Chapter Twenty-Three
Arlie clears his throat. I turn my eyes away from the pages of Delilah and Hugh’s story, the one I’m hoping will find the two of them married and living happily ever after. I’m not holding my breath, though, because I’ve been reading all day and there are not many pages left, and Hugh is still nowhere to be found. God, that hunky, messed up, loveable man turned into a total chicken shit on the run. Hugh makes me mad.
“Would you like some dinner, Melinda?”
I don’t look at Arlie.
“Would you like something to eat?” he repeats.
“I would.” There’s an awkward and unsettling tension filling the air around Arlie and me, and there has been all day. Every time he’s come and gone, I’ve pretended I’m too engrossed in this story to notice.
“Would you like anything to eat in particular?”
“I’ll make a sandwich.”
There’s a small huff like sound which has me sitting upright. “Why did you just huff?”
“Because you're frustrating, woman.”
“Woman? Woman? You called me woman. I don’t like it.”
He huffs again.
“You huffed again.”
“Because you’re impossible. I’m trying to be nice. Make you something to eat. Make up for what happened.”
“There’s no need. It was what it was.”
“Yeah …” He places his hand on the back of his neck. “But I feel like I’ve violated you most horrifically.” His hand moves from his neck to the waistband of his jeans.
I break eye contact. I don’t feel violated, do I? I take a moment to think about what Arlie said. To consider how he’s feeling. To ask myself why I’m acting like an absolute bitch to him.
I can see why he’d feel like he did violate me. I’m treating him like garbage.
I place the bookmark between the pages and snap the cover closed. “I’ll help you make dinner if you want? On one condition, though. I don’t have to touch any of those gadgets and appliances. There are a lot—too many for me.” I offer an innocent smile in the hope it’ll break this strain.
It must work because Arlie smiles back. “Okay, I’ll work the gadgets, and you can do the slicing and dicing.”
“Deal.”
Arlie holds out his hand. I hesitate, then cup my palm to his.
“We’ll need supplies. Do you want to take the golf buggy for a spin?” He helps me up from the lounge.
I nod.
“Do you want to go now while it’s not raining?”
“I’ll grab my shoes—”
“I’ll meet you out front—”
“Okay.”
It’s a four-seater golf buggy, white in colour with red leather seats. A few minutes later, I climb in beside Arlie, who’s sitting on the passenger’s side.
“I’m driving?” I’m shocked because I thought men liked to play the role of driving Miss Daisy when accompanied by a lady. Well, it’s what I see in the movies anyways. Plus, my dad never lets my mum drive when they’re together.
“I thought you’d want a bit of fun, and riding around in this is fun.”
I return his infectious smile as I turn the key. “Okay, Daisy, which way do I go?”
“Daisy?”
“Just go with it.”
“Okay. Daisy, I am.” Arlie laughs. “We need to go down the path between those coconut trees.” Arlie points in front of us. “It’s a straight drive.”
“Hold your bootstraps because I’m about to handle this bad boy like a pro.”
Arlie laughs again.
I inhale deeply and sort through the different fragrances in my mind. Clean, crisp-like mountain air, but nowhere near as strong. It’s not bland, nor rich like spice, and it’s less subtle than rosemary or thyme, or any herb for that matter. The smell of the earth after rain doesn’t have a description—it just brings with it a feeling of peace.
I drive at a moderate pace, glancing at my surroundings and listening to the ocean’s waves and the wildlife chirping and squawking above. The sky is once again a brilliant blue, no longer the colour of steel metal, no longer angry. The only evidence of the torrential downpours we experienced for a majority of the day lies in the curled white tops of the waves now folding over each other in a battle before smacking against the shoreline.
Arlie takes a series of loud, deep breaths. I instantly smile. There’s no better air to breathe than that which follows a storm.
“Can you smell vanilla?” He sniffs loudly.
My smile grows.
“We must be coming nearer to the flower gardens because what I’m smelling is sweet.”
“Flower gardens? The tropical island has a park?”
He nods.
I inhale deeply. He’s right; the air is now sweet.
Purples, reds, blues, pinks, yellows, and oranges tie together in a large open area. Flower gardens with roaming paths between become my view. “Wow! That’s crazy pretty, right?”
Arlie grins, then causally jumps from the moving buggy.
I stomp my foot on the brake. “What are you doing? You can’t jump …”
“It’s fine.”
Of course, it is.
I don’t know what it is about Arlie that at this moment shows me I need to take more risks. I need to climb out of the bubble I’ve spent years and years shielding myself with. I want to feel as free as it appears he does.
Arlie jogs towards the garden on my left. He bends, and I can’t help but glance at his shapely rounded arse covered by tight blue jeans.
When he pops his head up, then twists, I spot the handful of flowers he’s plucked from the ground.
“For you.” He smiles, handing me a brightly coloured arrangement.
“Aww.” I gush like a love-struck teenager hopped up on hormones and soppy emotion.
“To the convenient store. Daisy is getting hungry.” Arlie plucks a single yellow daisy from my grip and puts it between his teeth. “Let’s hunt and gather so I can eat,” he mumbles with the flower laid across his mouth and cheeks.
I giggle, while slowly pressing my foot to the accelerator.
***
Arlie wasn’t lying when he said there were stores. He also wasn’t lying when he said it was a straight drive to arrive at them.
A long row of navy blue doors and big glass windowfronts takes over my sight. I turn the steering wheel a hard right with one hand. Arlie throws his arms and legs to the side in the most dramatic way when I do. “Crazy women drivers, am I right?”
I clear my throat.
He winks.
Cheeky shit!
There are three aisles, and from those three aisles, we select items from the shelves and place them into a shopping trolley Arlie has taken dominance over.
This moment: Nostalgic! I’m instantly reminded of the very moment I met Arlie Blight in a supermarket back home.
“So, what do we still need?” Arlie dips his head into the trolley. “Men’s deodorant? Yes. Condoms? I’m thinking about eight or nine packs. Toilet paper? Lots of toilet paper.” He bolts upright, shifting until he’s facing me. “Melinda, are you going to steal a cake today? Because if you are, we’ll need to grab a cake.”
I launch out my arm and tap his chest. “Stop it. There’s probably not even toilet paper or condoms here. They’re already in the house. I saw them.”
He laughs, a low toned sound.
“Stop it!” I warn again.
“Okay, I’ll stop after we select a cake.”
A shelf is filled with a few decadent desserts, and I’m standing in front of a chocolate mud cake. I’ve not gorged on anything sweet since I’ve been here. That’s a record for me.
“Chocolate or vanilla? What are you thinking?” Arlie interrupts my thoughts.
“Chocolate?”
“Agreed.” Arlie snatches the container from the shelf and rests it in the seat of the cart, just how I had the red velvet cake on the day we met. “Cream. We need whipped cream and ice cream.” Arlie pushes the trolley down the aisle towards a fridge stood against the back wall. I follow. “This can be dessert,” he mumbles, as if speaking to himself.
***
There’s no checkout to line up at or conveyor belt to load our groceries on, but that doesn’t stop Arlie from pretending there is when we’re finished selecting our supplies.
“What’s that you’ve got there? Fifty packs of condoms. Oh, and enough toilet paper to stock a public restroom. Do you live in a share house like me?” Arlie smirks.
I roll my eyes as I grab the cake from the seat of the trolley. I hold it against my chest. I race to the doors like a criminal in escape mode.
Arlie’s laughter drifts from behind me.
“I’m stealing this damn cake.”
Arlie and I get each other. We’re comfortable in one another’s presence. It seems right even though it’s likely wrong.
Maybe Arlie Blight is my happily-ever-after guy.
I mean, stranger things have happened, right?