I stifle a giggle.
“Well, I must really look like a tourist, too, then, shooting a hundred photos on the bus on the way over here, or that rookie mistake of trying to walk in the sand in heels.”
Luke laughs.
“Well, you don’t look so much like one right now,” he says. “Though most locals who come out here aren’t afraid to jump off the cliffs, either, so you’re walkin’ the line.”
My face gets warm, but then disappointment in myself steals my good mood away all over again. I sigh, drop the towel the rest of the way over my bag, and look out at the ocean, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Hey, I’m sorry if I—”
I shake my head. “No, it’s nothing you said. Really. I mean, it is kind of, but not what you’re thinking.”
Luke tilts his head to one side, a curious and somewhat confused look in his eyes.
“Do tell,” he urges me.
Hesitating, I look out at the ocean again and think on how much I want to tell him, or if I want to tell him anything at all.
“Hey, no holding back,” he says and pokes me in the ribs playfully with his knuckles. “Come on, spit it out. And no sad faces allowed in Hawaii, especially while you’re on vacation.”
He got the smile that he had been trying for out of me easily. But it wasn’t hard because the last thing I want to be is a mood killer.
“It’s what you said on the bus,” I tell him. “About how you used to be afraid of everything.” I pause and then say, “It’s not just heights that I’m afraid of.” I point at him briefly and quip, “But I’m not afraid of camping—that’s just crazy.”
He grins, letting me have that one.
“So what else are you afraid of then?” He sits down on the sand and pats the spot next to him.
I sit down, too.
“Well, I’ll be honest—”
“You better be,” he jokes, bumping my bent knee against his.
“It feels strange not to be working right now,” I say.
“You’re joking, right?” he says, looking over at me. “You’re in Hawaii. On vacation. And it hasn’t been a couple of hours and already you’re stressin’ out over a job that you’re supposed to be leaving behind for two weeks—not to be nosy, but is it a paid vacation?”
“Yeah. I’m just not used to not working.”
“Shit, tell me you’re not one of those who works seven days a week and never calls in sick even when you’re on your deathbed.”
“No, no,” I say, shaking my head and my hand, “I’m not that bad—”
“Yet,” he interrupts.
“No, not yet,” I go on, “but I started my first job when I was old enough to get a work permit—worked at Subway for two years, then a shoe store for a few months, and after that, when I started college, I worked part-time in a café until the day I got my job at Harrington Planners.”
“So what are you afraid of? Not working twenty-four-seven?”
“No, I guess I’m just worried that Cassandra will find someone better than me while I’m here in Hawaii soaking up the sun, and when I go back I’ll find out that I’m expendable after all.”
“Well, first off,” Luke says, “I really doubt that’ll happen”—he taps his head with his fingertip—“again, it’s all in the mind. But even if it did, Sienna, there are a million other jobs out there.”
“Not that pays what this job pays me,” I say. “Event coordinators in general don’t make the kind of money that I make. I got lucky landing my job. I just don’t want to lose it.”
Luke smiles and shakes his head.
“A lucky fluke landed me this job; it’s always in the back of my mind that an unlucky fluke will also take it away.”
“A lucky fluke?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I could only go to college long enough to earn an associate degree. And when I got out, I was prepared to spend years working my way up from the bottom somewhere. But a friend knew a friend who knew a successful friend—my boss—who needed an assistant immediately. I met Cassandra and she liked me enough to offer me a job and I took it without hesitation. Within six months I was already near the top of the Harrington Planners ladder—a total lucky fluke.”
“Well,” Luke says, pursing his lips, “I doubt luck had everything to do with it; you had to be doing something right.” He smiles and I return it in thanks.
Then he gets up and grabs my hands from the tops of my bare knees, pulling me to my feet.
“We’re going swimming,” he says. “And we’ll talk more about this later … like on the day your vacation is over and you’re standing at the gate in the airport about to kiss me good-bye.”
“Wow, you really think highly of yourself, don’t you?” I can’t keep the laughter from my voice.
“Damn straight!” he says and pulls me along beside him. “Before these two weeks are over, I can guarantee you three things.” He holds up three fingers as we continue onward toward the water. “One”—he holds up one finger—“you’ll never want to go back to San Diego once Hawaii is done with you.” He holds up two fingers. “Two—that photography love of yours will start to take the place of everything else in your life. And three”—he wiggles three fingers and we stop on the beach where the water can pool around our feet—“you’ll kiss me at least once before you go home.”