“No?”
“You look like a surfer dude stuck in a fancy suit.”
That stopped me. She had busted my carefully curated look when no one else had even bothered to dissect it.
“Really?”
She shrugged. “You’ve got a working man’s hands.” Her fingers brushed lightly over the calluses on my palms. It felt like being touched by a live wire as bolts of lust and desire went through me.
“I did spend the last three months fixing up a yacht.”
“Capable,” she said. “I like that. Smart. Great dresser and handyman. You just might be the very thing I’ve been looking for.”
It shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did.
But it did.
We got another round of drinks. Then another. Talked in pieces between songs.
Where she grew up.
How she hated staying still.
How summer felt like the only honest season.
My friends kept glancing over.
Mark mouthed:who is she??
Chris gave me two thumbs up like an idiot.
Beth just watched, smiling softly, like she was happy for me.
Like something good had finally walked in the door.
And the crazy part?
It felt exactly like that.
Like luck.
Like fate.
Like something had reached across the room and picked me.
After a while, she leaned in, close enough that I could smell coconut and sunshine on her skin.
“So,” she said, eyes locked on mine, “what’s next?”
I didn’t hesitate.
“Want to see the harbor at night?”
Her smile spread slow and bright.
“Yeah,” she said.
“Let’s go.”
