Chapter 7
AFTER SNORKELING, THEY MOVED to a narrow, secluded beach for an hour of free time. Several yards from the ocean, a line of palm trees grew wild, hanging over the sand as if reaching for the water, fighting for first sunlight.
The couples paired off again. Clare and Deacon walked a little way, then she spread her towel on the sand. Deacon hadn’t brought one, which made her smile. Such a man. “I’ll share,” she offered.
“No, you’re a girl. You take the towel.”
Rolling her eyes, Clare sat then lay back. He dropped onto the sand beside her and a minute later laid his head in her lap.
“See,” he said smiling up at her, his eyes squinting against the sun. “It pays not to bring a towel.”
With a bit of wonder, she brushed her fingers through his damp hair. His head was heavy in her lap. Reggae music played from the boat, and Isaac poured drinks from a cooler he and Manuel had carried onto the sand.
Eyes closed, she lifted her face toward the sun. “I could really use a mango tango right now.”
“What in the hell is a mango tango?”
“It’s a drink. A really good drink.” She breathed out a relaxed sigh.
“A girlie drink?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure anyone with good taste would like it. What do you want? Bourbon or something more manly?”
“I’d take a nice cold beer.”
“You probably also drink Mountain Dew. The kind with the camo packaging.”
He laughed. “You probably drink grape soda.”
“As a matter of fact, I do like grape soda. You know what I was thinking when we were snorkeling?” Clare asked.
“I’m sure I have no idea.”
“Did you see that movie where the people went snorkeling and then the boat left them out there?”
“No.”
“Well, it happened, and it’s a true story. There was no land in sight, and they had to tread water for like a day and were eventually eaten by sharks.”
“That’s what you were thinking while we were gazing upon God’s beautiful underwater creation?”
“Not the whole time.” She pouted. “Just part of the time.”
“If it was a true story, how does anyone know they got eaten by sharks?”
“I guess they don’t. I mean, they never found them, so they really have no idea what happened to them. That’s the sad part.”
“That’s the sad part?”
She laughed. “Okay. It was sad before that.”
“And morbid. Is that your favorite movie?”
“No. I was just telling you about it.” She thumped his head lightly.
“So what is?”
“What?”
“Your favorite movie.”
“Gladiator. Hands down best movie ever.”
He looked at her, surprised. “So violent.” He rubbed his head where she’d thumped him.
“It’s actually a romance. Most people don’t know that.”
“Huh. I admit I did not know that.” He sat up and leaned back on his hands beside her.
“Look at them.” Clare pointed to the old couple, walking hand in hand along the edge of the water. The man held out his arm to his wife. Every few steps, she bent slowly, took her time, and came up with shell or coral. Then she dropped her treasure into a paper cup the man held out with his other hand.
Clare imagined they’d take them home, maybe put them in a glass bottle on a windowsill, another memory to go with all their other memories.
“My grandparents were married sixty-seven years,” she told Deacon. “Until my grandfather died a few years ago.”
“That’s a long time. And I’m sorry you lost him.”
“Thanks. My grandmother died two months later. But she was ready. She said it all the time. Not in a sad or morbid way, but just that she was ready. That her Bobby was waiting on her, and she didn’t want to keep him waiting. Can you imagine a love like that?”
“I guess I can imagine it. Did you think you’d have that kind of love with your fiancé?”
She drew in a deep breath, staring out at the ocean and nothing, thinking how to answer that. “I hoped. Not the first time I’ve been wrong.” Many times she’d been wrong. “Anyway…” She nodded toward the couple again. “I’m not sure a love like that exists for everyone.
“Or even if it does exist, maybe some people spend their life looking and never finding it. I’d rather have nothing than something that isn’t real. And I’m okay with that. Coming so close to almost making a mistake has made me okay with that.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“So you’ve given up?”
“Maybe I’ve finally grown up. You have to let go of the fairy tales at some point. I always thought when it was right, you’d just know and that would be it. But how can you really ever know when it’s real?”
“I certainly wouldn’t know.”
She nodded slowly like he’d just proved her point, and she wondered if he was thinking about anyone in particular.
The waves lapped gently over the small, smooth pebbles of the shore. No surf chasing the sand here. She closed her eyes, sighing at the soft sound.
“What are you thinking now? Something creepy?”
“No. I was thinking I was glad you were here. That I’d have been really sad if I never saw you again.”
Smiling, he nudged her gently with his shoulder. “Well, you did say you liked me.”
“You said it, too.” She grinned, and for once, there was nothing else. Her mind quieted and she just was. Just on a beach, just with Deacon. Just happy.
* * *
AFTER THE BEACH BREAK and another bout of snorkeling, Deacon and Clare sat near the back of the boat, the sun warming their faces.
This has been a good day, Deacon thought as Clare leaned against him. One of the best he could remember. If this was what Jax had meant by getting out, spending time with other adult humans, he’d been missing out. Still, he doubted it would have been such a good day with just anyone. It had too much to do with Clare. Smart, sexy, often rambling Clare.
They’d strolled the deserted beach and walked along the pebbled shore through ankle-deep water, just exploring, careless and free. They’d found a starfish in a clear tide pool, and Clare’s childlike excitement delighted him and reminded him of his girls. Part of him wished Margo and Maci were with him, seeing what he was seeing.
He felt guilty for enjoying things without them and wondered if that was normal, or did he have more guilt as a single father, more because his girls didn’t have a mother? He hadn’t thought Natalie was the one. Their relationship hadn’t lasted long enough for him to think they might have the forever kind of love Clare had talked about. But when Natalie had gotten pregnant, he’d been willing to try. He would have done it for his girls. Natalie hadn’t been willing or interested in doing anything.
Since the day his babies were born, he hadn’t had the time or the inclination to get involved with another woman. But if he had been looking, if he had thought about it…
He glanced at Clare leaning comfortably into his side. The warm air whipped over them, and a few loose strands from Clare’s ponytail tickled his cheek.
Yep. A damn good day.
The boat rose and fell with the growing ocean swells, and the newlyweds laughed and cheered as their punch sloshed over the rim of the plastic cups they held. The older couple had opted for a more protected seat under the covered section of the boat.
Clare, who’d been still for so long he’d thought she was asleep, grew restless. She dropped her head on his shoulder then lifted it and sat up straighter. A minute later, she sat forward on her seat. She took off her sunglasses, and he looked at her face.
He angled his head close so she could hear him over the engine. “You okay?”
Without opening her eyes, she gave a small nod. When she rested her head against his shoulder again, he held her closer. A minute later, she pushed against his thigh to right herself. Her fingers gripped the seat on either side of her legs. Her face was pale, her mouth drawn.
He slid a hand up her back to cup her neck. “What can I do? Do you want to lay down?”
He was pretty sure she shook her head no, but the movement was so small, he couldn’t be sure. He scooted closer, keeping a hand on her back. He wanted to pull her tight against him, as if he could lessen the movement she felt, but she seemed better sitting upright.
Isaac looked over, took in Clare’s face, and brought over an empty bucket, setting it at her feet. Giving no indication she even noticed, she remained perfectly still, probably concentrating on not throwing up. He hated it for her. He’d been there.
Just then, she slapped a hand on his thigh and lurched toward the bucket. He did what he could, keeping her from going down on her knees and holding back her hair.
When there was nothing left, she sagged, and he eased her back and into his side.
“Hey!” he yelled over the noise. “Can I get a cold rag?”
“Your towel,” Raymond said, holding out his hand.
Clare was sitting on her towel, and he didn’t want her to stand. He gently edged her away from his side and pulled his shirt off over his head with his other hand. He handed it to Raymond, who dunked it in the ice cooler and wrung it out. Deacon took it back and swabbed it over her forehead and the back of her neck.
The young groom made his way over and held out his hand. “Does your wife want to try this? It’s Dramamine.”
Deacon took it, his heart stumbling a little over the word wife. Not that he was in love with Clare—he didn’t know her well enough—but he could imagine this is how it would be, feeling at ease with her and taking care of her. He turned the medicine over in his fingers, studying it closely, making sure it was labeled and the foil wasn’t broken. Isaac passed him a Sprite with a sympathetic smile.
“Clare? Can you take this? We’ve got at least an hour back to the hotel.” He knew the thought of swallowing anything wouldn’t appeal, but if she could keep it down, it would help.
Without opening her eyes, she nodded, and he slipped the pill between her lips. She swallowed it with a small sip of the drink then waited.
He held his breath, hoping it stayed down. Ten seconds. Thirty. A minute. She seemed to be waiting also. Another minute passed, and she relaxed against him. With all of his protective instincts firing, he held her like that the entire way back.
* * *
“I’M SO SORRY,” CLARE said when they reached the door to her room an hour and a half later.
“If you say you’re sorry one more time, I’m going to…”
“You’re going to what?” she challenged him, and even though her face was still a little pale, the gleam in her eyes told him she was on the mend.
“Let’s just get you inside.” Even pale, even with her hair a windblown mess, she was absolutely beautiful, and he needed to get a handle on the thoughts ripping through him.
“Are we still on for dinner?”
They’d been starved earlier, after all the sun and swimming. “Let’s see how you feel.”
“Right.” She looked down at herself. “I obviously need to clean up a bit.”
An image flashed of cleaning up with her, soaping up her body, getting clean together before he messed her up again.
Clare stared, waiting, a question in her eyes. God, she’d be appalled if she knew what he was thinking. He cleared his throat. “Come on, my little vomitor,” he teased, making her laugh, then took her key and unlocked her door. “Let’s get you inside.”