She shrugs. “I’ve been worse.”
I look up from her boot to meet her gaze. I want to read her eyes, see what she isn’t saying. It sounds like an unexpected confession. Reminds me of the time I told her I didn’t have any children to fill my extra bedrooms.
She turns away to motion toward the blonde exiting the bathroom. “You remember Angel?”
Angel is wearing a dress designed to resemble an oversized black T-shirt with knee-high cranberry-colored boots and a matching flat-brim hat. It’s attractive. She’s attractive. And unlike Claire, she’s single. I need to give her a chance.
“Yes. Hi.” I wave. Then I’m not sure what to do with my hands. I stick them in my pockets.
“Hi, Nathan.” Angel shrugs into a denim jacket. “Claire said you’re taking me out for Caribbean food. We’re not flying to Jamaica, are we?”
I chuckle at our mutual airline humor. “I thought about it.”
Claire watches from where she’s still holding the door, practically bouncing on the ball of her one good foot. “I told him about that Bahama Breeze place we were looking at online.”
“Oh, yum.” Angel smiles. “I’ve been craving coconut shrimp ever since I read their menu.”
She might just be in this for a free meal, but I’m hungry too, so here we go. I offer my elbow. “Shall we?”
She giggles and hooks her hand through my arm. We both grin back at Claire.
Claire waves from the doorway as I escort her roommate into the cool evening. “Have fun, you two.”
This is starting to feel like a father-daughter dance in which the mother is getting everyone ready. But Angel is pleasant company on our drive to the restaurant. She’s basically just thrilled to be seeing the city from a car rather than the train that only goes north and south.
I’ve never been to Bahama Breeze before, because I eat out so much on trips that when I’m home, I cook my own food. But the place is charming. Its yellow exterior and large outdoor patio remind me of a beach bungalow. Inside, the vaulted ceilings have exposed beams, and fans with blades designed to look like large palm leaves spin above actual palm trees. Wood-paneled walls painted turquoise contrast with the white built-in wooden blinds that aren’t used as much in Seattle as they are in the tropics. Most importantly, the place smells of sweet fruit and garlicky sizzling fish.
The hostess shows us to a table along a wall with barrels stacked overhead and an old-fashioned lantern for lighting. Makes me feel a bit like a pirate. I pull out one of the pastel chairs for Angel.
“Thank you.” She sits and looks around in delight.
I lower myself across from her and accept a menu. Now what? “Have you ever been to the Caribbean?”
Angel inhales deeply, as if she’s trying to take it all in. “Not yet. Though my goal is to visit thirty countries before I turn thirty. Is there a country in the Caribbean you’d recommend?”
Wow. Thirty countries is a lot. And she can’t be that far from thirty. “I’ve only been on a mission trip to Cuba, where we smuggled in Bibles. I probably didn’t see the prettiest areas, but I’d go back there in a heartbeat. The people were welcoming and colorful.”
She leans in, eyes fascinated. “You smuggled Bibles?”
I shrug. “Nothing happens if you get caught. They just keep the Bibles for you until you leave. But we didn’t get caught.” I grin. “When customs was about to open a suitcase and asked what was inside, my buddy Vincent said, ‘Dirty underwear.’ It wasn’t a lie. He’d stuffed his laundry bag in there too.”
“I love it.” She cackles, then sobers. “My travel plans aren’t so altruistic.”
Most vacations aren’t, but in my experience, serving underprivileged people in foreign countries is more rewarding than sipping piña coladas on a beach. I know because I signed up to join the mission trip in high school to get away from my broken home after Mom left, and I found the family I’d been looking for. My church family. “How many countries have you visited, and how many do you have left to reach your goal?”
“Well ...” She twists her lips. “I’ve flown to Canada and Mexico with this job. And before I got my crash pad, I didn’t have a place to sleep, so I hopped on a first-class red-eye to Amsterdam.”
I lean forward, intrigued. “Rather than rent a hotel room, you boarded an international flight?”
She laughs. “With our benefits, it was cheaper. Plus they fed me.”
Can’t argue with that. “Clever.” Though I’m a little concerned for her goal if she’s only been to three other countries. “So you’ve got twenty-seven to go?”
She waves her hand, and I’m not sure if she’s waving off my concerns or trying to attract the waiter’s attention, but he comes over, and I quickly scan the menu. I order the chicken pineapple bowl—because pineapple bowl!—then face my date again to get the rest of her story.
“Okay, so you have twenty-seven countries to go ...” My tone rises in question. “In how much time?”
She folds her hands together. “Two things. First of all, I’m twenty-eight, but I’m applying to the bigger airlines so I can work international trips.”
