Sebastian was showing me a side of San Diego that I’d never seen before: the chilled out, laid-back beach community that would have given David hives.
The girl working the counter of the beach shack eyed Sebastian with interest. I watched her follow his progress around the store. She was pretty; a stereotypical California girl with long, blonde hair, long tanned legs, and long, false eyelashes. To my amusement and delight, Sebastian didn’t appear to notice her.
“What do you want to eat, Caro? They’ve got tuna on wheat or meatloaf on rye.”
“I’ll just have a soda and a small bag of chips.”
He frowned. “That’s not very healthy.”
He looked so serious, standing there in his cut-offs and surfer T-shirt, I couldn’t help a broad smile.
“Then I’d better have the tuna, kind sir.”
“Are you laughing at me?”
“Just a little, but in a good way. You’re so sweet!”
He looked like he wasn’t sure whether or not that was a compliment, but shrugged it off.
I paid for the food, irritated with myself for recalling that the money came from the housekeeping David so grudgingly gave me. To hell with it! I earned every penny: cooking, cleaning, ironing his damn pants – even entertaining his colleagues.
The cashier loaded our purchases into a carrier which Sebastian tucked under one arm, with the briefest of smiles at her. Then he took my hand.
He took my hand!
David never held my hand. Well, perhaps once: the day of our marriage, when my father had given it to him. Not since then, not that I could remember.
It felt wonderful and terrifying, strolling along the beach, our fingers learning the lines and shapes of each other’s hands.
We found the perfect dune: a concave dip amongst the marram grass. It gave us some slight protection from the prevailing wind, although it was gentle today; but, more importantly, it gave us privacy from anyone watching from the beach.
Shyly, I pulled a copy of my surfing article out of my bag.
“This is it.”
He sank down to the sand and sat cross-legged. I watched his face anxiously as he read. It was the first time I’d shown anyone my writing. I badly wanted him to like it. I felt like I’d launched a baby out into the world and was waiting for someone to tell me whether or not I had an ugly child.
Once or twice Sebastian smiled as read through the pages, then he looked up.
“It’s really good.”
I looked at him, skeptically.
“It is! I really liked the joke about the Hawaiian Surfers Marine Corps storming up the beach to invade, but deciding to catch one more wave first.”
“You really liked it?
“It’s good, Caro.”
“You’d say that anyway.”
He smiled.
“Probably, but I happen to mean it. It gives people an insight into surfing and the Military way of doing things. It’s clever. There’s just one thing…”
I knew it.
“You’ve got a spelling mistake there: you’ve put ‘truster’ instead of ‘thruster’.”
“Where? Show me.”
He laughed. “Just kidding.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Hmm, imagine getting the thrusting wrong.”
He gaped at me as I lay back on the warm sand, basking in the sudden heat of his gaze.
“You are so beautiful, Caro,” he whispered, unwinding his long legs so he was stretched out next to me.
I grinned stupidly at him.
“You are!” he insisted.
He was leaning on one elbow, his head resting on his hand. Out here his eyes looked slate-green and his skin glowed gold in the sun.
“You’re the beautiful one, Sebastian. Beautiful inside and out.”
He blinked, surprised at my words, then smiled. Another chip of ice dropped from my heart.
“I think you should kiss me.”
The words were out before I knew what I’d said. I really meant them.
“I thought we weren’t going to… you know… until I was 18.”
“That’s right, but that doesn’t mean you can’t kiss me.”
“Really?” He looked delighted.
“Perhaps you’d prefer a written invitation?”