“No. Or yes, I am wearing underwear. But they’re… decent. Uh, modest.” Now it sounded like he was part of a religious sect. The only phrase that came to mind was nut sack.Thank you, Hildy.Apparently she had also packed him a bathing suit in case his taste was “stuck in the eighties,” as she put it. “Full coverage.”
“No Speedo? Bummer.” Her smile faded when her gaze snagged on his watch.
“I’ll leave it with my bag.” He started to unbuckle the strap.
She touched his wrist. “Wait.” His entire body stilled at the skin-to-skin contact. “What time is it?”
“Four twenty-seven.”
“Damn.” She blew out a breath. “Jean’s going to kill me.”
Jefferson waited for her to elaborate, hoping the next words out of her mouth would bethat’s my bossorpit bullor evenparole officer,anything but the other half of a couple.
“I should probably go,” she mumbled.
“Okay.” He tried to summon what Hildy called hisresting dead face.
“Here.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a shell, rubbing it on the front of her shorts before handing it to him. “Let’s make a wish first.”
“You’re not going to steal my voice, are you?”
“Was that… aLittle Mermaidreference?”
“I have nieces.”
She bit her lip to hide a grin. “Okay, Ariel. Make your wish, then kiss the shell and throw it as far as you can out to sea.”
He watched the wind play in her hair. “Are you doing one, too?”
“You know what, why not?” There was a defiant edge to her voice as she pulled out another shell, this one spotted brown on the pale pink underside. He wondered if her pockets were always full of perfect seashells or if she’d collected them today, before his arrival. If she often wandered this beach—and whether she’d mind company.
“That’s probably where my mom got it. From a cartoon. I can’t believe I never made that connection. Though a lot of hers were more like curses.” Her eyes crinkled at his look of surprise. “Nothing too dark. Sometimes she’d drag me down to the beachso she could pour out a little white zinfandel and symbolically purge her troubles.Damn you, Bobby. I hope your stupid golf shirts shrink in the dryer.That kind of thing.” She paused, as if replaying her last words, before grimacing. “Oversharing, party of one.”
Jefferson cocked his arm and threw the shell as far as it would go. They watched it plop beneath the surface, breaking the tension.
“What’d you wish for?” she asked.
He pretended to zip his lips.
“Come on, it’s not like blowing out candles on a cake.” Her face fell. “Crap. Crap, crap, crap.”
“What?”
“I was supposed to help with dessert, too.” She winced like she’d stepped on something sharp. “We’re hosting a dinner tonight. Very important guests.” Turning, she hurled her shell into the breaking surf, lips moving in a silent plea to whatever higher power was in charge of seashell wishes.
“It will be fine.” Who wouldn’t want to have dinner with a beautiful woman who shared her crackers with random passersby before luring them into the sea?
“I’ll probably be too nervous to eat. But thanks.” She looked up long enough to flash him a smile. “Um. I better go.” He watched her fidget, shifting her weight back and forth. “Nice to meet you,” she said in a rush, already turning away.
“I was thinking about checking out the sunrise tomorrow,” he said, before she could get too far. “I hear it’s nice on this side of the island.”
At the sound of his voice, she had stopped moving. Now she glanced back. “I’m not a morning person. You’d have to drag me out of bed.”
Jefferson cleared his throat, which had gone dry. It was too easy to imagine her sleepy-eyed and warm-skinned with herhair spread out across a pillow, like his subconscious was whispering,You wish.
And maybe her thoughts were traveling along similar lines, because she seemed to be having trouble meeting his eyes. “I mean I sleep late.” She put a hand to her flushed cheek. “Okaybye,” she blurted, breaking into a run.
He realized he was smiling. The sticky haze of travel had washed away as if he’d plunged headfirst into the Pacific after all. Jefferson wasn’t superstitious by nature, but he had a feeling his wish would come true.
