After another long, uncomfortable moment of silence, Margot finally speaks.
“Oh! Um, of course,” she says, and shakes her head as if to shake herself out of her shock. “I mean, it’s your house, your laundry room, right?”
“I know, I just want to be as unobtrusive as possible,” I say and smile at them. “I’ll just put these in real quick. I can wait until after dinner to put them in the dryer. Heck, I can wait until you’ve all gone to bed, if you’d rather.”
Margot and Stirling exchange a look that makes me think they’re wondering why I haven’t asked where Amanda is. Well, they’re just going to have to wonder. This isn’t about Amanda. I mean, it is in a roundabout way, but I’m not going to turn this moment into an inquiry about her. Seeing her again will have to be an organic occurrence.
“Listen, Damon, I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but you’re more than welcome to have dinner with us.”
“Absolutely,” says Margot. “I’m doing swordfish tonight.”
As tempting as that is, if Amanda finds me at the dinner table, it may be too much for her after what happened between us on the beach.
“Thank you, as always, Stirling, but I have plans tonight.” And suddenly Ido. I need to get out of this house, all the way out of it. I need some air and a change of scenery. And I know just what I’ll do. My statement wins me some raised eyebrows from Margot and Stirling, but they don’t pry. “Let me get these clothes in. I’ll get them in the dryer when I get home later tonight.”
And before anyone can respond to that, I dart into the laundry room off the far side of the kitchen. Once inside, I slide the pocket door closed behind me so I can exhale in complete privacy. Well, they’ve seen me now. We’ve had a brief conversation that wasn’t terribly awkward. I don’t know if that will make it any easier when I do see Amanda next, but at least I know I can come out of my studio without slipping into the twilight zone.
I empty the clothes into the washer and toss the pillowcase in too. I add detergent and close the lid. The instant I turn the dial, the washer starts, and the pocket door slides open. I’m almost positive it’s Margot coming to scold me privately for hurting Amanda the other day.
Instead, I look up and Amanda and I lock eyes in the same instant.
In the next, she shrieks, tosses her armload of loose laundry toward me, and starts to fall backwards in surprise for the second time in my presence. At least I didn’t push her this time, but I still feel obligated to save her from falling on her ass again. I’m glad my arms are pretty long, and I lunge toward her as I snake them out. Somehow, I end up with my hands gripping Amanda’s waist, and an assortment of towels, shorts, tee shirts, and underwear bundled between us.
We both try to catch our breath as we stare at each other. It hits me that I shouldn’t still be holding her like this, so I release her, a little too much like a hot potato. I don’t want her to think I’m repulsed by having my hands on the curves above her luscious waist, but I don’t want her to feel like I’m getting fresh with her again. Amanda’s clothes fall into a disappointing bundle at our feet.
“Sorry,” she says, and closes her eyes for a moment. “I’m going to kill them for not warning me that you’re in here.”
“Why would they? Wait, you didn’t—”
“Relax,” she says and opens her eyes again to look at me. “They don’t know what happened, only that I saw you on the beach and that you’re still pissed at me. But given the circumstances, and the fact that the only other time we’ve spoken was in the foyer when you arrived, yeah, they could have at least given me a ‘head’s up Amanda, Damon’s in the laundry room.’ I would have waited, even if I am out of underwear.”
“Oh my gosh, I can do mine later. Here, I’ll stop the cycle—”
“No…no.” She puts her hand on my arm and warmth floods my whole body. “It’s no big deal. I can do mine later. Tomorrow, even.”
“What about your underwear?” I say, and give her a smile that I hope she takes good-naturedly. She does remove her hand from my arm rather abruptly, though. I guess we’re both nervous about everything right now.
“I can wash out a pair of undies in the bathroom sink. Or if worse comes to worst, I can just wear my bikini bottoms for a day.”
The visual on both of those does absolutely nothing to ground me in reality. I suddenly picture a pair of Amanda’s pale pink undies hanging in my shower in New York. And I have no trouble imagining her in a bikini. I can’t help hoping I’ll get to see her in it before I leave Kauai.
“Right,” I say, clearing my throat.
“Right, then,” she answers as she starts to gather her things off the floor.
“Let me help you with those—”
“I’ve got it.” And in seconds she’s got everything back in her arms again and turns to walk out. She turns to walk out but I stop her again, just with my voice this time.
“Amanda, wait.”
“Yeah?” Suddenly, Amanda looks very, very tired.
“Listen, since we ran into each other again… it’s my turn to apologize this time. And I don’t blame you at all if you don’t accept it. But I am so, so sorry for the way I treated you down at the beach the other day. That was completely uncalled for.”
“Yes it was,” she agrees. She’s not leaving any wiggle room here, and she shouldn’t. “But thank you for acknowledging that. Have a good evening—whatever it is you’re doing.”
“Thanks,” I mumble. She doesn’t say whether or not she actually accepts my apology on her way out, and it doesn’t matter. I instantly regret once again turning down Stirling’s invitation to join them for dinner. But I know it’s just not the right time…yet.
