“Do you have an umbrella?” she whines.
“It’s definitely raining.” I glance over at Johnny, who has the camera down and his phone against his ear. “We should get off the hill.”
“We have to walk down?” Lyra cries, clearly unwilling to move.
“I didn’t think you were the lazy sort,” I tease, my hands on her waist to push her off me.
“I’m not lazy, I’m comfortable.” Lyra stretches and I can’t look away from her smile of contentment.
I put that smile on her face, and she put an even bigger one on mine.
I’m still smiling as suddenly, the rain begins in earnest, fat drops that quickly turn into a sheet, soaking us within moments.
Lyra shrieks and jumps, laughing, to her feet. This is the only shelter on the top of the hill, and it’s not much of one. Ominous clouds have gathered overhead. “You couldn’t have told us it was about to rain?” I call to Johnny, who is trying to protect his camera under his jacket.
“Ria said it wasn’t supposed to,” he cries back, his long hair already stringy and soaked.
“Our producers are clearly not from the Maritimes.” Lyra pops the last strawberry in her mouth. The set up has been ruined, but there’s too much for us to carry down. She links her hand with mine and swings it between us. “Guess we’re in for a wet walk. Good thing I like to be out in the rain.”
I wish Johnny could get this side of Lyra on film.
The three of us are soaked to the skin before the golf cart gets to us.
That’s the end of the date. We don’t get the dinner portion; by the time we reach the village, it’s storming in earnest. Two SUVs along with Ria meet us. She instructs me to follow Johnny.
“Okay, but—” The driver has an umbrella over Lyra and is escorting her to the second SUV. “Lyra,” I call over the wind. “Call me later.”
“She can’t call you,” Ria tells me, following Lyra, who stops to look back at me with a confused expression. “No contact with the contestants unless you’re on a date.”
“Butwe’re—”
I don’t even know what we are.
The scent of Lyra’s perfume, her shampoo—of her—clings to my nose. The taste of her—a mix of champagne and fruit—is on my lips.
I am overwhelmed with Lyra and I don’t even know what to call us.
“She’s still the Suitorette,” Ria reminds me, all the while pushing Lyra into the vehicle and out of the rain.
I stand in the downpour, as Lyra manages a quick wave before they drive off toward Camille’s. The driver of my SUV, with Johnny inside, honks impatiently and I hurry to get in the backseat.
He drives us back to the hotel.
Every ounce of my being wants to be with Lyra. I want to be at Camille’s with her, telling her and Odin about our date. Hugging Hettie and Tema and telling Bo that I’m in love with his sister.
But the reality is that I’m being taken back to the hotel, where there are eleven men waiting to hear about my date, just like they waited to hear from Basher and Tanner.
The hard truth is that Lyra has a commitment to the show, and the other men are still waiting for their chance to win Lyra’s heart.
I know the contract she signed, because I saw Odin’s, and Lyra’s would be so much more involved.
We may have found each other, but that doesn’t mean she’s mine.
At least not yet.
Back at the hotel, they have pulled the heavy storm doors across the back of the lobby. I’ve been through storms in Battle Harbour, but the driver tells us they’re worse here in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, with nothing to protect the little island.
He drops off Johnny and me and drives off into the night, eager to be home.
