He was laughing, too. “Are you gonna keep running away from me? You’re easy prey.”
“I’m not running, I’m swimming.” I broke loose and swam away as quickly as I could back to the bungalow. I could feel him right behind me when I reached the deck rail and lifted myself out of the water.
He shouted up at me, “Okay, now you’re running.”
I stuck my tongue out at him.
“Where’s your boat? Maybe I’ll let you take me out on it.”
“I haven’t even invited you.”
“You’re feisty today.”
“So what.” I grabbed a towel and started drying myself off.
“Let’s catch up, Charlie. I want to catch up.” He sounded more serious now.
I hesitated. Here was this beautiful man, acting as if the last few months hadn’t even happened. Was that a good thing? Did I want him to be acting this way? I’d changed so much since the last time I saw him; I wasn’t sure if I could go back to the way we were. But Adam’s words, and my conversation with Chucky in Oahu, were floating around in the ether of my mind. If Seth wanted to catch up, fine—we could catch up.
“I’ll meet you at the bar at five,” I said as I climbed the stairs to the top deck. I looked up and saw my parents standing there, staring at us with wide eyes. Holy shit.
“Charlotte,” my mother said.
“Show’s over,” I said as I walked past her into my bungalow.
My dad cleared his throat. “I’m gonna head back to our bungalow,” he said, and then he skittered away. But my mother stood in my open doorway as I continued to dry myself off.
“That was Seth,” I told her.
“I know. Your dad and I watched some of his games.”
“We weren’t doing anything, Mom.”
“I didn’t say that you were.”
“Even if we were, do I look like I’d care?”
She started laughing. Her laugh grew into hysterics.
“What is wrong with you?” I said.
“Chucky was right.” She tried to catch her breath. “You are different.” She turned to walk away. “I think I like this new Charlotte,” she said as she left the bungalow.
“Then quit picking on me!” I called out as she walked down the wooden deck.
She turned back and made the motion of zipping up her lips and throwing away the key just before blowing me a kiss.
I couldn’t help but smile.
* * *
FIVE O’CLOCK ROLLED around and I was sitting at the bar in the lobby of the resort in a floral-print maxidress, my hair in loose waves around my shoulders, drinking some concoction with local booze, tropical fruit juice, and a little paper umbrella in it.
“Is this spot taken?” came a voice from behind me.
I didn’t look up at him. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”
He sat down and called the bartender over. “?’Scuse me, can we get a couple of shots?”
“I don’t want a shot!” I said.
“You should have a shot, Charlotte.”
“I’ve been drinking since two.” I wasn’t slurring, but I was squinting hard—my tell. There was no way I was going into this potentially fraught conversation sober.
“Okay, we’ll skip the shots. Let’s discuss,” he said.
We swiveled our stools so that we were now facing each other. His hand was on my bare knee. I glanced at his muscular forearms and felt my jaw go slack.
“You were saying something, Charlotte?”
“If I have that shot, I won’t be good at anything . . . including self-control.”
“I’m fine with that.” He smirked.
“Don’t smirk at me. We’re supposed to be talking. Quit trying to distract me with your baseball body and your hand on my knee.” I slapped it away.
He laughed. “This is how I see it: I’m just sitting here, waiting for you to talk. You owe me an explanation, not the other way around.”
“Actually, I don’t owe you, or anyone, anything. I think I made my intentions pretty clear when we last spoke, and I never asked you to wait for me. But fine. I’ll tell you what’s been going on.” I was truly drunk with bravery, in addition to being drunk on tropical cocktails. “I got married to Adam, he died in my arms in the French Riviera, and now I’m a widow.”
His expression fell, but he didn’t seem shocked; in fact, I saw only compassion in his eyes. “I know. Helen told me, and I’m sorry. And you’re right, you don’t owe me anything. I just want you to know that I’m here for you.”
I waved my hand around in the air. “Maybe you don’t understand. I got married and all of that,” I said, arching my eyebrows. “I. Am. A. Widow.”
“I know. Like I said, Helen kept me posted.” Just then, the bartender brought us two shots. Seth pushed one shot toward me and held up his own. “Let’s toast.”
“To what?”
“Widows and bachelors?” He grinned. “I’m sorry. Too soon?”
“No, I’m fine. It’s just that . . . why do I feel like everyone around me is going completely insane? Is it this place?”
“You don’t want to toast, fine. Let’s play a game then.” He called the bartender over and asked her to leave the bottle of tequila.
“What’s the game, number twelve?”
“You remember my number?”
“Um, yeah? We did date, you jerk.” That made him happy. “How was the rest of your season, by the way?”
“I got a contract, actually. I’ll be staying in San Diego next season. My average was steady, although now I’m in a bit of a slump.”
“But the season is ov—oh, ha ha ha, I get it!”
“We’re not really going to have a serious conversation, are we?”
I grinned maniacally.
“Okay, you know what, we’re going to play Truth or Dare. If you don’t want to do a dare or answer a question, that’s fine, but you have to take a shot to make up for it. Got it?”
I was relieved. I couldn’t talk about Adam anymore, and I sure as hell didn’t want to dwell on the confusing morass of emotions swirling inside of me, further complicated by the fact that Seth would be in Southern California for at least one more year. “Got it,” I said.
“I’ll go first. I pick dare.”
“I dare you to do a striptease on top of this bar,” I said, waggling my eyebrows. He reached for the bottle of tequila, poured, and tossed it back.
“Your turn.” He smiled, pleased with himself.
“You’re no fun. Truth.”
“Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked, staring at my lips.
“Yes,” I said.
He leaned in and then, suddenly, we were kissing. I pulled away first.
“Okay, now me. Truth. Fire away.”
“Why do you still like me?”
“That’s an easy one, Char. Because you’re compassionate, intelligent, funny; you have insane sex appeal; and you’re beautiful. Your turn.”
“Truth,” I slurred.
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
“Yes,” I whispered, growing increasingly bold from the alcohol. And then we were kissing again.
I pulled away and touched my fingers to his lips. “Your turn.”
“Dare.” He winked.
“I dare you to kiss me,” I said.
He took a shot. I gasped. He was such a tease. “Your turn,” he said.
“Dare,” I said.
“I dare you to take a shot,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine.” I took a shot. “You go.”
“Truth.”