My heart skipped.
“I know,” he repeated, his green eyes staring into mine again, “that I’m the world’s best kisser.”
I didn’t know how much time went by before I realized my jaw muscles had gone slack and my mouth was hanging open like a goldfish. Likewise, some part of me knew my eyes were going dry from staring into space.
“Blink,” I heard Todd say, sounding like he was at the other end of a tunnel, “if you can hear me.”
Obediently, I blinked and coughed into the crook of my elbow. “
What
was
that
?” I sputtered in between gasps, eyes watering. I held up one finger, letting him know I wasn’t finished. “How do you
do
that with your eyes?”
“Huh?”
“You did the same thing this morning when I was leaving your store. All that Sinatra talk. You were
staring
at me—at my
face
. You did the same thing with Chandler. You shot a single look at him, and he was completely at your mercy. How do you do that?”
Todd shrugged, not quite grinning. “It’s a gift. I’ve always been able to isolate and tame in times of peril.” He raised his right hand. “But I swear to you, I use my power for good.”
I shook my head and laughed. “You better be careful with that. Some girls would
not
take a tempting gaze like that lying down.”
Todd’s half grin stretched into a full smile. “I’ll consider that fair warning, Abby.”
When I returned his smile, I didn’t care if he could see I was blushing.
“Honestly, though.” He grew more serious. “That
moment
you were leaving my store, I could’ve been less obvious about it, but I was trying to get a better look at you.” He leaned in, studying my face through the twilight. “I always thought you had blue eyes.”
I automatically looked down. The moment was gone. “They’re just gray,” I mumbled.
“Don’t,” Todd entreated. “Please don’t do that.”
The insistence in his voice drew my gaze back up to him.
“And they’re not
just
gray,” he contradicted. “They’re sky and smoke, like a whirlpool of clouds. I’ve never seen anything like them. To quote John Lennon, you’re like the girl with kaleidoscope eyes.”
Of all the things to say!
As my breathing became shallow, I felt myself leaning forward. Ready for a free fall.
Then Todd did the worst thing possible. He pulled back and looked at his watch.
Seriously?
“I think I should be getting you home.” He seemed to be studying his watch for longer than necessary. “I don’t want your posse out hunting for you.”
I couldn’t move at first, stunned by the wave of disappointment that hit me in the face. “You’re probably right,” I managed to say. But I didn’t mean it.
As I watched Todd pat the sand around himself, making sure we hadn’t dropped anything, I couldn’t help thinking just how complicated my life really was. I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. Would I still be around? Would my cover be blown? Would I see him again? In one day we’d gone from being total strangers to . . . something else. We had shared things, personal things. We’d laughed together; I’d almost cried. The mere memory of the way he held my foot earlier was making me hot under the collar.
The thought of not seeing him ever again sent a different kind of ache through me. It left me reluctant to get to my feet or even move, reluctant to put an end to the day.
“I know an easy way back to the Square,” Todd said, standing up, brushing sand off the front of his shirt. “I’ll walk you to your bike, maybe throw it in the back of my truck, if you’re too tuckered out to ride home.”
“Har-har.”
Our shoes were at the end of the boardwalk where we’d left them hours before. I didn’t put mine on for our jaunt back, preferring to remain barefoot.
“On second thought,” Todd said as I followed him up the stairs, “there’s bound to still be a pretty big crowd at the Square. We should probably take a different way.” He looked at me over his shoulder. “It’s not exactly a short cut. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” I answered casually, while deep down I was mildly ecstatic to be with him for a little while longer.
When we reached the bottom of the stairs, he stopped walking and turned to me. “Also . . .” He ran a hand through his hair. “There’s one more thing I want to show you.”
{chapter 10}
“THE FOOL ON THE HILL”
W
ith Lindsey and Steve busy checking and double-checking on their pseudo-sleeping boys, I took a cool shower, unwillingly rinsing off the hot sun and salty water of my enchanted day. I couldn’t help winking at my reflection as I towel dried my hair. It was the first time in months I’d been able to take a good look in the mirror without seeing a stranger.
Also, for the first time in months, I couldn’t wait for tomorrow.
During the day, my cheeks and shoulders had turned a soft pink, tan lines crisscrossing my feet and ankles from my sandal straps. I felt pretty and feminine, as if my entire body were glowing from the inside, humming like a beehive.
After crawling into some silky pajamas, I wandered downstairs to the dark kitchen and grabbed a green apple from a bowl. In the spacious living room, the ceiling fan was
tick-tick-tick
ing ten feet above my head, swirling cool air. I stretched out on the leather couch and ate my dinner.
As I stared at the ceiling, fantasies ran through my head. I imagined a tall, dark man on the deck of a sailboat, out on the open sea, the wind blowing through his hair, rustling his clothes. I saw myself leaning off the starboard bow watching the sunset in a sailor’s cap and long braids. He would toss me a rope, and together we’d hoist the mainsail. In my dream, I didn’t know where that breeze was taking us, but I hoped it was worlds away.
I yelped when something tugged my big toe.
“Hey.” Lindsey grinned at me, and I grinned back. “You were just singing.” She took my apple core. “What were you thinking about?” She walked into the kitchen, and I heard the beginning sounds of bedtime-snack cleanup.
“Nothing,” I called to her. “Just daydreaming. ‘Strawberry Fields’ and all that.” I picked at the light blue piping along the cuffs of my pajamas. “Need any help in there?” I offered over the sounds of dishwater splashing, silverware clinking, and cabinet doors closing.
“Steve’s doing the rest,” she answered as she returned to the living room. I sat up when she sat down in one of the armchairs. “I make food; he cleans up. That’s our deal. It takes him a while some nights, but he always gets to it.” She leaned over and picked up some coloring books from the floor. “These are little John-John’s favorites.” She ran her fingers over the scarred picture on the cover. “He loves firetrucks.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Charlie prefers dogs,” she added, opening one of the coloring books and flipping through its pages. “So where have you been all day? And with whom?” Apparently, my loving sister was in her savage journalistic mode.
When my answer didn’t come right away, she looked up, wearing a shifty smile. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling back, lowering my eyes demurely.
“Wow, he must really be something.”
“How do you know it’s a
he
?”
“Ha!” She tossed the book aside. “Because I know
you
.”
What was the point in beating around the bush? Besides, way too much time had passed since Lindsey and I shared any kind of conversation like this. I couldn’t help smiling again, suddenly more than willing to girl talk into the night.
“So, you know that funny little store across the Square from Sundog Books?”
“Which one?”
“The one with those weird European surfing posters in the windows?”
Lindsey squinted then nodded.
“There was this . . . I mean . . . I met a guy there.”
My sister had to think for a minute. Then her jaw dropped.
“
Abby
, are you talking about
Chandler
?” she shrieked. “Did you spend all day with that
kid
? He’s sixteen years old!”
“Eighteen last month,” I corrected, “but no, calm down. Do you know Todd, the owner?”
Lindsey pondered for another second, agog expression unchanged. “Todd Camford?”
“Maybe,” I hedged. “I don’t know his last name, actually.”
Lindsey finally unclenched. Then a slow grin spread across her face. “Tall? Dark? Gorgeous?”
“Check, check, check.” I grinned in return.
She sprang to the couch, right in my face. “Were you with him all day?”
“Pretty much.” I smiled at the thought, my hands patting at leftover tummy butterflies. “I left here just after nine and rode your bike into Seaside. He was at his store, and we just . . . sort of . . .”
“Oh! This is too cool. Twelve hours? That’s the equivalent of four dates. Abby, you’ve been on
four
dates
with Todd Camford.” She sounded very impressed. “I heard he used to be a Navy Seal.”
“Marine sharpshooter,” I was all too pleased to correct.
Lindsey’s eyes bugged out. “Are you serious? Shut the f-front door.”
“I know. Why is anything military-related such a turn on?”
She chuckled sarcastically, moving back to her chair. “Umm, maybe because that means he’s all rugged and focused and . . . he knows how to
operate
a
weapon
.”
“Lindsey, jeez,” I said faintly, looking over my shoulder for prying four-year-old ears. Instead, her husband Steve padded down the stairs. He was wearing his reading glasses on top of his head like women use their sunglasses to hold back the front of their hair. He looked, actually, quite silly. I shot Lindsey a sympathetic glance and could see a laugh spasm building behind her sealed lips.
“Where are the kitchen towels?” Steve asked sullenly.
“In the kitchen, hon,” Lindsey replied, winking at me. “What happened?”
“John tipped a glass of water all over his bed.”
Lindsey moved to stand up.
“Don’t worry,” her husband said, sitting her back down. “I got it.” He disappeared into the kitchen.
“Todd Camford . . .” Lindsey repeated. then lowered her voice. “I wouldn’t kick
him
out of bed for eating crackers.” She gave me another wink. “Did you get a look at his chest?”
“Easy, Lindsey,” I said. “You’re too old for him.”
“Never too old to look.” She lifted her chin. “Hey, Steve!” she called toward the kitchen. “Guess who my little sis was with today.” She didn’t give Steve the chance to venture a guess. “Todd Camford from the surf shop on the Square where you got your wetsuit.”
Steve made some neutral grunt reply from the kitchen.
Lindsey turned back to me with an even bigger grin across her pretty face. “Todd Camford and you?” She pursed her lips. “Major explosion.”
I didn’t know whether to agree or disagree, or even what her comment implied, but I went on to tell her about my day. She felt it necessary to relay all of what I said to Steve when he moved back and forth from the kitchen to the boys’ bedroom or to his den or to the back deck or out to his car. I was surprised the whole population of Seagrove Beach didn’t know about my four-date day.
“There’s this row of trees with little pink blossoms,” I said as my story neared its end. “I think Todd called them redbuds.”
My sister was meditative, narrowing her eyes, insisting on picturing the exact route where Todd and I had walked by moonlight from the beach back to Modica.
“He made it his personal crusade to point out everything pink, just to torture me.”
“Because of the Moulin Rouge ad? Huh. Funny.” She nodded approvingly and lifted her chin. “He’s funny, honey!”
Steve replied with another noncommittal grunt.
I continued my story. “Around the corner, there’s that street lined with oaks and sycamores and willows with the long branches that touch the ground and with shallow roots breaking through the cracks in the sidewalk.”
Lindsey sat wide-eyed, staring at me, elbows on knees, chin in hands.
“He offered his arm because, you know, I kept tripping over the roots in my bare feet.” I lifted a coquettish grin. “It was
almost
unintentional.”
“Nice one.”
“When I stopped to look up at the moon through some branches, I pulled his arm, and the rest of him, over.”
“I’ll bet you did—”
“Linz, babe, stop interrupting her,” Steve implored from his place on the rosewood rocking chair in the corner of the room,
Sports Illustrated
turned upside down on his lap. “We don’t need your commentary, Ryan Seacrest.”