I nod, taking his word for it, but a faint twinge of uncertainty lingers.
I listen to the waves crashing against the shore and the breeze combing through the trees behind us. I reach up and wipe underneath my eyes again; tiny flakes of dried mascara come off onto my fingers. Suddenly I’m not feeling so confident about how I must look. I could check myself out in the camera on my phone, but to let Luke see me doing it would be embarrassing.
“Sometimes I wish my job was a little more laid-back like yours seems to be,” I say.
Luke looks over, his arms dangling casually over the tops of his bent knees.
“What do you do?” he asks.
“Event coordinator,” I answer. “Weddings. Parties. All things crazy and hectic and ridiculously expensive.”
“You don’t like it?”
“No, I like it,” I say with a nod. “I must thrive on the chaos, I think.” I laugh lightly, shaking my head just thinking about it, because I’m not sure that’s true. “And there’s no shortage of chaos, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” He smiles softly, and it kind of melts me a little inside.
“Well, it pays well,” I go on, feeling a strange need to justify my job more than I thought I already had, “but … well, it’s just been a disaster this time around.” I leave it at that. I’m still not ready to think about the other problems I should be fixing right now with the Denningses’ wedding. I’m having such a strangely pleasant time sitting here with this attractive stranger. On a beach. In Hawaii.
This is how a trip to Hawaii is supposed to begin.
He smells good. Not like saltwater or overwhelming suntan lotion, but like soap and toothpaste and heat. To keep from looking at him longer than I should, I gaze down at my toes buried partially beneath the sand, my painted toenails poking through against the tiny grains.
I hear him sigh lightly next to me and I worry that it’s because maybe I’m boring him. But then he glances briefly toward the hotel and I get the feeling he’s got somewhere he has to be soon—that’s better than boredom, I suppose.
“How long are you here for?” he asks.
“The wedding is tonight and I have a plane to catch tomorrow afternoon back to San Diego.”
The softness of his face fades a little. He nods.
“That’s too bad,” he says, not looking at me.
He glances over with a smile but doesn’t look at me for long. Then he stands up. He reaches his hand out to me, and this time I accept it without reluctance and he pulls me to my feet.
“It was nice meeting you, Sienna, but I need to get back. I’ve got an appointment in ten minutes.”
My gut is twisting. I don’t know why, but I don’t want this to be good-bye. It’s too soon.
I nod shortly and with disappointment, but I try not to let it show on my face. In just a few minutes I was able to push all of the disastrous problems and the stress caused by them down into a place where it had no control over me. And I’m not ready to part with that power yet.
“Hey,” I say suddenly, “what did you mean earlier when you said to let it go? I mean, it’s self-explanatory, I guess, but why did you say it?” He could’ve easily just said what most people say: I hope you feel better, or ask me if I’ll be all right just before he walks away, but he didn’t, and it intrigues me.
Luke pushes his hands down into the pockets of his shorts, his tanned, muscled arms stiffening against his sides as he draws his shoulders up. The wind moves through the top of his tousled hair as he looks at me, quietly at first. I get the feeling he doesn’t want to leave as much as I don’t want him to.
“If you decided to stay longer,” he says, “I could show you.”
I blink, vaguely stunned by his words that, once again, intrigue me to no end.
“Show me?”