ANYTHING BUT MINE

The first time Jake saw Mary, she was barefoot, wearing a bikini, and her cute laughter floated above the clang of pinball bells and the distant sound of carnival rides. It was late July in Seabrook, North Carolina—a sleepy beach town that swelled each summer with tourists and summer workers, only to fade back to quiet come September.

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Jake wasn’t a local. He was a city boy through and through, spending one last weekend at the shore before heading back to Cleveland to begin his final year of med school. The trip was supposed to be a low-key escape—beer, boardwalk food, and maybe a dip in the ocean. Love wasn’t on the itinerary.

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But then there was Mary.

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She was a waitress at the Blue Heron Café, the kind of place with seashells glued to the napkin holders and a jukebox that only played vinyl. Jake had stopped in for a late lunch and a cold Coke, and Mary had poured both with a smile that made him forget every plan he thought he had.

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They got to talking. Then walking. Then talking some more. Hours passed like minutes. And now, here they were—arms brushing as they wandered down the Miracle Mile, the stretch of the boardwalk that came alive as soon as the sun slipped beneath the horizon.

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“Do you ever just wish summer would last forever?” Mary asked, holding her sandals in one hand and twirling a melted cherry popsicle in the other.

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Jake glanced at her, the way her hair caught the light from the streetlamps, the warmth in her eyes. “Right now, yeah. I do.”

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They passed the arcade, where kids screamed over skee ball scores and teens flirted by the claw machine. The warm ocean breeze tugged at the edges of their conversation, and the sounds of a local band drifted from the seaside pavilion, notes of a familiar country tune rolling over the sand.

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“You wanna go in?” Jake asked, nodding toward the music.

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Mary tilted her head. “You have any cash left?”

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“Barely enough,” he admitted with a grin.

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She shrugged. “Then what are we waiting for?”

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Inside the pavilion, the air was thick with heat and melody. Mary pulled Jake into the crowd, and they danced—badly at first, then with the kind of abandon that only comes when you forget time exists.

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She threw her head back and laughed when Jake spun her, then leaned in close, her arms wrapping around his neck. The scent of salt and suntan lotion clung to her skin.

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“I love you,” he whispered, and the words felt both real and not. True in the way a moment can be, even if it doesn’t last.

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Mary pulled back just enough to see his face. Then she laughed—a soft, sad laugh—and kissed him anyway.

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“I know,” she said.

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They sat on the beach afterward, toes buried in the cool sand, her head on his shoulder as the tide crept in. The stars were out, scattered across the sky like secrets neither of them wanted to tell.

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“I leave in the morning,” Jake said.

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“I know,” she replied.

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They didn’t talk about what came next. About Cleveland, or the classes waiting for Jake, or Mary’s plans—whatever they were. Maybe she’d stay here another season. Maybe she’d leave. But tonight wasn’t about tomorrow. It was about now.

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And now, she was his.

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He memorized everything—the curve of her smile, the way her thumb drew lazy circles on his chest, her perfectly beautiful body, and the soft, sensuous sounds she made as the waves grew louder. He told himself he wouldn’t forget. He couldn’t.

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They fell asleep wrapped in a beach blanket, the kind hotels handed out with a deposit. In the pale gray light of dawn, Jake woke first. The sky was still pink, the world hushed.

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He looked at her one last time, knowing he couldn’t wake her. Not without ruining it.

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So he kissed her forehead, stood up, and walked away—barefoot, like her, the sand cool beneath his feet.

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Two Years Later-

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Jake sat alone at the end of the same boardwalk, now a stranger in a familiar place. The world had changed. He had changed. He’d graduated, passed his boards, and taken a residency at a hospital in Columbus. His life was moving forward, fast.

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But still, on this weekend—late July—he found himself back in Seabrook. A tradition he hadn’t meant to start, but couldn’t quite let go.

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He heard the music before he saw the pavilion. A local band, just like last time. Different song. Same kind of magic.

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Then he saw her.

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Mary.

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She was on the beach, not dancing this time, but walking slowly, sandals in hand, the tide brushing her ankles. Alone.

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Jake didn’t hesitate.

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He jogged down the steps, his heart pounding harder with each stride. She turned as he approached, that same slow smile spreading across her face.

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“I was hoping you’d come back one day,” she said.

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“I didn’t plan to,” Jake admitted, catching his breath. “But you’re so hard to forget.”

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Mary laughed. “I know.”

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They stood there, like the years between them were just a pause in a song.

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“You ever think about that night?” he asked.

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“All the time.”

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“Me too.”

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Silence stretched between them, filled with everything they didn’t say.

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“I’m not leaving tomorrow,” Jake finally said.

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Mary looked up, her eyes searching his. “What about your job?”

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“I took a break. A real one. Came here to figure out what I really want.”

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“And?”

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“I want you.”

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She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together.

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“Then maybe this time,” she said softly, “summer doesn’t have to end.”

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-Mark Gammill