Lucy laughed. “Fine,” she said, but she didn’t move. Not yet.
Chapter Fourteen
Lucy tugged the hem of her sundress a little lower until it covered most of her thighs. She wanted to sit cross-legged on the woven blanket laid out on the sand, but Marla had told her moments ago to shift her legs to the side, a more appropriate position for the cameras.
Skye was busy unpacking the picnic basket. She was carefully arranging an assortment of fruit, cheese, and a bottle of wine.
“Alright, folks,” Marla said, her voice chirping over the nearby speaker system. “We’ll get a few shots of Skye pouring the wine and then I want you to delve right into a deep conversation. Talk about your family. Or your aspirations. Talk about your childhood pet and if they died, did their death shape the rest of your life? Make it heartfelt and make it camera-friendly.”
Lucy glanced toward the water where the sun hovered low, melting the horizon into gold and rose pink. She then flicked her gaze to Skye, who was already lifting the wine bottle with the effort of someone trying very hard not to look irritated. She poured them each a glass and set them down on the wooden board that had been meant for the cheese.
“Hungry?” Skye asked, handing Lucy a small plate. When their fingers brushed, a spark shot right up Lucy’s wrist to her arm.
“A little,” Lucy said, though her stomach was too tight for much. She took the plate, but her eyes stayed on Skye as if looking away might make Skye change her mind about inviting her on the date.
“So,” Skye said, glancing up at her through long eyelashes while the cameras shifted closer. “What exactly is it that you do back home?”
Lucy tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, feeling the heat creep up her neck. It was an easy question. One she could answer in her sleep. But for some reason, with everyone watching and with the cameras barely out of her view, she felt nervous.
“I’m a columnist forOutlook Magazine,” she said, glancing down at her plate, at the slice of brie Skye had haphazardly cut. “It’s a lifestyle magazine. But the kind you find in boutique hotel lobbies and not grocery store checkout lines. I write about design, travel, and culture. Sometimes food. Basically, whatever will make our readers feel like their lives could be a little more curated.”
“Do you travel often?”
The answer was no. Lucy could count on one hand the number of times she had left America, and traveling to Hawaii to be on the show was one of them.
“Not as much as I should,” she replied. “My job sounds more glamorous than it is. I spend most of my week hunched over my laptop. But I love it. I started atOutlookright after college as an editorial assistant. You know, making coffee and such. Then I pitched a series about micro-neighborhoods in New York and convinced my editor I had a voice worth paying for. Now I get a monthly column plus the occasional feature.”
Lucy popped a grape into her mouth. “My mom still calls me every time a new piece goes live. She follows all my work online. My dad says he reads everything, but I’ve caught him skimming. And my younger sister, who is still in high school, thinks it’s the coolest thing ever. She’s convinced I live in some kind ofSex and the Cityfantasy.”
“Do you?”
“Not even close,” Lucy laughed. “My life is more like standing in line at Trader Joe’s with wilted spinach in my cart than Carrie strutting down Fifth Avenue in Manolos.” She shrugged and reached for a cracker before smoothing soft cheese over its entire surface. “Most days the wildest thing I do is skip going into the office and take my laptop to a coffee shop with terrible Wi-Fi so that I’ll actually write without anybody interrupting me.”
Skye’s mouth curved like she wanted to smile but for some reason didn’t.
It made Lucy want to say more and to fill every empty space until she got a real smile out of Skye. She wanted to see the kind of smile she’d seen yesterday while they were in bed together. So she kept going. Lucy continued talking about her cramped walk-up apartment, about her neighbor who collected antique radios, and about the deli guy down the street who slipped her extra olives every time she ordered a sub because she once complimented his hair.
She didn’t notice how much she was giving away until she stopped to take a sip of her wine. It was then that she realized Skye hadn’t said a single thing about herself. Not where she was from. Not what her own family was like. Not even what she did before stepping into the spotlight of this show. She still didn’t know anything about the bachelorette. At least not anything meaningful.
Lucy swirled her wine, and the liquid caught the light in soft red ribbons. “You’ve let me ramble on for, what, twenty minutes,” she said, trying to keep her tone teasing. “And you’ve given me nothing back. I feel like I just read you a chapter of my autobiography, and I don’t even know the first sentence of yours.”
Skye’s lips twitched just a fraction, but she stayed quiet. The only sounds were those of the ocean and Lucy’s breath, which for some reason sounded way too loud.
Lucy’s stomach dipped. “Is that on purpose?” she asked softly.
Skye tilted her head, studying her with that unreadable expression that made Lucy feel both completely seen and completely in the dark.
The cameras edged closer, waiting. Skye opened her mouth to say something, but then Marla’s voice came out of the blue. “You guys are doing great. Just keep talking like we’re not here.”
The moment cracked like thin ice under a boot. Lucy blinked toward the camera crew, suddenly aware of the microphones, the lenses, the fact that every breath she took, every word she said, was being captured from at least three different angles.
Skye leaned back slightly, her gaze breaking from Lucy’s for the first time since she’d handed her a glass of wine. “So,” she said, her voice more strained. “What’s your favorite cheese?”
“Are we really going to talk about cheese?”
“It’s an important question,” Skye said, but her smile was nothing like before. It was forced and annoyed, a feeling Lucy felt all too well after Marla’s untimely interruption. “So, what is it?” she asked, picking up a wedge of chevin. “Brie? Gouda? Something a little stronger like blue cheese?”
Lucy shook her head. “I’m a cheddar girl. Boring, I know.”
