© Kim Strattford, 2018
WHEN THE SEA
SWALLOWS THE SUN
By Kim
Strattford
Emma took a deep breath before
exiting the taxi and grabbing her bag from the driver. HeÕd tried to engage her in conversation
during the ride from the Tampa airport to this lovely hotel in Clearwater Beach,
but sheÕd resisted his attempts to get her to open up.
He was a stranger. A nice enough one who seemed to be able
to tell she wasnÕt very happy, but he didnÕt need to know that her heart wasnÕt
into this vacation. That Sam was
supposed to be here with her. That this whole damn trip had been his idea.
Before heÕd broken up with her. Then cashed in his ticket, no
doubt. Refund penalty be
damned.
She was too careful with her money to
do that. By God she was going to
sit on the beach and swim and eat good food, even if she was miserable every
second.
SheÕd just about pulled her ÒIÕll show
himÓ mojo around her like a suit of armor when she saw Rick Melton, one of
SamÕs friends, one whoÕd never seemed a fan of hers, standing at the reception
desk.
He turned, keycard in hand, right as
she walked up. He didnÕt seem
terribly surprised to see her there.
ÒMs. Barnett.Ó
ÒDick.Ó
He smirked. ÒItÕs Rick, but then you know that, Emma.Ó He leaned back against the reception
desk. ÒSamÕs a stand-up guy,
huh? Letting me have
his ticket and all.Ó
Have? He gave the ticket away? ÒI thought for sure heÕd sell it.Ó
ÒYeah, well, me, too.Ó He laughed and not in the mean way she
was used to. ÒKind of stupid of
him, donÕt you think? Free trip down here.
Room all paid.Ó The smirk
she was used to him wearing came out.
Oh, shit. Room? Singular?
ÒRelax, Em. You look like you might faint. What I meant is that the room Sam booked
for you two is paid for. I got my
own. They had a last-minute
cancellation.Ó
She let out breath she hadnÕt
realized sheÕd been holding. ÒOh. Good.Ó
He laughed softly. ÒWould you have turned around and left
if staying meant sharing a room with me?Ó
ÒUh, yes.Ó
ÒHmmm.Ó His expression was impossible to
read. He reached for his rolling
bag and held up his keycard. ÒSee
you around.Ó
She rolled her eyes.
ÒOr not.Ó He walked away, and Emma couldnÕt help
but notice that the woman whoÕd checked him in was watching him make his way to
the elevators.
HeÕd probably schmoozed her. Not that he ever did that to Emma, since
he seemed to think she was the worst possible woman for his friend.
Not that Emma cared that he hadnÕt
tried to be nice. Yeah, he was sort
of—okay, really good looking, but once you factored in his personality, he
wasnÕt all that. His soulful brown
eyes and sandy brown hair alone did not make him a catch. Or his cologne, which always seemed a
little familiar but she couldnÕt figure out who else she knew that might wear
it. A bunch of guys probably wore
it: Rick wasnÕt special.
Not that the check-in gal seemed to
realize that. Emma had to cough to
get her attention.
As the woman went about checking her
in, Emma said, ÒMy room isnÕt anywhere near Mister MeltonÕs, is it?Ó
ÒItÕs not our policy to give out
guest information.Ó The woman made
protecting RickÕs privacy sound like a new national security priority.
ÒIÕm not asking where he is, just trying
to make sure heÕs not anywhere near me.Ó
Emma could tell the woman wasnÕt going to budge without a reason. ÒLook, I was supposed to be here with my
jerk of a boyfriend who dumped me for no apparent reason. That guy is one of his closest
friends. ItÕs beyond awkward, you
know?Ó
The woman exhaled slowly. ÒHeÕs not near you.Ó
ÒThanks.Ó
The woman nodded and swiped EmmaÕs
credit card, then said, ÒTook balls to come on your own. IÕm not sure I would have.Ó
Emma laughed. ÒItÕs twenty nine degrees in D.C. as we
speak, and possibly snowing. Tell
me you wouldnÕt come when you have to face winter and a break-up. The beach seemed a better option.Ó
ÒTrue.Ó The woman smiled, and it was finally a
real one, like she was warming up to Emma—and forgiving her for the
questions about Rick the Dick.
ÒHere you go.Ó
ÒThanks.Ó She took the keycard and rode the
elevator up to the seventh floor.
The room Sam had booked for them faced the water instead of the parking
lot, and the view was glorious.
HeÕd had great taste, even if she
hadnÕt proven to be something he liked for the long haul.
She set to unpacking so she wouldnÕt
dwell on that, at least for the next few minutes.
A little while later, bag stowed in
the closet, her clothes and toiletries put away or laid out so that the room felt
like a temporary home rather than just a way station, Emma headed to the
beach. She was white as a
ghost—the peril of being a contracts specialist in a city where the
workday ended usually well after dinner.
But she looked good in her bikini—sheÕd been working out a lot
with Sam and it showed.
In fact, they worked out more than
they talked. Probably a warning
sign she should have paid attention to.
She picked one of the rental cabanas—there
were plenty since prime sun time was over—and paid the cabana boy, who
showed her how to adjust the fabric bubble to provide different amounts of shade
for her recliner. SheÕd already
slathered waterproof sunscreen on, so she pulled off her cover-up, grabbed her
reader, and got comfortable for some serious me time.
Until she heard steps coming toward
her, sand swishing as whoever it was kicked rather
than walked their way toward her chair.
Maybe it was a waiter, coming to comp her the first drink. That would be sweet.
ÒOh, cool. ThereÕs one left.Ó Rick plopped down in the recliner in the
cabana next to her.
She looked pointedly up and down the
row of cabanas—plenty were free—and then fixed him with her best
ÒThis contract is not up to parÓ glare.
ÒSeriously? Pick a different
one.Ó
ÒWhy?Ó He pulled off his t-shirt, showing
tanned skin and a moderately buff body.
He clearly didnÕt spend hours
in the gym the way Sam did. And his
tan was the kind that was darker in spots, not uniform the way SamÕs was from
tanning beds or spray tans, depending on her exÕs current degree of concern about
skin cancer. Rick obviously had
gotten his tan by being outside in the sun actually doing something.
She couldnÕt think of a good reason
he should move, other than the real one, so she decided to be honest. ÒYouÕve never liked me.Ó
ÒThatÕs not true. I never liked you with my friend.Ó
She wasnÕt expecting him to be honest
in return and had no snotty reply ready for him.
He grinned, and it was a cute grin,
not the snarky one she was used to.
ÒSurprised you, didnÕt I?Ó
ÒYep.Ó She lay back in her recliner,
suddenly wishing sheÕd pulled the sun bubble up so she wouldnÕt have to see
him.
ÒIÕve never been here before. Have you?Ó
ÒNope.Ó
ÒSam talks about it all the time.Ó
ÒYep.Ó
Rick laughed, as if he was enjoying
non-communicative Emma rather than being put off by her. ÒDoes your room face the beach?Ó
ÒYep.Ó
ÒMine, too. So, did you love Sam?Ó
Damn it all. How was this his business? Was he going to report back to Sam on
what she said about him? ÒNo
comment.Ó
ÒHmmm.Ó
Out of the corner of her eye, she
could see that he was applying sunscreen.
He seemed to know she was
watching. ÒI donÕt suppose youÕd be
willing to do my back, would you?Ó
ÒThere are many girls scattered along
this cabana aisle who would no doubt love to do that for you. Me, not so much.Ó She pretended to be reading the novel on
her reader.
ÒYeah, they did the whole Ôstare me
upÕ routine. GetÕs old, donÕt you
think?Ó
ÒWouldnÕt know. They didnÕt stare at me.Ó
He laughed again and tossed his
sunscreen at her; it flopped onto her belly. ÒI meant the cabana boy. He was seriously giving you the
eye. Come on, do you really want my
sunburn on your conscience?Ó
With a dramatically long sigh, she
put down her reader and got up, spurting some of the sunscreen on his back and
doing her best to make the application of it not at all pleasant. ÒYou can handle your arms and legs. You should have done them in the
bathroom before you came down.Ó
ÒWho says I didnÕt?Ó He turned over and grinned at her—a
really cute grin, damn it all.
She rolled her eyes and reclaimed her
lounger, debating whether to put the bubble up but not wanting to lose the sun
just yet. ÒShut up and let me enjoy
my vacation.Ó
ÒYes, maÕam.Ó He crossed his arms under his
head—Sam would never do that since it would mess up the uniformity of his
tan—and seemed to fall asleep.
But then he mumbled, ÒWake me up in half an hour, Õkay?Ó
as if they were old friends.
She didnÕt answer.
ÒPlease?Ó His voice was a lot more seductive than
she remembered it being.
ÒFine.Ó
ÒYouÕre a peach.Ó A moment later, his breathing changed to
the deeper rhythm of sleep.
ÒThatÕs me,Ó she muttered. ÒPeach girl.Ó She looked over at him, enjoying the view
for a few moments longer than was really necessary, then
forced her attention back to the reader.
She checked the time so she could
wake him up in thirty minutes, then hated she was doing that for him. Why couldnÕt he just bring his cell
phone down and set the alarm like a normal human?
Then again, sheÕd also left her cell
in her room. She didnÕt want to
field contract questions while she was enjoying the sand and the splash of
water from the boat channel and—was that a dolphin? Or a shark? She sat up, realized it was a dolphin,
and relaxed.
That had to be good luck, right? Seeing a dolphin first thing?
She decided to believe it was, even
if having her exÕs friend snoozing in the cabana next to hers seemed like the
opposite of that.
A half hour later, she put the reader
down, got up and nudged him with her knee not terribly gently, then once he
lifted his head, walked away, down to the water.
It was colder than sheÕd expected,
but it felt good after a half hour of sun worshipping, even this late in the
afternoon. She waded in—shuffling
her feet because sheÕd read that stingrays liked to bask in the shallows along this
boat channel—until she was up to her thighs and then shallow-dove into
the water.
The cold hit her first, then the
extraordinary sense of freedom she always felt in the water. It had been a long time since sheÕd swum
in the open water this way. Pools
never replicated the sensation.
ÒI would have figured you for a wade
in slowly kind of girl.Ó
She turned,
saw that Rick was standing at the waterÕs edge.
ÒIÕll leave that to you.Ó
He laughed and ran into the surf,
then dove. He surfaced next to her.
ÒThere are stingrays. You should shuffle, not run.Ó She half expected him to splash her, but
he just paddled, keeping a respectable, but not unfriendly, distance between
them.
ÒWould you care if I got speared by a
stingray spine?Ó
She shrugged.
ÒWow. Cold.Ó He kicked onto his back and floated
easily, seeming very at peace. ÒSam
would have been up at the pool. He
hates salt water.Ó
ÒAnd cold water. Big wuss.Ó
Rick laughed.
ÒShouldnÕt you be defending him? Being his friend and all?Ó
He turned his head, met her
eyes. ÒIÕm in his social
circle. HeÕs a friend of a
friend. But he and I arenÕt really
that close.Ó
She frowned. ÒHe always speaks highly of you.Ó
ÒYeah, well, guess that regardÕs not
terribly mutual. And he likes me
because I get him good deals on things like hotel rooms. IÕm hooked in.Ó He sighed. ÒI mean a lot of hotel rooms, Emma. The guyÕs pretty much a man-slut. I thought, after you lasted more than a few
months with him, that maybe he was really changing. Maybe youÕd be the one who got him to
finally settle the hell down.Ó
ÒWow, way to make me feel
special. I was with a
sleazebag. Just what a girl wants
to hear.Ó She tried to kick away
and was surprised when he grabbed her arm, keeping her where she was. ÒYou said you werenÕt a fan of him and
me. Did you badmouth me to him?Ó
ÒNo. He doesnÕt need my help making poor
decisions.Ó He let her go, but not
before his grip changed from a firm one to something softer, his hand slipping
down her arm in an almost sensual way.
ÒI knew you were too good for him from the start.Ó
She laughed and made it the most bitter one in her arsenal. ÒRight. And thatÕs why you were always so
friendly.Ó
ÒYou really donÕt remember, do you?Ó
ÒRemember what?Ó
ÒThree years ago? Layla CollinsÕ Halloween party? We all met up in costume at SamovarÕs? Moved on to several other bars?Ó
ÒYou were there?Ó She could barely remember that
party. It was the night she learned
that Long Island Iced Teas were not something you should chug down like Grandma
JeanÕs sweet tea. ÒItÕs sort of a
blur.Ó
ÒSo you donÕt remember dancing with
me? Laughing with me? Kissing me? I asked you for your number, but you said
you were going to be sick—great line if you want to make a guy feel
special—and ran for the ladies room.
I never saw you again that night.Ó
ÒMy friend Amber took me home. We went right from the ladies room to her
car. DidnÕt come back in the bar.Ó She closed her eyes. ÒThat was you?Ó
ÒYep.Ó
ÒAnd you thought I knew that and was
acting like I didnÕt know you?Ó
ÒYep.Ó
ÒYou had a mask on that night, and
IÕd had too much to drink, so if you told me your name, I forgot it. I was living a little on the edge back
then. It was an eye opener, being
that sick—I wonÕt gross you out with the details.Ó She swam a little closer. ÒFor what itÕs worth, I was really
pissed off that I couldnÕt remember who I kissed. You were a good kisser.Ó
ÒI still am.Ó His smile was tighter than before.
ÒYouÕre mad?Ó
ÒYou didnÕt think to ask who I was?Ó
ÒI asked Amber. She didnÕt know.Ó
ÒWhy didnÕt you ask Layla? She
invited me.Ó
ÒI did ask her. But my powers of recall were a bit
compromised when I described you.
And itÕs not like you went over the top on your costume other than the
damn mask. You and half the guys at
the party were in jeans and a black t-shirt and a black mask: the little-to-no-effort
gang.Ó
He seemed to concede her point with a
nod. ÒWhereas you were very
memorable. That gypsy outfit was
amazing. You wore the same thing to
SamÕs Halloween party this year.
And the same perfume.Ó
ÒItÕs my go-to Halloween
outfit.Ó She realized that was when
heÕd started to act disapproving around her. ÒWhy didnÕt you say something?Ó
ÒLike what? IÕm the random guy you might have hooked
up with if you hadnÕt been so drunk.Ó
He sighed and shook his head.
ÒI figured you didnÕt care.
And I guess I thought Sam was the type of guy you wanted. Heavy on looks, light on substance.Ó
ÒI didnÕt know he was that guy at
first.Ó
ÒHow dumb are you?Ó He took a deep breath. ÒSorry, my issues.Ó
ÒSo you were jealous? That was why you were such an ass?Ó
ÒYep.Ó He started to swim away and this time
she grabbed his arm, held him in place.
Working out had its uses.
ÒRick, I was coming off a bad
break-up when I met Sam. He made me
feel...special. For a while.Ó She let him go. ÒIÕm sorry I didnÕt remember you. I donÕt drink like that anymore. And youÕre one of the reasons. I had a feeling I messed up a
potentially good thing.Ó
He nodded tightly.
ÒIÕm surprised, though. If you were angry at me, why come down
here?Ó
ÒIÕm an idiot, thatÕs why.Ó He reached out and touched her cheek,
just a fleeting glance of his fingers on her skin. ÒI was worried about you. I saw an opening. I wanted to see how you look in a
bathing suit or if your hair will bleach out in the sun. Take your pick of answers.Ó
ÒI think I like them all.Ó She smiled as seductively as she knew
how, then dove under the water, swimming away.
He didnÕt follow her. But when she came up for air, he was
watching her, a big smile on his face.
ÒYou free for dinner?Ó
She pretended to have to think about it. ÒWhy, yes, I am.Ó
ÒCool.Ó
ÒCool.Ó She laughed, then
her attention was caught by another dolphin. ÒLook,Ó she said as she pointed to it.
He turned and seemed as interested in
the dolphin as she was. When it
disappeared out to sea, he glanced at her.
ÒI like it here,Ó she said softly
enough that he might not hear.
But sound traveled well over
water. He nodded and said, ÒI do,
too.Ó
She met Rick in the lobby. After an afternoon lazing in the sun and
swimming, she was feeling pleasantly blissed out. Her hair was wild from the salt water
and full of waves she could never replicate with any of the special beach
sprays they sold at salons. SheÕd
gotten some color but not so much sheÕd be in pain, and was wearing a cute
black and white sundress. She
looked good and she felt good.
Was she that shallow that another guy
could make her forget about Sam this easily, or had what sheÕd had with Sam
been shallow enough to forget this easily?
Given how much she and Rick had
talked once they got out of the water after their first swim—probably
more than she and Sam had ever talked, at least in terms of the breadth and
depth of the conversation, if not the amount of actual words—she was
starting to wonder what sheÕd seen in Sam.
Other than a nice place to recover from a bad
relationship.
Nice but maybe safe, too. Nothing that would
really hurt her? Johnny, the
guy sheÕd been with before, had put her heart through a shredder. She thought theyÕd been on the verge of
engagement when she caught him in a club with another woman. Friends had come out of hiding to tell
her about more women theyÕd seen him with—it was as if they couldnÕt wait
to pile on. Or maybe they hadnÕt
wanted to rain on her bliss parade.
Whichever, they could have saved her a lot of heartache if theyÕd told
her sooner rather than later.
But they hadnÕt and sheÕd been afraid
of getting hurt again when sheÕd met Sam.
Who was all flash and sweet smiles and pretty
good in bed and not a lot more than that.
She hadnÕt wanted more than that.
SheÕd cried when he broke up with her
but not for very long. It had
almost been...pro forma. Or maybe in relief?
She wouldnÕt have come to Florida if
it had been Johnny who had made the reservations. SheÕd barely left her apartment after
sheÕd found out he was cheating on her.
SheÕd been so sure he was Òthe one.Ó She wondered now if those other women
had thought the same thing.
ÒYou look great,Ó Rick said as he
walked over to her from the elevator.
ÒAnd you took longer than I did to
get down here.Ó
ÒItÕs possible I changed clothes a
few times. And I had a call from my
mom.Ó
She knew her eyebrows went way, way
up.
He gave her a mock stern look. ÒShe didnÕt know IÕm on vacation. This was kind of...spur of the moment.Ó
ÒYou donÕt live with her, do you?Ó
ÒNo, I donÕt live with her—IÕm
thirty four years old. Why would
she call me if I lived with her?Ó
ÒWell, you might be very tied to
those apron strings. But I see you
appear to be string free, so IÕll let it go.Ó She liked his age. She was thirty. Four years older was just enough to be
cool older guy but not so much older that they wouldnÕt share generational
references. ÒWell, you look
good. In case you need validation
to make all those changes of clothes worth it.Ó She grinned at him, enjoying the ability
to tease him after thinking he was a jerk for so long.
ÒThanks, validation is always
appreciated. ThereÕs a seafood
restaurant down the street.
Supposed to be good.Ó
ÒIÕm game.Ó She followed him out and they walked in
companionable silence. She finally
said, ÒJust donÕt let me order a Long Island Iced Tea.Ó
ÒYou know thereÕs usually no actual
iced tea in those, right?Ó
She punched him lightly on the
arm. ÒWhere were you that night
when I was ordering? Things might
have gone very differently.Ó
He seemed about to say something when
his attention was caught by something, and he said, ÒLook at the sunset.Ó
She turned and saw that between the
hotels the sun was perfectly framed as it set...right into the sea. ÒWow.Ó
They didnÕt have to talk about not
moving on till it finished, just stood there watching the sky blaze a vivid
orange and pink and gold, and she wasnÕt sure if he moved first or if she did,
but somehow her hand was in his, and it felt good—it felt safe.
ÒItÕs so beautiful,Ó she whispered,
afraid to say it louder, to jar him into realizing heÕd taken her hand. ÒNo wonder the ancients thought the sun
was a chariot.Ó
ÒI know.Ó He smiled and squeezed her hand. ÒShowÕs over.Ó He didnÕt let go of her hand, though, as
he got them moving again toward the restaurant.
There was a short wait for a table,
so they took the little pager thing that would light up when their table was
ready and went to the bar. He
ordered some Belgian beer sheÕd never heard of, and she made fun of him for
being a beer snob. He just smiled
and enjoyed his drink. She stuck
with a chardonnay. She didnÕt want
to have too much to drink tonight, didnÕt want to make any decisions based on being
a little looped.
Not that she drank too much anymore,
but still, if there was ever a time to embrace moderation, now was it. Ever a reason, she thought he was it.
And God, could she fall any
faster? But it wasnÕt fast, was
it? If sheÕd been interested in him
three years ago and just hadnÕt been able to find him.
Why hadnÕt she tried harder? Probably because sheÕd
met Johnny not long after that.
Fallen hard and fast and didnÕt look back.
She should have. Oh well. Woulda, coulda, shoulda never
accomplished anything.
ÒDeep thoughts?Ó
She looked up at him. ÒWhat? Oh, did you say something?Ó
He nodded.
ÒWas it important? IÕll listen now.Ó She tried for a sheepish, yet engaging
smile.
He laughed. ÒIt probably wasnÕt important.Ó His look turned serious. ÒI should tell you something. Sam didnÕt give me the ticket. I sort of...bought it off him.Ó
ÒOh.Ó She studied him, cocking her head as if
he was some rare species. ÒYou
realize that makes you extra stalkery, right?Ó
He nodded. ÒIs it a turnoff?Ó
ÒIn general, yes. But, in this case... WeÕve had fun today—or I have
anyway.Ó
ÒI have, too.Ó
ÒWhew. WouldnÕt want to be alone on the Ôthis
was a good dayÕ track.Ó She took a
sip of her wine. ÒI like you. I didnÕt before. But I really did, the first time we
met. Would you believe I actually can make sense if I try? That sentence was not a good example of
my conversational skills.Ó
His smile was very wide as he
laughed. ÒI understood you. When IÕm not acting like a prime
jackass, you like me. So the first
time we met was good—until you retreated to barf.Ó
She laughed, almost snorted, and he
grinned as if delighted he amused her.
ÒAnd you like me now, right?Ó He took a sip of his beer, and his eyes
crinkled up in the most engaging way as he waited for her to answer.
She nodded.
ÒWhew. Good thing because I like you. IÕve just known it longer.Ó
ÒTrue.Ó
The pager went off before they could
continue, and they took their drinks and went to the hostess stand. She led them to a very nice table by the
window, and they settled in for a study of the rather extensive menu.
ÒTell me you like garlic,Ó he
said. ÒAnd mussels. But mostly garlic.Ó
ÒWho doesnÕt like garlic?Ó
He seemed relieved. ÒI dated a woman who hated it. Made meals problematic.Ó
ÒIÕm sorry but thatÕs a break-up
offense in my book. Cheating, not eating
garlic, hating animals.Ó
ÒI think IÕm good on those.Ó He went back to studying the menu.
ÒTell me you like clam strips.Ó
ÒI like clam strips.Ó He smiled in a way that meant he could
just be saying that.
ÒI know theyÕre deep fried, but I
love them.Ó
ÒIÕm fine with clam strips. I guess we have the tricky appetizer
selection phase out of the way?Ó
ÒI guess so. Whew. I was afraid blood might be drawn.Ó
ÒWe rock.Ó He smirked slightly, but not in the old
way, in the way that used to make her mad.
This was a cute smirk that said he wasnÕt laughing at her any more than
he was laughing at himself. And
that the laugh wasnÕt mean spirited.
Holy shit, was she analyzing his
expressions after only a few hours with him? This wasnÕt good.
He laughed and said, ÒWho writes up
these descriptions. Check out the
halibut.Ó
She looked down the list for it,
found it and read, ÒSucculent fresh-caught halibut pairs with lemon, pepper,
and capers in an elaborate dance of zest and pop.Ó She shook her head. ÒI think thatÕs illegal in some
states. The dance of zest and pop.Ó
ÒYeah, IÕll be skipping that dish. I can have zest or pop, but not both.Ó He put his menu down, choice apparently
made.
He didnÕt ask her what she was
having, and she didnÕt ask him what he was going to order. They had their appetizers picked out,
and it was clear they were going to share or why else ask if the other person
liked it? It was nice to be on the
same wavelength.
The server came. Rick ordered the appetizers and the
salmon and then looked to her. She
ordered the swordfish, and he nodded as if that didnÕt surprise him.
Once the server was gone, she asked, ÒWhat? You expected me to order that?Ó
ÒI had it narrowed down to that, the
salmon, or the scallops. You donÕt
strike me as a tilapia type.Ó
ÒIs there a tilapia type? It has no taste. It exists simply to be flavored with
sauce or a seasoning of some sort.
Blah.Ó
ÒAgreed.Ó
ÒWhat about trout?Ó She had an issue with the bones. Salmon and some of the others were okay
because it was easy to find the bones before you ate. But some fish was just too much work.
ÒMeh. I can take it or leave it.Ó He held up his glass, and she clinked
her wine glass against it. ÒTo
starting over.Ó
ÒIÕll drink to that.Ó She sipped her wine slowly, her eyes not
leaving his. ÒHow about to taking
things slowly?Ó
ÒDo you think IÕll try to rush it?Ó
ÒI may be worried I will.Ó
ÒTo taking things slowly, then.Ó He held his glass out again, and she
gently clinked it. ÒAnd to
Sam. For being
the idiot who let you go. I
feel very kindly disposed toward him at the moment.Ó
She nodded. ÒMe, too. Not how I started out this little vacation.Ó
The arrival of their appetizers saved
them from any more toasts—she had a feeling they could have found plenty
of things to be happy over. The
mussels were great—loaded with garlic—and the clam strips reminded
her of being a kid on the waterfront in Seattle. They shared without having to talk about
it, moving things out of the way so they could put the food in the middle where
they could both easily reach, talking about all sorts of things just the way
they had when theyÕd been on the beach, until their entrees arrived and they
settled in to more serious eating.
She gave a little moan of happiness
as she took her first bite of swordfish.
ÒThis is yummy. Good call.Ó
He smiled. ÒI asked at the front desk.Ó
ÒThe gal who checked us in? SheÕs totally hot for you, by the way.Ó
ÒReally? Crap. Do you think sheÕs still there?Ó He laughed at her expression of pretend
outrage. ÒFine, IÕll stay here.Ó
ÒGood.Ó She saw him eying her swordfish. ÒThis isnÕt dancing with pepper, but
itÕs really good. You want a bite?Ó
He nodded, and she pushed her plate
toward him. ÒGo for it.Ó
As he helped himself to some of hers,
he pointed to his salmon. ÒYou want
some?Ó
ÒDo you have to ask?Ó
It was very good salmon, but she
liked her dish better. She thought
he did, too. ÒSo hereÕs a question
for you. Do you try new places or
stick with what you know?Ó
ÒDo you mean am I going to want to
come back here?Ó
She nodded.
ÒUsually I like to go different
places during the trip, but IÕd come back here the next time I visit Clearwater
Beach.Ó He frowned. ÒWas that really a question about
relationships? Should I say I want
to eat here every day?Ó
She shook her head. ÒNo, it was about the food not
fidelity. You can be a food slut.Ó
ÒThey call us foodies now. Much more high brow.Ó
ÒRight.Ó
ÒSpeaking of high brow, tomorrow I
plan to go to Universal and let loose my inner geek child. OrlandoÕs about a two-hour drive.Ó
She waited.
ÒOh, I left out the part where I
asked you if you wanted to go, didnÕt I?Ó
ÒYou did. Not very smooth.Ó
He eyed her swordfish again.
ÒReally? You think IÕll give you more of this?Ó
He nodded. ÒItÕs really good. We could split...?Ó
ÒFine.Ó She watched him cut his salmon in two
parts, then did the same for hers and made a sad face and a little kissing noises at her departing swordfish as they completed the
exchange. ÒYou owe me.Ó
ÒMmmm
hmmm.Ó He seemed very happy.
ÒDo you ride on everything at an
amusement park? Silly things as
well as scary?Ó
ÒWhatever you want to ride on we can
ride on. I just like the escapism
aspect. ItÕs all so fake, but
thatÕs okay somehow—itÕs actually a big part of the fun.Ó
ÒI get that. Sure, IÕm in.Ó
ÒPerfect.Ó He held out his hand, and she took it
and squeezed. Then he let go and
pretended to be making a grab for the rest of her swordfish.
ÒDonÕt even think about it,
Mister. IÕve got your number now.Ó
He smiled. ÒWhen I like something, I want more of
it.Ó
ÒAre we still talking about food?Ó
He shook his head.
She felt a sense of lightness inside
that rivaled the beautiful sunset theyÕd seen. ÒI didnÕt think so.Ó
END