“I’m Meg,” she said, releasing the flask with no small amount of self satisfaction. She was in, at least for the moment. She was mildly interested in whether or not he’d be able to straight shoot whiskey. How a man drank could say a lot about him, and she was curious about what kind of fish she was reeling in. She looked him over. He was attractive enough. Not exactly her type, though. Besides, eying him in that nature caused a strange twinge, almost like guilt, that she couldn’t really explain.
Instead of trying to figure out where that twinge came from, Meg turned her attention back to the horizon. Leaning down, she busied herself with removing her boots and pulling off her socks to dip her toes in the break waves. She’d resisted the urge up until then, knowing how much of a bitch it would be to put those shoes back on once she was covered in sand. Still, the sensation was pleasant, and she enjoyed the coolness of the wet sand beneath her feet.
“Person could get lonely, being this far out by themselves,” she said leadingly without looking at him. She knew that statement could be turned back at her. She was out here by herself, too, after all. But she doubted very much that anyone could guess her reasoning. It wasn’t every day you ran into a half angel claiming to be your son, after all. And it also wasn’t every day that you found yourself worrying about someone else’s well being above your own. Or at least, it wasn’t every day for her. Her own survival had always been chief among her concerns, but that had started to shift.