SEVENTEEN

 

Excuses for Touching Eight Packs

 

Harrison

 

 

“So, that was your sister, huh?” Libby asks as we get in the golf cart.

“Yes. I’m sorry about her. She wants to marry me off for some reason.” I back out of the stall and head in the direction of her building.

“That’s okay. It was kind of flattering, in a slightly off-putting way.”

Laughing, I say, “I have no idea if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Me neither,” Libby answers.

I stop where the two main paths intersect to let a group of guests walk by, then continue on much slower than I normally drive (for some unknown reason that has nothing to do with wanting to spend more time with Libby, so stop thinking that).

Libby looks over at me. “Did she really quit culinary school to come back and help out?”

“Unfortunately. I told her I’ve got it handled and to stay put, but instead she packs up and flies all the way back here with one semester left in her program,” I say, shaking my head. “Do you know how hard it was for her to get in at that school? She applied for over two years. Two years. And she gives all that up to come back here and try to bail out a sinking ship.”

“Do you really think it’s sinking?”

Giving her a sideways grin, I say, “You tell me.”

When I look at her, Libby’s face is filled with concern. “I really shouldn’t say until I’ve had a chance to finish crunching the numbers.”

Shit. That isn’t the face of someone who has happy news to share in the near future. “I know. I was just testing,” I say. “But I owe you an apology. I’m supposed to be helping you, not adding more stress to you by going on about my own problems.”

“This?” she asks, pointing to her nose. “Don’t worry about it. It happens so much, I’ve started called it Old Faithful.”

Her entire face turns pink. “That sounded sexy,” she says in a sarcastic voice. Then her eyes grow wide and she blinks quickly. “Not that I’m trying to be sexy around you. At all.”

God, she’s cute when she’s embarrassed. “Somehow I don’t think you can help being sexy. It just happens.”

Libby giggles a little, then waves her free hand dismissively. “You’re just trying to butter me up so you can get some intel on my findings.”

“As much as I’m dying to know, I’m being completely honest about the sexy thing. Probably too honest.”

She swallows hard, then says, “In that case, while we’re being overly honest, it’s not looking too great so far.” Her expression goes from worried to hopeful. “But maybe there’s something I haven’t seen yet that will help move things in the right direction for you.”

I nod and do my best to act like that didn’t feel like a gut punch.

“I mean, you never know, right? Sometimes things look like they’re going one way and something can come along and turn everything around.”

Giving her a small smile, I say, “It’s nice of you to try to make me feel better. Especially since my loss is your gain.”

“Right. I almost forgot. I’m supposed to be working on a hostile takeover.” She says it like it’s the last thing she wants to do.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” she answers, her tone tentative.

“Do you like your job?”

“Some things about it. I love the investigation part of it, and I like it when a deal comes together — that bit is very exciting. But this time it feels…different.”

“Is it because you kind of like me and you can’t stand the thought of seeing me ruined?” I bump her shoulder to let her know I’m sort of joking.

“No, you’re a total nightmare. I can hardly stand to be around you,” she says, grinning up at me. “The rest of the people here are pretty wonderful though, and they seem to like you, for whatever reason...”

“Must be Stockholm Syndrome.”

Laughing, Libby says, “Oh, now it’s all making sense.” She changes to some clean tissues, then dabs her nose and drops her hand to her lap.

“All better?” I ask.

“All better,” she says.

A couple walks past us, and Libby points at them. “Are you aware of how slow we’re going right now? We just got lapped by some senior citizens.”

“I’m trying to conserve battery power.”

“Liar. You just want to spend more time with me.”

“There may be a little of that too, but it’s mostly about saving the earth,” I say, giving her a mock serious look.

She laughs again, then her face falls. “Harrison, have you thought about what you’re going to do if this doesn’t have a happy ending for you?”

“Nope,” I answer, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’ll be okay, though. At the end of the day, a person has to learn to roll with the punches, you know?”

“Make sense.” She fiddles with the handle on her briefcase, seeming so vulnerable, it makes me want to forget she's in love with someone else.

Before I can stop myself, I say, “Speaking of rolling with the punches, have you heard from Dick lately?

“It’s Richard, and no, I haven't.”

“Whatever his name is, he’s a total coward,” I mutter.

“He's not a coward. He just got—”

“—so scared of getting married, he didn't show up for your wedding?” I ask, trying to cut the sarcastic edge out of my voice but failing miserably.

“I think I’ll walk the rest of the way. I’m not enjoying this conversation very much anymore,” she says, turning her head away from me.

“Sorry, that was out of line.”

She glances in my direction. “And it’s none of your business.”

“That too,” I say, feeling shitty for having upset her. “It was a total arsehole thing to say. I'm just in a really bad mood, but that doesn’t mean I should take it out on Dick.”

She levels me with a steely glare.

“Richard, sorry.” I give her a little grin that seems to soften her up some.

We pull up to her building long before I'm ready, and I stop by the front door.

“Well, thanks for the ride,” Libby says as she gets out of the cart.

“Are you going back to the office today?” I ask, trying to draw out the conversation just a little longer.

“I don't think so. I have enough numbers to crunch at this point, so I can probably stay in my room for the next day or so and finish up most of my work.”

She turns and starts toward the door while I sit, thinking about the fact that things ‘aren’t looking great.’ Then her words pop into my head about how maybe there’s still something she hasn’t seen that would make a difference.

Before I can second guess it, I get out of the cart and follow her. When I catch up, I say, “Hey Libby, there might be something that will change your mind after all.”

“No, it’s fine, Harrison. Really. I don’t think you’re an arse, even if you did make unwanted comments on my love life.”

“Not that. I mean about the resort,” I say, barely able to contain my nervous excitement. “I’ve had a crazy idea for a long time. Well, I’m actually not sure if it’s crazy or a stroke of genius, so I’ve never told anyone about it before. But you’re the perfect person to ask. You’ll know right away if I should do it.”

Her eyes light up. “What is it?”

“Are you game for another boat ride?”

 

***

 

Thirty minutes later, we’re taking off in our fastest speedboat, normally used for water-skiing. Since I dropped her off at her room and told her to get changed into hiking clothes, I've managed to shower, shave, and pack a picnic dinner for us to share once we reach our destination. It's a long trek, and it's getting late in the afternoon, so I hit the throttle.

Libby sits in the seat to my left, holding on to her ball cap as the wind whips her ponytail around. “Just how far is this place?”

“About another twenty minutes,” I shout over the loud engine.

“This place better be magical!”

“That's the perfect word to describe it.”

By the time we arrive, Libby looks like she’s so rattled, her teeth might've come loose. She’s also adorably sexy in that girl-next-door way in her hiking outfit — skinny cropped yoga pants, a tank top and running shoes. I anchor the boat as close to shore as I can get without hitting the rocks, but it still means wading through the water to get to the beach.

“What’s this place called?” Libby asks, her eyes scanning the beach that rises up into a dense, tropical rainforest.

“It doesn't have a name yet. I thought maybe you could help me come up with one.”

“How about ‘terrifying jungle that's probably full of deadly bugs’ island?” she asks, looking very tense.

Tapping one finger against my lips, I say, “We may have to finesse that a little. I'm not sure it sounds enticing enough.”

I toe off my runners and peel off my socks, then stuff them inside my shoes and toss them onto the shore. Picking up my backpack, I hop out of the boat and into the knee-deep, clear blue water.

“Oh, are we wading in?” she asks.

“I am,” I call back to her. “Wait there a second. I'll come get you.”

“Sure. Okay. I'll just be right here…waiting to go on to the scary deserted island. Can’t wait.”

I toss the pack onto the sand and turn back, fully enjoying the sight of her in the soft early evening sun. Somehow, inexplicably, I've almost forgotten everything that's been bothering me lately, and when it does pop into to my mind, none of it seems so bad.

She climbs up onto the side of the boat and balances there in a crouched position. I hold my hand out to her, and she takes it, the warmth spreading through me. Huh. Every damn time. Crazy.

“Okay, you have to choose between being professional and being dry,” I say.

“How so?” she asks with an adorably confused look on her face.

“I could carry you, in which case you'll be dry, but it's not all that professional. Or you could make your way on your own, in which case your pants are going to be pretty much soaked, but you may feel a little more professional.”

“Having soaked pants is hardly professional,” she says, letting a small smile escape her lips. “Plus, you’ve already carried me across the resort in my undies, so I choose dry.”

“Okay, then,” I say, tugging on her hand. She falls sideways with a squeal and I catch her in my arms. I'm not even going to try to pretend I'm not enjoying this, because I damn well am.

“Oh, I didn't think you meant like this. I thought maybe you'd piggyback me,” she says, her voice taking on a breathy quality.

“Is piggybacking considered more professional?”

“Obviously. Everyone knows piggyback rides are considered the height of sophistication.”

I laugh as I start toward the shore, but after a few steps I’m all too aware of the heat running through me at holding her like this. The way she’s blushing and looking everywhere but at me tells me she’s feeling it too. I set her down sooner than I'd like.

Once her feet touch the white sand, she clears her throat and straightens her T-shirt. “Thanks for the lift.”

I keep my reply casual. “Any time.” And I mean any time.

We walk side-by-side down the length of the beach, then turn onto a sandy trail that's been cut through the jungle. An iguana steps out of the brush, and Libby steps in front of me and holds out her arm in front of my stomach.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Protecting you,” she whispers. “Stay back. The brightly-coloured ones are poisonous.”

“No, they’re not,” I whisper back.

The iguana gives us a long stare before disappearing back into the brush again, and Libby pats my stomach before putting her arm back down. “It’s safe now.”

“Uh-huh. You sure you didn’t just use that as an excuse to touch my abs?”

Shaking her head vigorously, she turns a little red. “I certainly did not. That was a…maternal instinct thing.”

“Say what you want, but I know the truth. It’s okay, really. I totally understand and don’t mind, even if it was a bit pervy of you.”

She grunts a little, then says, “Agree to disagree on the topic of me wanting to touch your rock-hard abs. On to more important topics. Now that I see iguanas live here, I’m more than a little curious about what other deadly animals are lurking in the bush that I’ll need to save you from. Poisonous spiders, maybe? Giant snakes?”

“Seriously, you can just go ahead and grope me all you like. I already told you I don’t mind.”

She gives me an exasperated look. “So, is that a yes to the deadly fauna?”

“It’s a no. None that I've ever seen, and I've been coming here since I was a kid,” I answer.

She nods, seeming to relax a little as we walk on.

“Do you want me to take a picture of you hiking to send home?” I ask.

Libby blushes a little and shakes her head. “I’ve given up on that. I posted at least a dozen shots, and none of them seems to be attracting the attention I was hoping for.”

I do my best not to smile as a wave of hope hits me. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” she says with a wry grin. After a moment, she says, “I was so sure we were going to have the perfect life together…” Her words are slightly laboured as we go up the steep part of the climb to the top of the mountain.

“And now?”

“Full disclosure? For the first time in my life, I don't have the first freaking clue where I'm heading, and it's completely terrifying.”

“Well, you know what they say: when one door closes, a window opens.”

“Except this particular window seems to be on the tenth floor and there aren't any firefighters holding one of those big trampoline things for me.”

“I know this’ll sound strange, but I can relate. I mean, it’s not as bad because I haven’t just had my heart broken. But I can relate to the whole uncertainty thing.”

“I actually think your situation is worse — no offense. With me, I just have to figure out what I’m going to do for myself. In your case, you have the lives of over a hundred people riding on your shoulders.”

“That’s why I’m hoping to sweet talk you into helping me,” I say with a little smile.

She looks up at me but doesn’t smile back. “Is it hard? Having all that responsibility all the time?”

“You know, it’s funny, people have been asking me that my entire life. When we lost our parents, I took over as sort of a parent for Will and Emma. Grownups were always asking me if I minded having so much responsibility, and I never understood why. The truth is, there's really nothing I'd rather do than look after the people I care about. I suppose that's a weird goal in life,” I say, feeling strange about admitting this to her. “Maybe it makes me unambitious.”

“I think it's beautiful.” Her voice cracks a little, and I stop walking and turn to her, only to see she has tears in her eyes.

Unable to help myself, I put my hands on her upper arms and rub them up and down a little bit. “Hey, what's wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, her face screwing up with emotion.

Pulling her in for a hug, I feel her sob against my chest, and it nearly breaks my heart. I hold her close, running one hand over the back of her head, trying to soothe her.

“Shh, it's okay. It'll be okay.”

After a minute, she pulls away, wiping her eyes and looking embarrassed. “I'm sorry, that just got to me for some reason. I don’t think I've ever had anyone who thought taking care of me was anything more than a burden.”

“Then you've been hanging around the wrong people all your life,” I say, stopping just short of telling her I wouldn't mind applying for the job.

She looks up at me, her face full of emotion. “Yeah, maybe I have.”

I lose myself in her deep blue eyes and let all my feelings for her bubble to the surface, knowing I can’t hold them back anymore. And I no longer want to.

Cupping her jaw with my hand, I lean down, closing the space between our mouths, waiting for her to meet me halfway. She licks her lips and closes her eyes, then moves so her mouth just barely skim against mine.