A Midwestern Cinderella
But I wasn't about to miss out on a few extra minutes with him.
The sun beat down on the black asphalt as we worked our way through the rows of cars.
“Is summer like this in Paradisa?” I asked.
Freddie looked around at the sizzling pavement, the screams of cicadas, and the rising humidity and shook his head. “Not at all. It's hot, but not like this. And our insects are a bit quieter.”
I chuckled. “What kind of summer activities do you have?”
He shrugged. “We ride horses, there's swimming, and the ocean is close.” He smiled, his eyes going distant. “We do bonfires on the beach. The water is always cold, but it's perfect after a hot day.”
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