Robert Plant and Alison Krauss singing Rich Woman over the speakers as Trace led her to a small beat up table pushed up against the wall with two mismatched rustic wooden chairs on either side of it. As he held one of the chairs out for her, the waitress behind the bar called out, “What can I get you to drink, sugar?”
Meg looked up at Trace. “I think she’s talking to you,” she said drily.
“What do you want? Feel like a beer?” he asked her.
“No. Too much sun today.” She looked toward the bar. “Ooh . . . they have sweet tea. That sounds good.”
Trace called over to where the waitress stood beside the bartender. “A bottle of Corona and a sweet tea.”
“Comin’ up.”
Trace turned back to Meg. “Okay, here’s the plan. They have awesome steamed crab here—really fresh, but really messy. Are you game?”
“I am. But I do want to wash up before I dig in. Excuse me?”
“Of course.”
Meg stood up and looked around for the ladies’ room. The waitress, in a tight cropped t-shirt with “Sissy” airbrushed across the chest and cutoff shorts that were almost as tight, walked toward her with their drinks. “Over that way, hon, down the hallway on the right.” Meg headed that direction as Sissy continued on toward their table. She could hear Trace’s low voice as he spoke and Sissy’s low laugh.
When she came back to the table someone had spread newspaper across it. She picked up her tea and took a big swig. “Slow down there, slugger. Pace
She took the photo back and put it carefully away. “Tatiana has a video. Maybe you can see that sometime.” But Trace knew it wouldn’t be the same as experiencing it with her.
“You swim out in the ocean a lot, right, Trace?” asked Tatiana. “For training? You probably swim with dolphins and whales all the time.”
“Not so much. We’re usually too busy trying to survive. No time to frolic with the wildlife.”
Monte jumped up after they had all finished eating. “Let’s go to the Wild Arctic Interaction. Then we don’t want to miss Shamu—but we can do that on our way out of the park.”
Meg grinned fondly at him. “How old are you? Twelve?”
He winked at her. “Today I am.” He linked arms with her and Tatiana and they trooped out the door into the park. Meg reached back and grabbed Trace’s hand to pull him up beside her.
By four o’clock they were headed across the parking lot. Everyone had seen most everything they wanted to see, but Monte and Tatiana had to get on the road and head back to LA before it got too late. After they had retrieved Meg’s bag from Monte’s car everyone hugged goodbye and Monte and Tatiana had promised to come back for the big SDDI Showcase in a few weeks. They pulled out of their parking space and headed for the exit as Trace and Meg hopped aboard a passing tram headed toward his parking section.
They decided to stop for an early dinner on the way back to Trace’s house. “I know this great little place if you don’t mind slumming.”
“Are you kidding? I have seal snot and whale spit all over me. Where else are we gonna go? I was thinking we should go through a drive-thru somewhere.”
“No, this’ll be fun.”
She teased him, “I trust you with my life.”
After a while he pulled into a crushed shell parking area beside a good-sized shack on the beach. “Hideaway” was painted crudely over the door. It looked like a dive, but Meg gamely jumped out of the Jeep after he parked. There were only a couple of other cars there.
“It’s still pretty early for this place. It’ll be jumpin’ later, though,” he said as he took her hand.
He pulled the door open for her and they entered a dimly lit room. It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust after coming in from the late afternoon sunshine outside. Meg heard Robert Plant and Alison Krauss singing Rich Woman over the speakers as Trace led her to a small beat up table pushed up against the wall with two mismatched rustic wooden chairs on either side of it. As he held one of the chairs out for her, the waitress behind the bar called out, “What can I get you to drink, sugar?”
Meg looked up at Trace. “I think she’s talking to you,” she said drily.
“What do you want? Feel like a beer?” he asked her.
“No. Too much sun today.” She looked toward the bar. “Ooh . . . they have sweet tea. That sounds good.”
Trace called over to where the waitress stood beside the bartender. “A bottle of Corona and a sweet tea.”
“Comin’ up.”
Trace turned back to Meg. “Okay, here’s the plan. They have awesome steamed crab here—really fresh, but really messy. Are you game?”
“I am. But I do want to wash up before I dig in. Excuse me?”
“Of course.”
Meg stood up and looked around for the ladies’ room. The waitress, in a tight cropped t-shirt with “Sissy” airbrushed across the chest and cutoff shorts that were almost as tight, walked toward her with their drinks. “Over that way, hon, down the hallway on the right.” Meg headed that direction as Sissy continued on toward their table. She could hear Trace’s low voice as he spoke and Sissy’s low laugh.
When she came back to the table someone had spread newspaper across it. She picked up her tea and took a big swig. “Slow down there, slugger. Pace
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