I’d wondered what could be “more established” than four multi-platinum albums and four sold-out world tours in a little under four years.
“So,” I said to Todd, eager to get back to the last bit of our earlier conversation. “You were telling me about when you lived in New York.” From the details he’d allotted so far, I was beginning to piece together his story.
Todd was in the middle of two sisters who both lived in New York City. His mother was from Sicily, a full-blooded Italian; his father was third-generation Marine Corps. Todd’s evident yet nondescript accent was a direct result of his family’s travels through his schooling years.
“Right,” Todd said. He reclined onto the sand.
I did, too.
“After grad school, I landed as a financial analyst on Wall Street.”
(Cue scenes of Todd in a dark suit, power tie, hair combed back, briefcase, black town car. Very “Mr. Big.”)
“For how long?”
“Less than a year. I didn’t really need the job at the time, but that wasn’t why I left. I realized pretty quickly that it wasn’t what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.”
Todd’s family was obviously loaded. Though he didn’t flaunt it like some of the other Richie Riches I knew, it was plain to see the evidence of old money. He simply had that way about him. Classy.
A few years ago, before I witnessed on more than one occasion actors hooking up with their makeup artists and debutantes running away with their chauffeurs, I would have considered Todd unequivocally out of my league. Celebrity or no celebrity, he
totally
outranked me.
“Then what?” I asked. “Like, what were you doing a year ago?”
Todd leaned forward. “What were
you
doing a year ago, Abby?”
“One year ago I was on my way to England,” I began without having to think, “five shows in five days in five cities. Then Europe. Then Asia.” I folded my arms. “Top that.”
“I was climbing Everest.”
“Oh,” I sputtered and then swallowed, recalling a blurb I’d read on the back of a pamphlet once: Mount Everest is 29,035 feet. One hundred and twenty corpses are still stuck up there, frozen in the ice, until I don’t know, global warming sets them free? And it cost upward of $65,000 even to
attempt
the climb.
I carefully regarded the man at my side—he was like a sexy Jack Bauer. “Did you make it all the way?” I asked.
“To the summit?”
I nodded eagerly.
He chuckled. “Of course not.”
“How high?”
“Camp One, twenty thousand, fifteen feet. Then my buddies and I literally crawled back down the mountain to base camp.” He paused and scratched his chin. “I spent the next week puking my guts out, crying for the stuffed dog I had when I was four.” He ran one hand through his hair and grinned at me. “Admit it, Abby. You’re totally turned on right now, aren’t you?”
{chapter 8}
“IF I FELL”
T
o catch more of the cooling wind, Todd and I moved up to a twin pair of the bleached-out rocks a few feet from the breaking waves. Little tidal pools dappled the sand here and there, and I dug my feet into the cool, wet grains. Todd looked straight ahead at the water, his fingers laced behind his head, hair and clothes moving in the breeze. I wished I knew how to use my camera phone so that in months to come I could remember how he looked. I snapped a mental picture before turning back toward the water.
The waves were calm and smooth, making the grand Gulf look more like a sleeping lake. A tiny sand crab inched its way near my feet as I kept perfectly still. With its white, almost translucent shell, it looked like a phantom against the pale sand. It crawled over my buried toes then continued on its merry way along the water’s edge until it disappeared into the sand.
The heat was welcoming, like a big hug, and the sun was a warm kiss on my face. Or maybe it was just a hug and kiss I was craving as I sat with my toes in the sand.
“Do you like it here?” Todd asked.
“So awesome,” I replied, tipping my chin. “How do you know about this place? Isn’t it private property?”
“I know a guy who lives over there,” he said.
Like me, Todd had buried his toes in the sand—such a playful, childlike thing. I resisted the urge to lean up against him, even though I knew the feeling of our sides together—and maybe his arm around me, too, if I let my fantasy wander—might have been just what Dr. Robert ordered.
I unburied my right foot and tapped the top of his left with my toes. His eyes moved to mine, and he smiled. I recognized that kind of smile; it made my pulse throb in my lips. His expression turned serious as his eyes dropped to my mouth. The carnal impulse sweeping over me was hard to hold back because it felt like my lungs had caught fire.
I was relieved, yet disappointed, when Todd stood and waded a few inches into the water.
“This is perfect to swim in,” he said without looking back. “Especially if you don’t like high surf.” He folded his arms tightly against his chest.
I stared after him, still feeling rather hot and bothered.
Needing to extinguish my inner fire before I imploded, I didn’t fight my next impulse. I had the presence of mind to first toss my cell phone and new hat over my shoulder, before dashing past Todd, straight into the water. As I ran hard, splashing in the shallow surf, I heard him call out something from behind me. I took a few more strong running steps and pitched headfirst into the oncoming wave, pulling myself forward under the water.
The pressure hit my ears like descending in an airplane, arresting my exhale until my body grew used to it. In full-on mermaid mode, I broke the surface for a quick breath before jackknifing for another deep dive. Years of intense vocal training had strengthened my lungs, and I could hold my breath for a fairly long time. Underwater, I opened my eyes, blinking through the initial salty sting. Schools of tiny iridescent fish fearlessly swam around me. From the ocean floor, I picked up a broken piece of starfish. After breaking surface for one more inhale, I body surfed the next foamy wave into Todd’s feet. He’d waded out a few yards to meet me.
“What’s the matter?” I panted, blinking up at him, my eyes blurry and stinging. “Afraid of the water?”
“Yes,” he replied through his teeth. “There’s a level red today. See the red flags up all the poles? That means sharks. That’s why no one’s out there.”
“Sharks?”
I yelped, bumping into Todd’s legs, scrambling to my feet as we both backed out of the water. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried, but you kept running.” He laughed tensely, peeled off my Dodgers cap, and let it fall from his hand onto the wet sand. “You didn’t surface right away, and then you dove again and didn’t come up.” He shut his eyes, pressing his index finger over the bridge of his nose. “I was just about to go in after you.”
“You would’ve done that?”
He lowered his hand and opened his eyes, turning to me. “Abby, in a heartbeat.”
Okay. I’m only human
.
One step was all it took. I leaned in the rest of the way, wrapping my arms around him, not caring for one second if he thought I was a lunatic. “Thank you,” I whispered, hoping my words reached his ears. He didn’t respond vocally, but first one of his arms went around me and then the other. This spoke volumes.
I smiled into his warm shirt, my limbs softening, melting like hot honey. His hands moved across my shoulders. Seawater dripped from my hair down my face. It was probably damaging my retinas to the point of mutilation and blindness, but I didn’t care.
His hands slowly slid from my shoulders to the small of my back, pulling me ever so slightly into him. I felt a hitch in my breath, the kind Todd had described earlier, the kind that precedes a perfect first kiss. I knew I wouldn’t contest what was coming next . . . salt water or no salt water.
But all at once, I was released.
“Sorry,” he whispered, his arms going slack as he took a step back from me. He chuckled tightly, shaking his head. “Sorry.” He looked down at the tiny waves bubbling at his tan feet, hands safely back in his pockets.
“It’s okay,” I mumbled, taking my own step away, feeling ridiculous and a bit trampy for having hurled myself at him. Embarrassed and frustrated, I turned around, stumbling back to where I had been sitting just a few minutes ago, a naughty child banished to her bedroom.
You idiot!
I inner-scolded, as I pulled my knees in front of me, fingering my toe ring.
The man shows an inkling of not wanting you to be eaten alive by Jaws and you attack him like it’s prom night!
I couldn’t see the front of him, but the back of Todd’s shirt was plenty drenched thanks to me. I shook my head, ashamed by my idiotic bravado. So not my style. I would never be Molly.
“I’m not normally . . .” I started to explain, but stopped, not knowing how to finish without making it worse. I attempted to run my fingers through my wet hair, but had to settle for twisting it into a loose, dripping tangle down my back. Todd was still looking out at the water.
“Have you ever seen a shark?” I asked, choosing to totally ignore the proverbial elephant in the room.
“All the time,” he answered, “when I’m diving.” He sat on the rock next to me, but not as close as before. He’d learned his lesson. “They won’t hurt you unless you give them a reason.”
“You’re brave.”
He shook his head. “Hardly.”
It was all too awkward and stupid, and the hot summer air felt heavy and thick and choking all around me. I didn’t have time for tense silence, so I pulled forward Abby’s most comfortable panic defense mechanism: The irrepressible blab. “My favorite color’s brown,” I blurted from out of nowhere, and Todd’s brows pulled together like he was missing something. I blinked, a little startled myself. “You know, ’cause it reminds me of dirt, and I like dirt—
love
dirt, always have, as long as I can remember.” I hoped I was making sense but couldn’t slow down to make sure. “I like to plant things, too,” I went on, “and water them, and watch them grow. Hands digging in the dirt, dirt between my fingers, caught in my nails. That’s something I really miss about home. Arizona’s dry and dusty and dirty and . . . and—”
“Brown?”
“Exactly!” I laughed, finally taking a breath. “I love wearing brown, too, even though
apparently
it’s not the right tone for me anymore. I used to be an autumn, but now I’m a spring.” Todd was staring at me with a funny look. I realized I’d derailed myself again. “I don’t know.” I sighed. “Wearing brown makes me feel . . .” I wrapped my wet arms around my wet legs and continued. “Protected and warm, so . . . yeah.”
Winded from talk and fresh out of ideas, I set my gaze on the bright blue water, waiting for my next brilliant streak of conversational inspiration to strike. It didn’t, and it became quiet again, only the sounds of the wind, the lapping waves, and an occasional bird.
“Well,
I
heard,” Todd began a moment later, “that your favorite color is pink. I read about it in a magazine once.” When our eyes met, his expression was both guilty and inquisitive. He leaned his face closer to me. “Or,” he whispered, wearing no smile now, “should we continue with this little charade of my not properly acknowledging who you are, Abigail Kelly?”
My stomach fluttered, feeling both grateful and terrified. “No.” I finally said. “Whatever we do, let’s not pretend.”
Todd nodded in unspoken concurrence. As we smiled across at each other, all of that stupid awkwardness evaporated like so much sticky sea water on my skin.
“So, pink?” He lifted his eyebrows and leaned back.
“Are you sure you want to hear this?” I asked. “You might lose all respect for me.”
“Eh-hem.” His eyes flashed to the front of my wet clothes. “I believe we’re way past that, Abby.”
I looked down, then quickly pulled and shook out my damp yellow tank top, which had been rather see-through and molded to my purple bra.
“Pink,” Todd prompted, looking only at my eyes now, like a gentleman.
Appreciating the distraction, I theatrically cleared my throat. “My favorite color in all the world is
pink
,” I recited, turning toward my audience (the water), gesturing with jazz hands. “Any season, any reason, it’s such a pretty, cheerful,
dreamy
color, and pink’s a girl’s best friend.” I winked flirtatiously at the invisible camera over my right shoulder. “I’m always in
love
when I’m in
pink
.” I blew a kiss into the air.
Breaking character, I chortled, feeling the full stupidity of it.
“I had to say that,” I explained, “for this perfume I endorsed a couple years back.
Moulin Rouge
.” I drew my wrist to my nose, inhaling the nonexistent bouquet, further demonstrating my pitiable acting skills.
“Impressive.” Todd chuckled, applauding in short, brisk claps.