Chapter Four: Can I Have a Kiss

Georgie

CAN I HAVE A KISS?

Performed by Kelly Clarkson

I smelled bacon and cinnamon when I woke the next morning. I wasn't sure how Ava and Eli kept up the hours they did with both of them working days and nights. Ava was at the bar around the clock, and Eli joined her there every night after his job with the emergency preparedness consulting firm. The bar was closed on Wednesdays during the off-season, but during the summer, when the tourists were bringing in the core of their business, it was open seven days a week.

It wasn't a life I wanted. Even at the salon, which had been open six days, I'd only worked five. I needed time away. Ava said that it was because it wasn't my passion, and she was probably right. The salon had simply been a must. A way of surviving.

What I was passionate about was the law. Facts. Justice.

When Grandma had taken me in after Dad had gone to jail, she'd encouraged my goals the only way she could have: with love and work at the salon. She'd shown me that getting my cosmetology license and working through high school and college was a way I could get my degree without being buried in a lifetime of debt. And it had worked while I got my bachelor's. It had worked until Grandma died, and I was suddenly shouldered with a lease I couldn't break. I'd had to put off my dreams until the lease was up.

Until now.

But I'd never regret it because my grandmother had given me everything. A childhood filled with hide-and-seek between hair-washing stations and tickles between clients. A childhood filled with love and laughter. My dad loved me—just not as much as he loved money. My mom loved me, but she had a life in Russia without me. Both my parents loved me in their own way, but it was from afar. Grandma had loved me up close.

My phone vibrated, bringing me out of my memories of Grandma. I groaned internally at my stepbrother's text.

MALIK: Raisa says you found an apartment in D.C.

ME: Yep.

MALIK: And?

ME: And what?

MALIK: You're impossible to text with.

ME: This is not news .

MALIK: And where is it? Will we get an address so we know how to get a hold of you? Can I come visit?

ME: It's near the college. Raisa already has the address. And you won't want to stay there any more than you wanted to stay at my apartment in NYC.

MALIK: Fine.

Of my two siblings, Malik was always easy to rile up and the first one to pout. Raisa was fiery like our mother, whereas Malik was more of a spoiled, rich-kid heir.

ME: Don't be sore.

MALIK: Sore?

ME: Hurt.

MALIK: I just want to see you.

ME: Then come to D.C. and put a hotel on your Black American Express Card.

MALIK: Now you are sore.

ME: **laughing emoji**

MALIK: Why is this funny?

ME: I don't want the price that would come with having one of your dad's credit cards .

Malik didn't respond.

ME: Hey. I was teasing.

No response. Typical Malik. If he didn't get his way, or felt slighted, you wouldn't hear from him for weeks. Now I'd have to send Raisa a message and get her to smooth things over.

Raisa and I got each other better than Malik and I ever had. Maybe because I understood wanting a dream the way Raisa wanted hers. She was majoring in bio and chemical engineering at Stanford so she could find a way to solve the world's energy problems. She had bigger goals than I ever had. I wasn't sure what Malik's goals were besides spending money. I wasn't sure why he wanted to stay with me instead of a fancy hotel with fancy foods and fancy people, anyway. It was more his style.

I hauled myself out of the bed in the room I'd chosen because it had a view of the ocean from the window and pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt before making my way to the kitchen. I was surprised it was just Eli and Mac.

"Morning. Where's Ava?"

Eli and Mac both turned to me, Mac's hand twitching and splattering the bacon he was holding back into the pan of grease. He swore. Eli smiled.

"Morning. She was really dragging when we got home last night, so I didn't want to wake her."

"Will I be in your way if I grab coffee?" I asked, eyeing the Keurig with desire.

Both men shook their heads. I tried to squeeze around them the best I could, but Mac―who was closer to the pot―and I kept bumping into each other. Our bodies talking.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?" I asked Eli once I'd backed out of the kitchen.

"I told them I'd be in late today."

The two men worked quietly together in the kitchen. I watched, admiring their sureness with each other. Their comfort. As if they'd done this many times before. Just as the food was ready, Ava emerged from the bedroom with dark circles under her eyes and a face so pale it looked eerie.

She put her finger to her nose. "What on earth did you cook?"

Eli's face broke out into a smile, and he came around the counter to give her a tender kiss, as if he hadn't just spent the night tucked up next to her.

"You look sick. Are you sick?"

"That smell is about ready to do me in. What did you cook?" she repeated.

"It's bacon and French toast. You love bacon."

She backed away toward the fresh air coming in through the French doors. "That doesn't smell anything like bacon or French toast."

We all looked at her funny.

Eli followed her out onto the deck. Their voices were quiet, but we could still hear them, which made me realize how Mac had been able to hear us the day before when Ava and I had talked about the two men. It made me flush a little in embarrassment. I looked up at Mac, and he winked at me. I was tempted to roll my eyes but didn't.

Eli was saying, "Go back to bed. I'll call in. "

"We have guests. I'm not going back to bed. And you don't have to call in. I'll be fine. It must have been the beans last night."

"We all ate the beans, Ava. It wasn't the beans." I could hear the worry in his voice.

"She really should go back to bed," Mac said as he dished up a plate and handed it to me. "More bacon?"

I shook my head. "Thank you. You know Ava. She won't if we're here. I'll tell her I planned on spending the day downtown at the shops."

"She'll just want to go with you. That'll be even worse. All that walking."

He poured enough syrup on his French toast that it could have floated out to sea by itself. He saw me watching and smiled. "I have a sweet tooth."

I grinned. "That definitely does not fit with your image." I waved a hand at his fit frame.

"I know," he said before diving into his food.

Ava and Eli continued their conversation on the deck. Ava had her forehead pressed against his chest. He had his arms around her as if he could hold her and the whole world up at the same time.

"What do you say about taking a sail with me?" Mac asked.

"What?"

"It'll get us out of her hair and allow Eli to go to work. No one will feel obligated to entertain us."

It was a good idea. But that just meant a good chunk of the day in his company.

Ava pushed Eli away and went running toward their bathroom. Eli followed, almost forgetting we were there. "Do you really think he'll leave with her feeling this way?" I asked.

Mac shrugged. "I don't know, but I don't want him worrying about me and her at the same time."

I blew out a breath. "Okay."

"Really?"

"Yep. But I have to warn you. I've never been on a boat before."

"Wait. Like never?"

"Well, I've been on a ferry—the ones around New York—but never a small boat. And never a sailing boat."

He smiled. "I'm a good teacher."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

"Have you ever gotten seasick?"

"Not on the ferries."

We finished our breakfast in silence, left a plate in the oven on warm for Eli, and cleaned up the kitchen together.

"Should I change?" I asked him.

He looked me over in a lazy way that had all my senses firing. But like I told Mac the night before, I rarely trusted my senses. They usually had me running in the opposite direction. I ran a hand over my hair.

"You look perfect to me," he said finally.

It made me want to roll my eyes again, but I'd given up rolling my eyes when I was a teen. Grandma had made me do extra chores at the shop every time I'd rolled them at her. The memory struck me hard for some reason today. The hurt still there even after all these years without her .

"Let me be more specific, Mac-Macauley. Do I need to wear something different to go sailing?"

"Maybe bring a bathing suit? And if you have some non-slippery soled shoes. But barefoot works as well."

We headed down the hall to the bedrooms, and I was surprised when he followed me into the bedroom I'd taken up residence in. "Um. Excuse me?"

He smiled again. A smile that pulled at the shadow of a beard that had coursed over his face as he'd slept. A smile that made his eyes—which were a sparkling blue today—crinkle in response. My belly flopped over.

"Sorry," he said, but it didn't sound like he was sorry. "This is usually the room I'm in. I left my bag in here yesterday." He pointed at the military duffel I hadn't even noticed on the floor by the bookshelf that was full of Eli's comic books.

"Oh. I'm sorry. Do you want me to move into the other room?"

"God, no. You're settled here. It was just habit."

He grabbed the bag, hooked it over his shoulder, and then headed for the door that led to the shared bathroom. "You need in here, or is it okay if I jump in the shower?"

My mouth felt like a stale saltine cracker had been shoved into it. The thought of Mac getting naked in the bathroom that we would be sharing for the next few days. I tried to dump the image from my brain. Tried to imagine Jared. Tried to feel an ache for the man I'd just left in New York, but I couldn't. Jared and I had been done for a lot longer than we'd admitted .

I moved toward the closet.

"Nope. I'm all good." I was happy my voice didn't betray me or my thoughts. It had been developed over years of practice, just like my poker face.

I heard the door shut and the shower start before I turned back around to the mirror over the dresser. My face was flushed even though I hadn't let it show in my voice. Mac-Macauley was going to be hard to resist.

I opened the drawer of the dresser, pulled out a bathing suit, and threw it, a beach towel, and a bottle of sunscreen into a beach bag. Then, I pulled my hair up into a high ponytail that was becoming my signature hairdo now that I'd left behind salon life. It would, at least, stay out of my face in the breeze on the boat this way.

When I left the room, Eli was on the phone. I pulled a couple waters from the fridge, adding them to the stack of things in my bag. By the time Eli hung up, Mac had come out of his room, hair wet, shorts and a T-shirt on with his boat shoes.

"I'm going to take Georgie out on the boat," Mac said.

"You don't have to leave," Eli said.

"You know Ava. She won't rest if she knows we're here. She'll feel like she has to entertain," I jumped in with Mac.

Eli couldn't argue. He knew it was true, but he looked from me to Mac as if he was unsure. "God, Dad, I'm not going to steal her clothes and her virtue. We're just going out for a sail," Mac teased.

Eli squinted his eyes and then turned to me. "You sure you're okay with this?"

I smiled. "I can handle myself. I learned self-defense at the hands of a cop who liked my grandma. If Mac-Macauley tries anything, I'll push him overboard and radio the Coast Guard for help. You'll hear all about it from your buddies."

Eli tried to hide his smile. "Fair enough, but wait longer than you think before you call for help. He's a Navy man, so he can tread water for a long time."

"Dude. That's just mean," Mac said, playfully punching his shoulder.

Eli fished a pair of keys out of the blue glass bowl on the table near the door. "Here, take Ava's car. She won't need it today."

He tossed the keys to me, not Mac. I caught them with a smile, and Mac grunted a protest before following me toward the door.

I turned back to Eli. "Make sure you tell Ava to just rest and feel better."

He nodded, and we left.

? ? ?

We seemed to leave the mugginess behind us as Mac sailed out into the Gulf. We soon lost sight of land, and it was both discomfiting and exhilarating at the same time. Mac taught me some basic lingo, told me where to sit and stand so that I would be out of his way, and also what to do if he asked for help, but he basically managed the boat on his own. It wasn't surprising, as he'd been sailing for weeks on his own, but it was impressive in a way I hadn't expected to be impressed.

He was serious as he pulled the rigging and ropes. His muscles rippled as he worked, showing themselves under his white T-shirt and plaid shorts that seemed more fashion model than Navy man.

We were quiet while we sailed, the breeze rushing over me, the sun soaking into my bones like the syrup I'd had this morning on my breakfast. It was peaceful in a way that—like a lot of things about Mac himself—I hadn't expected.

Eventually, he turned the boat back toward the coast more, and when he put the anchor down, I could see land, but it wasn't close enough to make out exactly where we were. It was mostly just water, and sun, and ocean breeze around us. He disappeared below deck. When we'd first boarded the boat, he'd taken me down to show me around. It was small. There was a bed that was a pile of messy sheets up toward the bow, a small kitchen, and a built-in table. In addition, there was a bathroom that I wasn't sure how Mac fit into. The whole boat had the look of being well-used but was clean and neat other than the messy sheets.

When Mac came back up on deck, he had two beers and a plate of sandwiches. He placed them on the seat next to me and then sat on the other side of the food. Space between us.

"This is the second meal you've made me today. Are you sure you've never had a girlfriend?"

His eyes crinkled as he smiled slightly, and for a moment, I felt like I'd seen the smile before, but I couldn't place it and just pushed it aside.

"This is just common courtesy," he said. "I'd do it for whoever was on the boat or in the house. I have three older sisters. If I'd made food and not made enough for them, I would have been tied to one of their bedposts with scarves, dressed in a tutu, and covered in makeup."

I laughed. The image of Mac in a tutu and makeup was so preposterous that it was more than comical. It was ludicrous. "I'd pay good money to see that."

"There are pictures."

We ate in comfortable silence.

"Do you have siblings?" he asked.

I nodded. "A half-brother and sister. They live in Russia with my mom and stepdad."

He took that in for a moment before saying, "I kind of suspected there was some Russian in you."

"Really?"

"It's in the cheeks and the nose."

I found my hand going instantly to those body parts. "I do look a lot like my mom, except she has blonde hair like my sister."

"Must be hard being so far from them."

"It is. And my mom isn't allowed back in the country, so if I want to see her, then I have to go there."

He looked a little dumbfounded. "Why isn't she allowed in the country?"

I wasn't embarrassed about my family. It was their actions, not mine, that had landed them where they were. I'd just been a little kid. But I'd had a lot of people look at me differently once they'd heard the story, and this huge balloon grew in my stomach at the thought of Mac being one of them. I took a swallow of the beer he'd brought up. I wasn't overly fond of the stuff—more of a mixed drink kind of person—but I drank it in order to ease the dryness that had suddenly taken over my mouth.

"My dad is Ian Astrella." When that didn't get any reaction, I continued. "You know, the guy who stole millions from people in Ponzi look-alike schemes?"

He sort of choked on his beer. "Holy crap."

I laughed. "Yep. And my mom was a Russian model who'd gone all in with him. The feds could never prove how much she was actually involved, but they definitely revoked her visa and sent her back with a ‘You are not welcome back' sign stamped in her passport."

"Why didn't you go with her?"

"I did at first, but Dad still had enough pull that, when she filed for divorce, he won that battle."

"Isn't he in jail?"

"Oh yeah. He'll be in jail for at least another ten years, and then it's highly doubtful any parole board is going to feel enough sympathy to let him out of his multiple sentences."

Mac frowned. "I don't get it. Why wouldn't he want you with your mom?"

I shrugged. "I was only six when it all started to unravel. But they used to have these knockdown, drag-out fights that I still remember. They never hit each other, but the objects in our house were never safe. My mom would throw anything she could get her hands on. And now, looking back, I realize she had a coke habit. She doesn't now, but she did then. I remember being told the white powder was ‘Mommy's special adult medicine' and that it wasn't for me. I'm sure Dad used the drug habit against her to make sure she didn't get custody."

"Who raised you, then?"

"My grandma. It was her salon I sold."

"Doesn't Grandma want it anymore?"

That pain hurt worse than any of the stories of my mom or my dad. Because she'd been my real parent. The person who had loved me the most in the world. "She died about five years ago."

Mac was quiet again. Taking it all in. I was surprised I'd told him all that. Mac had a way of making you open up when you didn't even realize you were doing it. Like I had last night. It made me realize he was probably really good at whatever information collecting he did for the government.

"I'm going to take a swim," he said, standing up, pulling off his T-shirt, and revealing a chest and abs that were beautifully defined, but it was in a way that talked of genuine hard work instead of weights and trainers. It was sexy. He had hair smattered all across it that neither Jared nor his model friends would have allowed. Their chests were always shaved, waxed, or lasered. Mac was all-natural male and maybe more gorgeous because of it.

"You going to come in?" he asked as he looked back at me from the edge of the boat, feet posed on the side, ready to dive into the brilliant blue water in his plaid shorts that I now realized were swim trunks.

"Sure. Okay to change down there?"

He nodded and then dove in. I barely heard the splash as he hit the water. I stepped below deck, shaking myself out of the lazy feeling that had encompassed all of my interactions with Mac. Like a dream that was meandering its way through your conscious with no purpose other than just to dream.

Descartes would have been having a field day with my analogies.

I changed into the one-piece I'd brought for days when I thought I'd actually be in the water instead of sunbathing on Ava's beach, the cut reminding me of the forties and fifties and all the glamorous actresses my grandma had so admired.

When I came up on deck, I could see that Mac had swum quite a few yards away from the boat. That made me a little nervous. Were there sharks out here? Other sea creatures that might nibble at my toes? I sat on the step at the back of the boat―the stern was what Mac had called it.

I'd left my sunglasses on the seat, and it made it hard to see with the reflection of the sun on the crystal-like water. It added to the dreamlike quality of our day, the heat searing my skin even through the layers of sunscreen I'd added.

I placed my hand over my eyes and looked out at Mac. He turned, head bobbing in the gentle waves. "You gonna come in? I think there are sea turtles out here," he hollered back at me.

Were sea turtles friendly? I wasn't a naturally fearful person, but unknowns weren't my favorite thing. I liked to read and research things before I did them. I liked knowing what I was getting into.

Mac started swimming toward the boat, his muscled arms cutting through the waves easily until he was treading water a foot or so away from where my legs were curled up on the step with me.

"There's a whole bale of them. Come on, before they move off," he said.

I shook my head very slightly as uncertainty coursed through my veins again.

He smiled then, catching my wariness. "Are you afraid of sea turtles?"

"Afraid is a very strong word," I told him.

His smile widened, and he stuck out his hand. "Come on. I promise to keep you safe."

"What do they eat?" I asked, ignoring his hand. He swam closer, his body so close that his wet chest bumped my knees in my cross-legged position. He put a hand on one of them. Rubbing. Soothing, and yet, not soothing because my body liked it way too much. Reactions that were not fully trustworthy.

"They don't eat humans," he chuckled, pulling on my knee and sending my right leg careening into the water and colliding with his side.

"What about a toe if they think it's a fish?"

"I've never had my toes nibbled on by anything but actual fish."

"What about sharks? Have you been nibbled on by sharks?"

He laughed. "You watch too many scary movies or something? No sharks."

"I've seen Soul Surfer . That's not a scary movie. That's a cautionary tale."

"That's a tale about bravery and courage."

"Wait. How do you know that movie? "

"Did you miss the part where I said I grew up with three sisters?"

He pulled my other leg, and I went toppling into the water and into his arms. I let out a squeal that was nothing I normally did. I wasn't a squeal kind of person, just like I wasn't normally fearful.

I was being held against a chest that was warm while the water was cool, the sensations of heat and cold coursing through my veins. My heart beat wildly, not only because of his closeness, but because I was in the water and not sure I wanted to be there.

"See. No toes being bitten off." He continued to smile down at me, and I relaxed a little, pushing myself out of his arms.

"Not yet. But if I lose a body part, Ava and Eli will both come after you with machetes."

More booming laughter. Just like last night, it filled the air around us. If there had been birds nearby, it would have startled them out of their trees.

He swam out the way he'd come, looking back every so often to make sure I was following him. I did, with my brain screaming at me that I was not supposed to be trusting my instincts and that I hadn't fully researched anything that was about to happen to me.

When we got out several yards from the boat, Mac stopped and motioned for me to do the same. We did the minimum that was necessary to float, and pretty soon, I could see the turtles moving down below in the clear water. Most were about the size of a toddler, but some were smaller. Some were cruising around the bottom. Some swimming. It shouldn't have felt like a life-changing experience, and yet it almost was. Like the Earth had rotated into a new position around me. Like I'd learned something spectacular when I'd actually learned nothing.

We watched for a while, and then Mac flipped over onto his back, floating, looking up at the clear sky. I joined him. The blue of the sky was faded and pale compared to the sea around us—almost white—making me miss my contacts that were almost this same pale shade. We'd left so quickly this morning that I hadn't put any of them in.

Eventually, the coolness of the water started to take over the heat of my body, and I shivered. I flipped over and headed back toward the boat. When I pulled myself out of the water, Mac was right behind me. I grabbed my towel, rubbing away some of the water. I looked up to see he was watching me; the way my hands and the towel traced over my body, and I froze in the midst of an action that I hadn't intended to be a sexual one, but yet, he was suddenly making me feel was that and much more.

He came up close, and I dropped the towel as his body touched mine, the heat searing its way back into my cool one. His hand went to my arm, his fingers and palm dancing over my skin and up to my shoulder, before journeying to my neck, where it stilled.

"I'd really like to kiss you," he said quietly.

I looked into his eyes that were the color of the sky and the sea all rolled into one. His face was so gorgeous, with its day-old stubble and square planes, that it was like looking at a piece of art you'd never expected to see up close in person.

"I'd really like you to kiss me, too. But let's face it, it isn't a good idea," I answered back, unable to deny the attraction that existed between the two of us from the moment we'd met in my salon two years ago, regardless of the relationship I'd just left behind.

His head inclined in silent agreement. It wasn't a good idea. Disappointment curled through me even as I knew it was better this way.

His hand moved to caress my cheek. Gently. Soothing.

"Can I ask why you think it's a bad idea?" he inquired.

His voice had turned a notch deeper in blatant desire, making my heart pound against my chest in a heavy beat that denied my words. I ached to kiss him. To feel those almost too-perfect lips against my own. To feel the strength that poured from him, in muscle and character, reaching out to touch my soul.

"Ava and Eli," I said quietly. "Awkwardness later."

He nodded again, that new and unfamiliar feeling of disappointment reaching up into my throat at his action. My body didn't want him to nod, but my brain was still ruling my movements.

"One kiss," he muttered, a finger traveled to my lips, caressing the bottom one with a gentle touch like the one he'd used on the tomatoes the day before. Surprising. Sexy. My breath escaped in a gasp that sounded almost like a moan.

And then his lips were on mine, just like the touch, gentle and yet full of heat, longing filling us both, desire escaping from us and mingling in an excursion that felt like heartbreak and loneliness and promises that would never be. The gentleness gave way to a fierceness that was as unexpected as the tenderness had been. His hand went to my lower back, pulling me toward him tighter so that our bodies and curves joined in a way that felt like opposite ends of magnets finally clicking together. Parallel forces drawn, as if by physics itself.

My hands went to his shoulders, finding their way to the wet hair at the nape of his neck, twisting so that our lips were pushed closer, tighter, harder together. It was the best kiss I'd ever received in my life. I'd had many kisses—fewer partners—but lots of exploratory kisses. None matched the intensity of this one kiss, not even Jared's sexy smoothness. None that made my soul want to completely disregard the screaming in my brain.

The lack of air forced our lips apart, our lungs giving way to that need to breathe and involuntarily separating us in a way our souls wouldn't have done.

We both breathed in heavily. He looked down into my eyes, his sea-colored ones full of the desire that was still coursing through us both. Our bodies were still tucked together. Only our lips had moved away. It felt as if I was looking for something in Mac that I'd never looked for in any of my male partners. I wanted something more than desire to be there.

It was ridiculous. And that had me pulling away completely, not trusting anything my senses were telling me. He let me pull away, but his eyes went from my lips, to my chest that was still beating wildly, back to my lips, and then up to my eyes, lingering there.

"I like your real color," he said.

Then, he left me, going down below with a muttered comment about changing. My heart slowly settled from its wild beat, but my emotions were still high. They were wrapped in the dream of the kiss and our day. Emotions that were untested. Unproven. Unreal.

I picked up the towel from where I'd dropped it and went up onto the bow to lie down, letting the sun soak into my already overheated body. The body that had lost the shiver from the cold waters with a kiss. It wasn't until I'd lain there for a few moments that I realized Mac had never told me why he thought kissing me was a mistake. And that one thought jolted me back to reality more than any other thing could.