20. Stevens

TWENTY

Stevens

I wanted it to be you.

I wanted it to be you so badly.

~ You've Got Mail

“ Y ou did it! Man, I’m so proud of you.” Ben’s gushing, loudly. So loudly.

I’m just glad there are no customers in the shack right now. I’m pretty sure the presence of other people would not deter his celebration. He already pumped his fist in the air as if his favorite team won the final match of the season.

“Pursuit, baby. That’s where it’s at. You made an example of those elephant seals. No sitting on a beach looking like a washed up, overgrown otter with a deformed nose for you. No, sir. You pursued her.”

He shakes his head with a big smile on his face and claps me on the back.

“If there were an off switch, I’d hit it for you,” Kai says with a sympathetic look in my direction.

“Off switch?” Ben practically rolls his eyes at Kai. “You need an on switch. This guy asked his online crush out to dinner. Get a little excited, bro. It wouldn’t kill you.”

“I’m happy for him,” Kai says.

“Happy for who?” Bodhi walks in.

“Happy for Stevens. He’s got a date tonight.”

“Not sure it’s a date.” I pull my lips into a thin line and make eye contact with Ben.

“How do you not know if it’s a date?” Ben’s face scrunches up.

“I told her we’d decide if it’s a date after we’ve eaten. I wanted to take the pressure off.”

“Smooth,” Bodhi smiles at me. “See, Ben? He doesn’t need your Animal Planet documentaries on mating habits. He’s got this.”

“It’s my speech that gave him the impetus to pursue.” Ben crosses his arms and stares Bodhi down. “Wasn’t it, Stevens?”

“I’m sure it helped.”

“I’m sure it did.” Bodhi’s voice drips with playful sarcasm. He chuckles. “Ben here is the relationship guru.”

“Darn right, I am.”

“Okay, Guru, go get ready for your surf lesson. They’ll be here any minute,” Kai says. He turns to me. “I’m happy for you. Can’t wait to hear how this goes.”

I swallow the newly formed lump in my throat. I’ve never been so nervous for a date in my life. So much feels like it’s riding on this encounter. We’ve got rapport and ease between us online. Will that carry over into real life? And if things flop in person, will we stop playing Play on Words together?

As if he can read my mind, Kai adds, “Don’t be nervous. She already likes you. When she sees you, she’s going to think she hit the jackpot. You’re a good man. Go have a night with a woman you’ve been getting to know. It’s not complicated unless you make it that way.”

“Right. Thanks. ”

I smile at Kai and then I leave for the afternoon. I’ve only got two hours until our date, or not-date, or whatever it is.

I arrive at Cucina Descanso at five forty-five. The hostess tells me to pick any booth or table. I opt for a bistro table for two near the window. Cucina is nestled within a row of shops facing the beach just south of the resort. The sun isn’t setting yet, but we’ll have a good view of the water from our table.

“Can I get you something while you wait? Bread basket? A drink?” the waiter asks.

“I’m fine with water for now. I’m expecting someone. I’ll wait for her.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

I watch tourists and locals cycle and walk by outside the window. The waves break in the distance. Beneath the waves, an entire universe exists where no one waits nervously for their anonymous crush to arrive for pizza. No wonder I feel more at home underwater. It’s a far more straightforward world down there.

Five minutes pass. Then ten. Fifteen. It’s only six. She’ll be on time if she walks through the door right now. I have a good view of the entry and hostess stand, but I’ve been staring out at the beach, so I glance around to be sure I didn’t miss her. Why didn’t we exchange names or at least give one another descriptions of what we look like?

I know why I didn’t. It felt more mysterious at the time—like some movie my sister and mom would force me to sit through where the guy’s at a table and in walks the love of his life and they know instantly when their eyes meet: that’s the one .

I glance at the door and am beyond surprised when I see Alana walk in. She’s wearing those large sunglasses—the ones only she could carry off while still looking beautiful—and her hair is held back by a multi-colored scarf that’s tied at the nape of her neck, curls recklessly falling behind the scarf past her shoulders. It’s so obviously her, but maybe only to me. I’m torn as to whether to wave, or stand and greet her, or leave her alone. I’m so shocked to see her out on this side of the island, and at a restaurant where anyone could spot her.

I stay seated. She may want to feel invisible. I don’t want to intrude on her night.

She looks around as if she’s searching for someone. My eyes are on her. How can they not be? She’s in a simple pair of dark jeans that flare at the bottom. Heels. A crisp white oxford-style shirt with wide lapels. She looks like Jackie Onassis, only with blond curly hair. Elegant, stately, effortlessly gorgeous. And, also confused. Is the person she’s meeting not here?

I glance around the room, silently assisting her search. No one. I’m the only man here alone. The rest of the room is filled with couples and a few four-tops of friends. It’s not busy yet, but it will be bustling within the hour.

It’s obvious the moment she sees me. Her face softens with a smile.

She says something to the hostess and then approaches my table.

When she’s near enough, I stand.

Her face appears partially relieved but she also looks a little concerned. “Stevens, what are you doing here?”

“Oh. I'm meeting a friend.”

“Oh.” Alana looks around again.

“The bigger question is: what are you doing here? I didn’t think you’d be out in public like this without being under duress.” I smile at her, hoping to ease the part of her that definitely is riddled with nerves. “ Are you under duress? Blink twice if you are.”

She laughs. Oh, that laugh. It’s fleeting, but still as sweet as ever.

“I’m … uh … meeting a friend too."

From the way her cheeks pinken just the slightest, I get the feeling this is a man-friend.

“Is he running late?” I ask, my eyes sweeping the room again.

“Apparently. And, your friend? Is she running late? ”

“You assume it’s a woman.”

“And you assumed it’s a man.”

“Fair enough. Well, do you want to wait together?”

She deliberates. Looks around again. “Um … maybe I should get a table? Or …”

“Yeah. That makes sense. We don’t want to start our dates with them walking in to see us with someone else. That would be …”

“Awkward,” she finishes for me. “Well, it was good seeing you.”

“You too. Have a nice dinner.”

“You too.”

Alana smiles and I remain standing until she’s halfway across the room. I watch as she approaches the hostess, who waves her arm toward the room and tells Alana to pick any open table or booth. Definitely not swanky.

My brow creases as I consider the facts. We’re both here to meet a friend at six p.m. for dinner. Those friends aren’t here. She’s here, on a part of the island that is not near her home. She’s out in public when she’d likely rather be sequestered and unseeable.

No. Nah.

Sometimes all the facts seem to line up, but the scientist has what we call bias. Wouldn’t it be amazing if my online crush were Alana Graves? I chuckle to myself. It’s odd enough that SaturdayIslandGirl lives on Marbella. The likelihood of that particular overlap already broke the statistical record books. There’s no chance my island woman is Alana Graves.

Dream on, Stevens. And, also, stop wishing it were Alana on a night you are about to meet SaturdayIslandGirl. That’s just wrong.

And since when do I have lengthy inner monologues?

Dating. It’s not for the faint of heart.

I glance over at Alana intermittently. Her date hasn’t shown yet either. She catches me looking over at her a few times and smiles an uncharacteristically shy smile. She’s still wearing those sunglasses, as if the sun can hide from the rest of the solar system. Even in a booth near the kitchen, she shines like the star she is. Eyes drift in her direction regularly—not just my eyes.

At one point, a group of young women approach Alana in her booth.

It’s six twenty. I’m getting restless and toying with the idea of texting the woman I’m waiting for. I don’t want to appear needy. Maybe she changed her mind. Something could have come up. It’s only twenty minutes. I’ll wait. She’s got my number. If she needs to cancel or she’s got something to tell me, she’ll call or text.

I watch the scene unfold at Alana’s booth, feeling suddenly protective of her and her privacy. The group of women is being respectful. Alana takes a piece of paper and pen from one of them and signs it. She smiles up at them, says something. Then she removes her glasses and stands. The women flank her in a group and take selfies. There’s giggling and a round of thanks, and they leave her. Other customers watch, but they turn back to their meals after the group of women leave. Alana’s not the only celebrity or famous person on the island, though she’s definitely the biggest name by far. The resort draws a wealthy crowd. I’m grateful no one makes a scene.

I stand and walk over to Alana’s table.

“Are you okay?”

She smiles up at me, returning her glasses to her face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just got spotted.”

“They were fine. I love my fans. If I can make their night with an autograph and a selfie, I’m glad to do it.”

I smile down at her. “Mind if I sit? It’s getting a little …”

“Lonely?” she asks, tipping her head toward where I’ve been sitting alone for over a half hour.

“No. I’m good with solitude. It’s just getting a little weird. I guess something happened to my date … friend.”

“Date or friend?” she asks .

“That was going to be determined when she had finished eating with me.”

Alana slowly drags her sunglasses down her nose in that way she did on my boat. The way she did on the big screen that one time. She studies my face. Her mouth tips up in a half-smile.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

She’s silent for a few beats, and then with the perfect timing of a seasoned actress, she delivers the line that I will remember until the day I die.

“After bolognese and drinks?”

I’m nearly dizzy. My chest feels simultaneously hollow and full. I stare into her glistening gray-blue eyes. “That’s what I told her before she bailed on the game we were playing.”

“I didn’t bail. I had to sleep. I had back to back days of talk show interviews.”

“You?” I say, still needing someone to put a defibrillator to my chest. An oxygen mask would be helpful too. My online crush is Alana Graves?

I all but collapse into the booth across from her.

“Wordivore?” she asks, her previous pulled together facade slipping just the slightest.

“SaturdayIslandGirl.” It’s not a question, but I’m still in shock.