CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

Nash takes me to a place called Corey’s Fry Shack, which is accurately named - it’s just a tiny little building near the boardwalk. We both order “animal style” burgers, which not only come with extra meat and a delicious tangy sauce, but also a huge paper plate of fries and a chocolate milkshake that’s so thick they don’t even bother giving you a straw, just a spoon with an extra long handle.

We sit on the beach, balancing out food on our laps. The sand is warm against my legs and the ocean seems impossibly blue, stretching out toward the horizon like a polished opal.

Neither of us speaks for a while as we tear into our burgers. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until Nash mentioned food, but I absolutely devour my lunch before starting on my chocolate shake.

“I have to admit,” I say, licking a thick dollop of chocolate milkshake off my spoon, “this is pretty great.”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Nash seems pleased with himself. “Best burgers in the world.” He smears a french fry