Luke

As soon as Avery left the table, I excused myself to go for a long walk—alone—on the beach. Ostensibly it was to look for seashells, but really I needed to get as far away as possible from Avery, who was probably taking a shower. I walked and walked, and didn’t see anything except the image in my head of Avery showering and looking up at me while licking her lips.

When she had emerged from that massage pavilion she was luminous. She walked like a panther, her skin was taut and flushed. She appeared to be ravenous. The way she moaned while savoring each bite of mango and grapes and strawberries. She didn’t seem to be doing it deliberately—behaving so sensuously and seductively. She was just really enjoying the fruit. I wanted to dash out of there before she started going to town on a banana. But then Ingrid turned up and told us about the seashell gifts.

Who on earth was I to give them advice on love and marriage? I couldn’t even tell the woman that I was deliriously attracted to that I wanted her. All I had to do was ask her if she was happy in her relationship and let her know that I was there for her if she wanted me too, while we had the chance. I mean we were in the Bahamas, for heaven’s sake. What was I so afraid of? I could sleep with her, enjoy her company while we were together and then go back to my life and keep living it the way I’d always lived it—that’s what I did with other women.

I decided to Google “best quotes about love and marriage” on my phone, when I turned back towards the villa and saw Avery walking in my direction, about fifteen meters away. I could see that she was holding a shell in one hand and a pad of paper and pen in the other. I had forgotten to bring pen and paper and I hadn’t even looked for a shell yet.

“I’m not stalking you, I swear,” she called out.

“I hardly believe you.”

“You were about to Google a quote to put in the note, weren’t you?”

I laughed. “You don’t know me.”

She stopped walking and sat down in the sand, facing the ocean. The sun was about to set. I had gone hours without seeing her all morning, managed to stay away from her for a few more hours this afternoon, and now here we were on a beach at sunset and I was so happy to hear her voice and look at her, it was idiotic. I sat down, about two feet away from her, and stared ahead. I looked around and picked up the first shell I found. It was perfect.

“Can you believe they’re getting married tomorrow?”

“They seem to have their feet solidly on the ground. And they seem very much in love.”

“Yeah.” She sounded sad. “It’s so easy for some people,” she whispered, more to herself than to me.

“Looks that way,” I said. “You come up with something juicy to stick in your shell yet?”

She guffawed. “It sounds so dirty when you put it that way, sailor.”

“Everything sounds dirty when you have a dirty mind, darling.”

After a moment, she said: “Did you have a good talk with Bucket? Get him up to date on everything?”

“Yes I did. It was not the first time I’d talked business on a golf course, but it was the most fun I’ve ever had losing. That man is quite an athlete. It’s humbling.”

“You didn’t look half bad yourself. Running on the beach, I mean.”

She kept staring straight ahead, at the horizon.

“Well, I’m not half bad,” I said. “So what are you going to write in your note, tell me.”

She laughed. “You go first!”

“I was thinking something along the lines of: ‘Never go to bed angry.’ It’s what my mum told my sister when she was fighting with her husband. But then I thought the better advice would be ‘go to bed angry and have make-up sex immediately.’”

She laughed. “Oh my God you should be a talk show host. Let’s Look at Love with Luke! on BBC Twelve.”

“Oh right well what were you going to write? Your favorite line from a Katy Perry song I’d bet.”

“I mean how could I pick just one favorite line from a Katy Perry song—that’s impossible.”

“What about: ‘Congratulations on not having to use condoms.’”

“’Try not to murder each other.’”

“’Stay hydrated.’”

“’Take your vitamins.’”

“Maybe we should just write down a quote from a romantic comedy and be done with it.”

“No way,” she said, no longer smiling. “Romantic comedies are a lie."  

"Is that so?"  

"Don't watch 'em, won't quote 'em."  

"Really?  You don't watch romantic comedies?"  

"Especially not the ones from the Nineties.  Way too sweet."  

"How dare they?" I could use this to my advantage, I thought.  "No rom coms from the Nineteen Nineties, eh?"

She stuck her finger down her throat and made a gagging sound. I could tell she regretted doing that, thinking she’d done something crass, but she was adorable.

I'm just going to say it. I need to say it, to see how she reacts, and then if she runs away screaming I can explain to her that it was a joke.

After a moment, I cleared my throat, angled myself towards her a bit more, and forced myself to stutter: “Sorry, sorry. I just, ehm, well, this is a very stupid question and... particularly in view of our recent shell-shopping excursion, but I just wondered, by any chance, ehm, eh, I mean obviously not because I’m just some git who’s only slept with nine people, but I-I just wondered...” She's not running away.  She’s smiling. She's buying this.  Good Lord is she actually falling for this rubbish Hugh Grant bit?  He's ridiculous, why do women like him? I went on rambling and stuttering. “Ehh. I really feel, ehh, in short, to recap it slightly in a clearer version, uh, in the words of David Cassidy in fact, while he was still with The Partridge Family, ‘I think I love you,’ and eh, I-I just wondered if by any chance you wouldn't like to... Eh... Eh... No, no, no of course not... I'm an idiot, he's not... Excellent, excellent, fantastic, lovely to see you, sorry to disturb... Better get on...”

She was positively beaming at me.  "That was very romantic," she said.

I think that's what Andie MacDowell said in the film.  “Well, I thought it over a lot, you know, I wanted to get it just right.”

She covered her face and laughed, shaking her head. She was blushing. “That was one of my mom’s favorites. She made me watch Four Weddings and a Funeral about twenty times before I implemented my rule. Your impression was spot on! Even more charming than Hugh Grant, if I may say so.”

“I knew it was impossible you hadn’t seen any romantic comedies.”

“I didn’t say I hadn’t seen any, I said I don’t watch them.” She was really fidgeting and blushing, she couldn’t look at me anymore. “In case you're wondering, I also do not watch reality television or competition shows.”

“Not even cooking shows?”

“Food is a necessity it is not a game.  Cupcakes should not induce stress, they are stress relievers.”

“But what about educational food porn cooking shows?”

“I don't have cable, but that sounds really good to me.”

“So what do you watch?”

She stared out at the water. “My budget.  My weight.  My language.  Where I'm going...” She slapped her hand to her forehead. “Oh my God I'm so boring!  I was too busy working to notice how boring I am!”

I laughed. “You never relax, do you?”

“I just did—I relaxed the shit out of myself!” She covered her mouth. “You misheard me—I am a lady!” She half-turned towards me.  “Wait, do you relax?  I mean, normally.”  

“On the weekends, of course.”

She seemed to be genuinely surprised by this. “Really?  You work hard and you play hard?”

“I work hard and I enjoy my weekends,” I said, but what I wanted to say was:  I wish I could enjoy my weekends with you.

“Really?”

“Yes, why don't you?”

She looked down at the sand. “I don't know anymore.  If I could feel like this every weekend, I would.”

I would love to make you feel like this every weekend.

She finally looked at me again, as though she knew exactly what I was thinking.  It felt like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. Instead, she suddenly wrote something down on the piece of paper, folded the paper up and slid it inside the shell. She smirked at me. “I beat you,” she said.

“I didn’t realize it was a race.”

She stood up and stretched her arms in the air, taking in a deep breath, staring out at the ocean. I tried my best not to stare at her legs. “I’m going to go dip my toes in the water,” she declared. “You may use my paper and pen. No peeking at mine. When I come back you better be done with your present.”

“You’re on,” I said. “I may not have finished first, but I will finish strong.”

She kicked off her sandals and dragged her feet through the sand, away from me. I watched her go. I watched her step into the ocean without hesitating. She took five steps out, stood still, bent down to let her fingers dance along the surface of the water.

I knew what I wanted to write. I’d known for a while.