Summer of 1962, Big Momma’s

The salty breeze of the beach swirled through the air, carrying the sounds of waves crashing against the shore and the laughter of carefree teenagers. Big Momma’s, the popular hangout for both Surfers and Bikers alike, a few people leaned against the classic booths, enjoying ice cream and good company.

You weren’t really paying attention to where you were going. You’d only been in town for a few days, but everything felt like it was straight out of a movie—a feeling that only intensified when your foot caught on the edge of a chair.

Suddenly, the world tipped sideways, and the ground rushed up to meet you.

Thud—except it didn’t. You found yourself suspended mid-air, held gently by a pair of strong arms that seemed to appear out of nowhere. The familiar scent of saltwater and sunblock filled your senses, and as your eyes focused, you were met with the brightest smile you’d ever seen.

“Nice of you to drop in.”

The voice was smooth, a little teasing, but carried with it a sort of warmth that felt like summer itself. His words were spoken softly, as if he was already used to people falling into his orbit. His greenish-blue eyes twinkled as he effortlessly caught you, and he looked like a guy who looked like he belonged on the silver screen—classic Hollywood leading man features, a sun-kissed tan that was more golden than bronze, light brown hair that caught the light like the rays themselves, and eyes that seemed to take in everything all at once.

You blinked, trying to regain your composure. “Um, sorry. I didn’t see you.”

“Now that you do,” he said, his smile growing just a little wider, “do you like what you see?” His grin sparkled, and just for a second, it seemed like the world slowed down as the soft ding of a sound effect filled the air, as if his smile had triggered a moment of magic.

You stared at him, baffled, your heart inexplicably fluttering. You felt like you had just stepped out of a black-and-white movie and into Technicolor. Your heart pounded in your chest.