I don’t usually like this pool, since I’ve always favored the jetted hot-tub on the private raised stucco deck behind us. But the sparkling pool reflecting off Brandon’s shining eyes makes me want to jump in right this second with him.
We continue on our way, and I push open the door to the pool house. There’s a small living area with a sectional, a kitchenette, and a bathroom. Each step I take feels hotter and hotter, and that’s not innuendo.
It’s almost scorching in here.
After fiddling with the thermostat, which is still very muchbroken, I swing a look to Brandon.
He shrugs and says, “Tent camping at Starved Rock in July is way worse.”
I consider telling my mom. Going in and demanding an air conditioned room that Brandon and I can share. But I can practically hear the shouting match that would ensue, and I don’t want to pop this shiny bubble of excitement Brandon has encased me in. Plus, I don’t want him to see my family like that just yet.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I don't mind the heat. Not in hot yoga class, not in the hot tub, and not here. Besides, if this means I get even more space from my parents, all the better.
I swipe the strands of hair from my neck as I unlatch a nearby window. The salty air immediately permeates the space, creating a nice breeze. Plus, it’ll be much cooler at night.
“If you’re good with it, I’m good,” I say.
“I’m good.” Brandon smiles.
The sun is a glowing beach ball atop the sea crests as we make our way to the main house. Brandon ditched his black t-shirt for a partially unbuttoned linen shirt and matching shorts. I try to still both the fluttering in my stomach and the hem of my pale yellow sundress. The naughty breeze is intent on fanning it straight up.
Brandon’s eyes skim over me for the third time as we walk.
“You look beautiful, Kate.”
His smile is so boyish, so genuine, that I suddenly want to doodle it inside a notebook.
“You clean up well too, but you probably already know that,” I tease, using the same words I chose on our first date years ago.
“I know, but it’s still nice to hear,” he repeats. Quiet smiles follow, and I’m surprised at just how many details we both seem to remember about our time together.
Brandon turns, walking backward toward the house. He brushes his fingertips across the tied bows holding up the straps of my dress.
“I like these. They’re cute,” he says.
I swallow under the full weight of his magnetism, the brush of his fingers across the skin on my shoulder. “Thanks,” I say.
We traverse the stairs up to the stilted patio and find that my parents are already seated outside. The staff must have moved the indoor table for us to dine al fresco before my mother instructed them not to. She now sits with a slanted frown beneath a frizzy mane of natural waves that neither Liza nor I got.
Three staff members bustle around, opening wine bottles, turning on overhead twinkle lights, and pulling out chairs for Liza and Cam as they approach. Cam is in a polo and chino shorts, and Liza wears her favorite pink gingham wrap-around dress.
Cam’s cropped brown hair looks slightly mussed, Liza’s lips slightly swollen as they apologize for their tardiness.
I bite back a snort, waggling my brows at her behind Mom’s back. She flushes brighter than her dress, dragging a quick thumb across her neck. I hold up my hands in mock surrender.
A staff member goes to pull out my chair, but Brandon steps in front of him. His dimples pop as he sweeps my chair out. I sink into it with a shiver as his palms graze the skin on my arms.
I look up to find Liza smirking at me.
I drag my own quick finger across my neck, and she snorts.
But heat continues to scald my cheeks as Brandon drapes an arm around my shoulders. He bro-chats with Cam while twiddling the bows on my straps between his fingertips. I shiver again, and I swear the corner of his mouth twitches.
The staff steps around us, placing platters of coconut-crusted shrimp and seafood linguini in front of us. Half-loaves of crusty bread and herb butter appear beside them, and Brandon’s eyes almost bug out of his head. I smooth a palm across his knee beneath the tablecloth, and his hand covers mine with a squeeze.
Mom strikes up a conversation with Liza about Liza’s particularly frustrating hospital supervisor. To Liza’s credit, she fights valiantly to include me in the conversation. After Mom fires a series of extremely targeted questions, I fall silent.
Brandon squeezes my hand beneath the table, and I relax against his shoulder.
