I nod shortly and with disappointment, but I try not to let it show on my face. In just a few minutes I was able to push all of the disastrous problems and the stress caused by them down into a place where it had no control over me. And I’m not ready to part with that power yet.
“Hey,” I say suddenly, “what did you mean earlier when you said to let it go? I mean, it’s self-explanatory, I guess, but why did you say it?” He could’ve easily just said what most people say: I hope you feel better, or ask me if I’ll be all right just before he walks away, but he didn’t, and it intrigues me.
Luke pushes his hands down into the pockets of his shorts, his tanned, muscled arms stiffening against his sides as he draws his shoulders up. The wind moves through the top of his tousled hair as he looks at me, quietly at first. I get the feeling he doesn’t want to leave as much as I don’t want him to.
“If you decided to stay longer,” he says, “I could show you.”
I blink, vaguely stunned by his words that, once again, intrigue me to no end.
“Show me?”
“Yeah,” he says, his face beginning to brighten again. “It’s one of those things that can’t really be explained.” He shrugs.
And here I thought I was just asking him to tell me mostly for the sake of conversation, to keep him around a while longer. I never anticipated anything thought-provoking from such a simple thing.
I sigh. “Well, I wish I could”—I really wish I could—“but after Hawaii, it’s off to Jamaica for me.”
“Wow,” he says, “you must do a lot of traveling; it’s a shame you can’t enjoy the places you see a little more.”
Understatement of the year.
“Yeah, I admit that’d be ideal, but at least I get to see the places. Most people never do. I can’t complain.”
He shrugs again, and I get the feeling he disagrees with that statement but doesn’t feel right about admitting it.
Then he looks up momentarily in thought.
“Hey,” he says, “if you get any free time before you have to head out, come find me on the beach and I’ll give you a free lesson.”
Stepping up closer with my shoes dangling from the fingers of one hand, I smile lightheartedly. “Don’t I have to schedule an appointment first?”
He winks with a playful grin and it makes my heart leap.
“Nah, I think I can fit you in,” he says.
My face flushes with heat, my eyes straying downward momentarily.
“All right,” I say, “if I can break away long enough, I’ll take you up on that offer.” In my heart I know the chances of that happening are slim, but it’s the thought keeping the smile on my face. “But no dangerous stuff,” I add sternly yet playfully.
He puts up his hands. “No way,” he says with a big smile. “I’d take care of yah.”
I smile back at him.
Luke says good-bye, his hazel eyes—same color as mine—bright with warmth and sincerity and mystery. And as he walks away, I stand paralyzed with confusion and regret. Confused by a strange need deep in my chest that wants to know him more, but regret for accepting that I have to ignore it. He drifts farther away over the white sand beach and back toward the ocean and out of my life. And with his absence, as though I’ve awoken from a dream, the real world comes back with a vengeance, reminding me that I have a job to do and that this wedding must be absolutely perfect. I already feel the anxiety creeping up at the possibility that it won’t be.
FIVE
Luke
Does she have a friend?” Seth asks with a hopeful grin.
I step out of my running shoes and make my way into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door.
“Not with her,” I say, leaning over into the fridge in search of my leftover pizza from last night.
“What about the girls she was with?”
“She’s just here for a job. Did you eat my pizza?” I rise from behind the refrigerator door and look at Seth expectantly.
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you wanted it.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
I close the door with a package of smoked turkey in my hand instead and take it with me to the counter, where I get to work on a sandwich. I haven’t eaten since this morning, and here it is at sundown and my stomach aches with hunger. I usually get a bite to eat at the resort, but I couldn’t risk running into Sienna again.
That’s not a good idea: She’s beautiful and sweet and motivated—exactly the kind of girl I could get myself in a world of trouble with, especially since she also seems the cautious and careful type. I consider myself a cautious and careful kind of guy, but not every aspect of my life follows those rules.
“Sorry, man,” he says. “Next pizza’s on me.” He always says that.
I leave it alone and finish making my sandwich and then begin to scarf it down standing up.
“She doesn’t seem like your type though,” Seth says, sitting at the bar with his feet propped on the spindle of a bar stool.
“How do you figure that?” I ask with my mouth full.
Seth reaches up and rubs his hand against the back of his shaved head. “She just seemed kind of … full of herself. Hot, sure, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with a girl like that.”
I look at him oddly.
“You know what I mean,” he says. “She just isn’t the kind of girl you usually go for.”
Confused by his judgment of Sienna, it takes a second to realize why.
“I’m not talking about the one who walked up to me,” I say and swallow down another bite. “Sienna’s the one she was talking to after she stomped off. Long, dark reddish-brown hair. Rockin’ body. Carrying a camera.”