Sinful Longing

“Where’s Alex?” Colin asked after they ordered at the Ampersand & Pie, an off-the-beaten-path cafe with chalkboard menus and wooden chairs painted sky blue. They’d opted for a table on the outdoor patio.

“Not sure if you know this about teenage boys, but they have a thing for sleeping in,” she said, tapping her watch. “It’s seven a.m., and he’ll be sound asleep ’til at least nine.”

He gestured for her to come closer then dropped his voice to a whisper. “I do know that about teenage boys having once, you know, been one,” he said, and she laughed. He reached for his coffee. “It was quite a surprise to see you at the shore.”

“Not a bad one, I hope?”

“Never a bad one. But tell me. Why didn’t you want to go kayaking? I would have gone back out on the water with you.”

She shrugged and reached for a napkin on the table. “I figured there wasn’t really time.”

He arched an eyebrow, clearly not believing her. She folded and unfolded the napkin but didn’t say any more.

He dropped a hand onto hers. “Okay, obviously, it’s not about whether you had enough time to kayak. You’re nervous, like you were with the zip line.”

She squeezed her eyes shut momentarily. This felt less like fun and more like talking. But, something inside her wanted the talking. Not just about movies and the mob, but other things—the things that had brought them together in the first place. Talking about life. Was this why she’d felt the urge to find him this morning?

She worried away at her lip then sighed as she answered. “It’s not that I’m afraid of kayaking. I just don’t like activities that have a high possibility of death. Car racing, bungee jumping, kayaking…” She added, pointedly, “Or rock climbing.”

He laughed. “You can’t keep me away from that sport. And fine, the first two, sure. They can be dangerous—”

“So can rock climbing. You broke your tibia doing it.”

“And lived to tell the tale. In fact,” he said, tapping his calf, “everything works just fine in both legs. But let’s get back to kayaking. You can swim, right? Wait. Don’t tell me. Elle Mariano can’t swim and my next project is to teach her how to dog paddle?”

She tossed the napkin at him, pinging his shoulder with it. “I can totally swim!”

She just didn’t like to anymore.

“So what is it?” he asked, tilting his head, waiting. Simply waiting. Giving her time to answer, as well as time to study his handsome face. Dark scruff lined his jaw—that sexy, all-over stubble that she loved to feel against her. His brown eyes were the shade of espresso, and focused intently on her. She’d made a career out of listening to others, but she suspected she could learn from him, because this man made her feel as if he was hearing every single word.

She half wished there was some deep, dark reason for her mini phobias. Okay, not really. But it would be easier than the truth, which was that it hadn’t taken much for her to become a fraidycat when it came to certain activities. “It’s not as if there’s some terrible traumatic story from my childhood, like I was caught in a current, or was attacked by a jellyfish, or that I nearly drowned. But when I was younger, a bunch of us used to go swimming at a lake, and jump off this rock ledge into it. One time when I did, I cut my head on a rock.”

He winced. “Ouch. Were you okay?”

She nodded quickly. “Yes. I mean, there was a lot of blood, and my mother did her best impression of a calm nurse as her daughter’s head bled and she took me to the ER. I got a few stitches right under my hairline, and everything was fine,” she said, pushing her hair away from her ear to show him that she had no scar, no marks. “But still. It freaked me out. And I just realized that I didn’t want to take chances like that again. That I could be safer if I didn’t do stuff like that.”

“But you do roller derby,” he said in a gentle voice.

“Ah,” she said, holding up her index finger to make her point. “The seeming contradiction. But see, I’ve always skated, and it’s indoors, and there are no rocks, or dangerous currents, or cliffs to fall off of. And I like to be active, so skating seems the more reasonable risk. But that’s also why I’m a blocker, not a jammer.”

He raised an eyebrow in a question.

“Blocker is defense. Not as many injuries. It’s the safer position.”

“I see.” He nodded slowly. “So you avoid things like zip lines and lakes and cliffs to stay safe?”

She parted her lips to speak but stopped to gaze at the wood of the overhang, and truly considered her answer. “I suppose so. I like life. I like living. I want to keep it that way. Seems I have the greatest chance if I can minimize risk by not, say, parachuting or rock climbing or anything else that might shorten my life.”

“It might. It also might expand it,” he suggested.

A tiny bead of defensiveness zipped across her. “Are you saying I don’t have an expansive life?”

He shook his head. “No. Hell no. I just think there are reasonable risks and unreasonable ones, and you have to know which ones can enrich you.”

“It’s easy for you to say. Your whole job is about risks.”