Page 39 of Chasing Clouds

“Every single one of those sounds like a heart attack waiting to happen,” he mocks.

“Listen here, not all of us strive to have the perfect body like you.” I tear a piece of the napkin off, ball it up, and flick it at him. He catches it easily with one hand. Stupid football hands.

“You were a dancer, so your diet was probably more strict than mine—wait, you think my body’s perfect?” His face has taken on an expression like he’s just been told the secrets of the universe, and my cheeks flush.

“Um, you know it is, so quit it.”

He laughs and the waitress comes over with fresh drinks. I reach for my wine, and he watches as I take a sip then lick my lips. He looks so calm sitting there, whereas I want to squirm under his perusal—squirm my way right over onto his lap. I let out a deep breath, put the glass down, and his brows rise just a little, urging me to keep going.

“So, I don’t have a favorite color. As a kid I tried really hard to pick one, but when I did, I felt bad for the other colors. If I have to pick one, I always say orange, because no one picks orange.”

“You’re right, no one picks orange.” He smirks.

“See! But every time I say orange, I immediately feel bad for yellow. No one picks yellow either, but you see it out and about more than orange. Poor orange, the unwanted child of red and yellow.”

“Do you always root for the underdog?” He tilts his head to the side.

This question hits a little too close to home. I’ve felt like the underdog my whole life.

“Yes, I think I do.” I shift in my chair and cross my legs.

He leans forward and rolls the stem of my wine glass between his fingers. “Good, I like underdogs, too.”

My heart twirls in my chest.

“I’ve never been to Disney World, although I’ve always wanted to go, and my favorite childhood memories are of running with Clare through the field behind our house.”

“What were you running from?”

“Usually each other, but mostly me from her, because she was mad about something I did and wanted to hit me. We would fly kites, chase the clouds, I don’t know . . . that field was our place of freedom.”

“Chase the clouds,” he repeats as he thinks about my words.

“Yeah, the weather changes a lot and quickly here in the south. Not sure about up north, but being coastal, during the summer we’d have daily afternoon thunderstorms from the humidity buildup, and the dark clouds would chase away the white ones. The coastal breeze makes them move swiftly. I know it’s silly, but it was fun for us. It was like the only place where we could be loud, wild, uninhibited, just us.”

“I’m glad you two had that place.”

I want to say I’m glad, too, but I can’t. As much as I love the good childhood memories we made there, it’s the backdrop of some of my worst, too.

“Don’t look now, but they’ve found us,” he mumbles, slipping his sunglasses back on and lifting his drink to his lips.

“Who found us?” Panic washes over me thinking Patrick and my father have somehow followed me here and will force me to leave. I mean, technically I know I’m an adult and they can’t force me to do anything, but they just have this way about them that fills me with dread and jumbled nerves.

“Paparazzi.”

Paparazzi.

Groaning, I drop my head forward, and pieces of my hair swing in front of my face, alerting me to the fact that I look disheveled and not put together.

“How do you think he found us?” I whisper.

I close my eyes and fight the urge to freak out, trying to compose myself. Needing to sort out my thoughts, I realize they fall into one of three categories: succumbing to the feeling of propriety that’s been instilled in me since birth, rebelling because I should be able to live my life like I want without worrying if pieces of my hair are blowing in the wind, and deciding on what I want to do and who I want to be as I’m trying to start living my life for me.

“I’m not sure. He must have trailed us.”

Ultimately, I decide it’s a combination of the first and the third. Yes, I am trying to start a new life, but currently there is someone else in this life, and I should put my best effort forward for him as well.

Taking a deep breath, I sit up straight, smooth my clothes down, and cross my ankles, tucking them under the chair. Next, I undo the loose ponytail my hair is in, gather it, and wrap it in a tight bun at the base of my head. I reach under the chair, grab my hat, and put it on. Pulling out some lip gloss, I apply it, return my sunglasses to my face, and fold my hands in my lap. Sitting up straight, I smile. Reid is watching me and frowning.