‘You emailed me about hosting a book club event with a local author. Did you know that our very own Khalil wrote a book calledWhere the Waves Keep Time?’
Why does that title sound familiar? ‘Khalil, who can be found by the Cabana Bar with the Seychelles flag tattoo on his huge bicep?’
I’m met with a half-smile. ‘The very same. It’s an incredible book, but Khalil’s a humble guy and never tells anyone about it. We’ve got a stack of them here.’ Xavier motions for me to follow him. We zigzag around the curved shelves.
When he locates the correct shelf, he pulls a copy out to show me. The cover is an illustrated sepia-toned view of the beach and rainforest, giving it the air of a historical tome.
I think back to the list Gus left for me and the name clicks into place. I just hadn’t realised it was Khalil from the resort. ‘I’ll read it tonight.’ I check out the blurb on the back. It’s a historical fiction novel about life on the island and a love that defied the odds. ‘This seems like the sort of book that would appeal to a broad range of people, locals and guests alike.’
‘Great. If you want to ask Khalil if he’s happy to do a talk, and he agrees, you can order more books directly from him. I’d love it if we can support the guy.’ He takes another copy of Khalil’s book from the shelf and flips through it. ‘Reading this conjured so many memories of my father and his family. It’s a special book. It deserves more attention.’
‘I’m liking this softer side of you, Xavier.’
‘Do you always vocalise every thought that comes into your head?’
A spurt of laughter escapes. ‘Usually.’ From the shelf I pull the many copies ofWhere the Waves Keep Timeto display on the front counter. As I stand, they tumble from my hand so I do some lightning-fast juggling to prevent them from hitting the floor. Xavier goes to catch them at the same time I do and we bang heads and the books tumble into a messy heap. ‘Sorry!’ I yelp, dropping to my knees on the parquetry to salvage the poor splayed books while Xavier bends and we bump heads again.
‘Wow,’ he says. ‘Let’s just take a minute.’
We laugh, each holding a hand to our foreheads as we lean against the shelves. He’s so close I can smell his cologne and the lemony scent of washing powder. For some inexplicable reason, it’s comforting. We fall silent, the only sound the rhythm of my heart like a drum beat and the waves crashing outside. I turn to face Xavier at the same time he does and find my lips a whisper away from his. Our gazes lock and in his eyes I see desire; or is that my own desire reflected back? This time there are no kids around to break the spell. The air crackles with electricity and I act without thinking. I press my lips against his, with this overwhelming need to kiss him, to feel his mouth on mine. Fireworks explode inside as he deepens the kiss. I’m breathless, powerless to stop the flood of longing until he abruptly pulls away. His complexion flames. From the heat racing up my neck I’m sure mine is the same.
‘Sorry,’ he says.
‘For what?’
He smirks, amused. ‘Never change, will you?’
Is he giving me a compliment? ‘I wouldn’t even if I could.’
‘Let me know what you think of Khalil’s book.’ Really? We’re going to pretend that kiss never happened? The kind of kiss that made the world fade to black? The kind of kiss that lit me up from the inside out? I quickly recalibrate. This is a not a good idea. I’m on a man ban, much like a book-buying ban, and sometimes just as difficult to stick to.
I rearrange my expression, trying to fight the haziness that lingers. Xavier’s eyes are still molten with want, but he’s doing his best to hide it by fidgeting with the fallen tomes.
‘I’ll get in touch with Khalil to see if he’d like to do the event.’ I stand, dust off the seat of my denim cutoffs. I can be business-like and efficient too. ‘Was there anything else?’ After all, Xavier had been the one who’d insisted on this early business meeting, so there must be something more important than Khalil’s book, which he could have discussed in front of Mariola and Joji yesterday. My mind slips back to locking lips with the man mountain before me. Isn’t it every bookworm’s dream to kiss a gorgeous man among the shelves like this – surrounded by novels, fictional couples cheering us silently between the pages? Maybe those bumps to the head were a little harder than I’m giving them credit for.
‘No, that’s all.’
‘That’s all?’ I can’t help the incredulity that seeps out. ‘You couldn’t have said this to me yesterday?’
‘I wanted to see you.’
‘Why’s that?’ I attempt a flirty smile. Surely I’m halfway decent at the subtle art of flirtation since I’m a dedicated romance reader who has memorised all the tips and tricks by now.
He takes a moment too long to answer. ‘To show you the book, of course.’ He waves it, as if that’s all the proof he needs. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s just as conflicted as me as to why there’s this off-the-charts chemistry between us. He’s the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, and if the books are to be believed, these kinds of suave, broody-eyed types are more likely to enjoy a non-committal fling, leaving the heroine heartbroken until the boy-next-door type turns up just in the nick of time. Or… I could rewrite my own story and call Xavier out on this farce.
‘Do you often lie then?’
A ping of electricity crackles. His eyes darken, and he’s closing off, the way I’ve seen him do so many times already. Why can’t he just be honest? ‘What am I lying about, Harper?’ There’s the hint of challenge in his tone and I just can’t pass it up.
‘This so-called early business meeting could have been an email. You wanted to see me under the guise of work, but really you were planning that head-bump meet-cute. Am I wrong?’ Must we skirt around the issue at hand? Won’t that just prolong all the awkwardness? Or is this a tension-building thing, the push-pull of how real love works? Real love! My brain is scrambled, electrons going haywire.
He lifts his brow as if he’s enjoying keeping me in suspense. ‘Meet-cute?’
‘Meet-cute, where Cupid himself is the puppet master and orchestrates the lovers literally running into each other so they take a moment to stop and lock eyes and see…’ Oh, this is so corny but it’s not when you read it in the books. ‘A person who makes their heart race…’
‘Do I make your heart race, Harper?’
I laugh. ‘Many things can make a heart race, a heart attack for example.’ Why am I now dancing around this? Perhaps he just reciprocated in the heat of the moment? Doubt plagues me because he abruptly ended the kiss. What was I thinking? This fool move cannot be undone.
