“I’m going to spin a yarn so elaborate, even you and I might get stuck in it.” I don’t know where these words are coming from. My heart? Certainly not my head. My head knows better. But my heart? He’s a mouthy bastard.
Paisley’s throat bobs with a hard swallow. She relaxes into her seat, angling her body toward me. “I’m happy you’re here, Klein.”
“We’re in this together, Paisley. If it’s only Monday but you decide you’re finished, say the word. I will put you on my back and swim you off the island. You got it?”
Her lips curve upward.
I’ll do anything to keep the smile going, to keep the corners of her mouth climbing higher. “I’m not going for any reason but to support you.”
My goal is reached. She smiles. “And eat cake,” she adds. “I’m definitely going so I can eat cake.”
I smile at the joke. “Right. Cake. I’m also here for the cake.”
It’s in this moment I realize I’d have done this for her without anything in return. No digital marketing. No social media. No cake.
She looks out of the windshield and takes a deep breath. “Klein, listen, I’ve been thinking about something.” Her nervous gaze works over my face.
“Say it,” I encourage. “You can say anything to me.”
“I don’t want our first good kiss to be in front of my family.”
Are those angels rejoicing in my chest? A trio of trumpeters? I’d like nothing more than to reach across this console and claim her mouth immediately.
The only thing stopping me is how epically bad ourfirst kiss was. Our first good kiss cannot just begood. It must be phenomenal.
Paisley’s focus is on my mouth, and the angels and trumpeters resume.
I settle for taking her hand, holding its soft warmth in my palm. “I was never, not for a single second, going to follow up a drunken mess of a kiss with a fake chaste peck meant to appease onlookers.” Flipping her hand over, I trace the lines in her palm. I don’t know how she’s going to take what I’m about to say, so I keep my gaze lowered. “I intend to make our first good kiss so unbelievably good, you’ll have trouble remembering we ever had a bad one.”
Her fingers close suddenly, stopping my meandering touch. Our hands intertwined, she nudges under my chin and encourages my gaze to meet hers. “I look forward to it.”
All traces of nervousness are gone from her face. In her eyes is a hunger I recognize, because it’s like looking in a mirror. My entire body wants Paisley.
She shifts into Drive and pulls onto the road, tossing me a provocative grin. “Bald Head Island, here we come.”
To be fair,I was warned.
Paisley told me if I stood at the front of the ferry transporting us to the island, I’d get wet. I thought she meant a little spray.
Nope. My shirt is soaked.
Not that I care. I’m too busy taking it all in.
The salt spray assails my face, and I blink against it. In the distance, the island looms. Rectangles and squares fill the view, sharpening into objects the closer we get. Homes.
Two stories, with roofs of gray and light blue, trimmed in white with matching porches. The beach in front of them, and before that, navy blue churning water.
I look for Paisley, wanting to share this with her. Having placed little more than my sight on Bald Head Island, I feel confident in saying this place is special. Unique.
Paisley leans against the boat, feet planted on the water beaten flooring. She wears a yellow baseball cap that says Vitamin Sea, but still the wind whips her hair up and around her jaw. Before we embarked, she exchanged her sweats for light pink and white seersucker shorts. She kept on the white tank top she’s been traveling in.
“Come up here,” I yell above the sound of the large boat crashing over the choppy water.
She shakes her head, pointing at her white shirt.
As much as I wouldn’t mind seeing her white top soaked through, I refuse to share that view with anybody else.
The captain navigates the channel, pulling into the marina.
