22. Stevens

TWENTY-TWO

Stevens

You should be kissed and often,

and by someone who knows how.

~ Gone With the Wind

A lana Graves.

I’m holding hands with Alana Graves. Only, not really. She’s not Alana Graves right now. She’s just Alana, my SaturdayIslandGirl. I can’t allow my mind to think of her image when her face is the size of four men standing on one another’s shoulders, shown on big screens across the nation to paying crowds of moviegoers. I can’t drift into thoughts of anything but this moment. She can’t be a famous celebrity when it’s just the two of us.

I give her hand a gentle squeeze. Everything between us is simultaneously new and familiar. I know her. And yet I’m only just meeting her. I’ve touched her, but only to help her on or off a boat. We’ve flirted, but only from the safety we found behind our screens. And yet, not holding her hand right now would feel unnatural .

We walk to the water’s edge, I toe off my shoes and we wade in, ankle deep. Alana cuffs her pants and rolls them high enough so that she can go deeper. I follow suit. I’d go under, fully clothed, just to be with her wherever she’s leading right now.

Alana spins in a circle, her arms outstretched and head upturned. She returns to my side, wrapping one arm around my waist. I loop my arm behind her back and we stand there, staring out into the sea.

“What made you want to be a marine biologist?” she asks softly.

“It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Oh?” Alana gives my side a tug. “Now you have to tell me.”

“The most basic answer is that I love the ocean. Always have. I never tire of exploring it.”

Her fingers draw lazy patterns on my side and I feel like Bodhi’s dog, ready to lay on my back so she knows not to stop.

“In elementary school, this guy came in to tell us about the ocean and all the animals in our local waters. He talked about conservation. But, the clincher was when he talked about the green sea turtles in our Channel Islands—how they’re endangered. All through his presentation, I thought …” I pause. “Here comes the embarrassing part.”

She smiles. “Thanks for the warning. Now I’m prepared to properly tease you.”

“Good. Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.”

Her hand stills and she looks up at me. The light of the moon and stars reflects in her eyes with the same sparkle as the ocean.

“You have my attention, Stevens. All of it.”

Whew. There’s this feeling underwater when you’re free-diving. Gravity ceases to exist. You’re one with the beauty surrounding you—unrestricted. The experience is intimidating at first, and wholly overwhelming. This. She’s my free dive.

“Well,” I glance out at the ocean. “I decided I was going to save the sea turtles.” I look down at her. “You know, all of them.”

“All of them.” She smiles .

“Yeah. All of them.” I laugh. “Needless to say, I had to modify my mission statement over the years. But I still feel strongly about protecting the ocean.”

“You really are Poseidon.”

“Minus the rage issues, yeah. Maybe a little.”

Alana pivots, turning her back toward the incoming tide. Her face tilts upward, her intention is clearer than the night sky.

I run my hand along her cheek. She leans into my palm and I cup her beautiful face.

Alana loops a hand behind my neck and runs her fingernails across the sensitive skin there.

I sigh or maybe make a noise. Hopefully nothing too crazy. I can’t tell. My eyes drift shut and shivers race along the skin on my neck.

Have I kissed women before? Maybe. I can’t remember any of them. She’s all that exists—her, and this unexpected moment between us.

I lean down a fraction of an inch, uncertainty threatening to rob me of our connection.

Alana’s hand tugs at my neck, gently urging me toward her.

The waves continue to gently caress our ankles, but all I see is her face and the invitation written across her features. I bend the rest of the way, and she raises on her tiptoes until our mouths brush together like a whisper. My hand is looped behind her head, woven into her soft curls. Our kiss is nearly reverent—her lips soft and pliant. I feel this kiss everywhere even though we’ve barely allowed ourselves any contact. I pull back. I want to preserve this feeling. It would be too easy to shift gears, like a motor boat once it clears the channel markers. Not tonight. I run my knuckles down her cheek, settling my hand on her shoulder.

She smiles up at me. “You don’t push the limits, do you, Stevens?”

“Depends on which limits you’re talking about.”

Her hand comes up and cups my jaw. She drags her thumb across my stubble .

“Sweet man,” she mutters nearly under her breath. “You’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met.”

I know I’m blushing. I’m grateful for the dusky light. No one has ever called me sweet—not the way she is right now.

I draw her into my arms and hold her to me. She leans into me, and we’re comfortably quiet in one another’s arms. Just Alana, me, and the ebb and flow of the water beneath us.

“Did you still want to see my house?” I murmur the question into her hair.

“I definitely want to see your house.”

“It’s … okay. I want you to see it too. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

We retrieve our shoes from the sand, and Alana extends her hand to me. We’re quiet for most of the walk, stealing glances at one another and smiling softly when we do.

Is this what contentment feels like? Adrenaline burned off into a sedate, floaty sensation where there’s nowhere to be, nothing to do, and a pervasive sense that all’s right in the world? Or is this just her?

It’s her. All her.

We step off the sand and I lead Alana to a bench.

“I can take sandals off,” I tell her. “But you’re on your own when it comes to putting those back on.”

“I think I can manage. Though, I may want a repeat of the sandal removal again in the future.”

“You know where to find me.”

“I will in a few minutes. Once you show me where you live.”

“So, you’re saying you might just show up randomly at my door, asking me to take your sandals off for you?”

“Would that be a problem?”

“Not from where I’m standing. I don’t see a thing wrong with that at all.”

“Good to know.” She smiles and stands, her heels securely strapped to her feet.

We walk to my house, hand in hand .

We’re turning up my street when Alana asks, “Did you grow up on this side of the island?”

“I did not.”

“Where did you grow up then?”

“On the North Shore. Not far from your place, actually. But down in the neighborhoods at the bottom of the hills. If you know where Marbella Elementary is, we were a block downhill from there. Still are, actually. My parents have lived in that house since my mom was pregnant with me.”

“You’ve always lived on the island. Wow.”

“You haven’t?”

“No. We vacationed here. But I grew up in LA. My parents sold our vacation house when I was twelve. We didn’t have the luxury of spending time here when they were so focused on cultivating my career.”

“At age twelve?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a sadness to her voice, even though she’s masking it.

“Well, I feel like a total slacker. I only started pursuing my career in earnest in my twenties.”

She laughs, light and sweet. And I feel like I won the Nobel Prize.

“I love your laugh,” I tell her.

“Do you, now?”

“I actually do.”

I take my keys out of my pocket and turn up the walkway to my home. “This is me.”

She drops my hand so I can unlock the door, and then she steps into my house ahead of me, with my hand gently grazing her back to guide her.

“When you would tell me I made you laugh during one of our matches on Play on Words , I always tried to imagine what your laugh sounded like. And then I made you laugh a few times when I was taxiing you to and from LA.”

She pauses and looks up at me .

“Knowing I made you laugh and hearing what it sounds like … feels like a gift.”

“Do you always say things like that?” she asks.

“Like what?”

“Kind, thoughtful, amazing things that make a woman feel special?”

“I’m not really in the habit of talking to too many women besides my mother and my sister. And the women who go out on tours with me. But, mostly then I’m explaining how to operate a tank, or describing the life of a sea cucumber.”

She laughs so hard she snorts. “There you go, making me snort again.”

“I’m still pretty sure you managed that without me.”

“I never snort. My mother would be horrified.”

“What’s she like?”

“My mother?”

“Yeah.” I walk through my small living room into the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? Something to eat?”

“I’m fine. And my mother is … unique. A force. Someone I hope you never meet … well, for a long time. She’s … selective and … difficult. Let’s just put it this way, Brigitte calls her Mother Gothel.”

I pour myself a glass of water and walk back in the living room. “From Tangled?”

“You’ve seen the movie?”

“I’ve seen many movies that most men would deny watching, thanks to my mom and sister. Tangled is one of my favorites, though. You’ve gotta love Flynn Ryder.” I contort my face into an exaggerated smolder.

“Oh my gosh! You even smolder. What have I gotten myself into? That’s wholly irresistible.”

“Is it?” I laugh. “Want a tour? It’s really lengthy. I’m not sure you’ve got the amount of free time it will take to peruse my luxurious abode.”

“... to peruse your luxurious abode?” She chuckles .

“Here,” I wave my hand around the living room. “We have the living room, family room, sitting room, entry, and parlor. Also, the library.” I point to my bookcase. “No rolling ladders, which is why Belle left me for the Beast.”

“Understandable,” Alana says, her smile filling her face. “A girl needs her rolling ladder, after all.”

“And talking dinnerware. That’s another thing I’m short on.”

She’s looking pretty entertained, so I keep going.

“And in here, just through the house, in the north wing, we have the kitchen, the butler’s pantry, and the …” I smile. “Yeah. That’s all I can think of for this space.”

I look around my ten by ten kitchen. It serves me, and I’m not ashamed of it. I like living simply. I don’t begrudge people who live more affluent lives. I’ve just never had a need for anything beyond this small bungalow.

Alana’s still beaming. “And down that hall?”

“Ah, yes. The hallway, passageway, corridor, portico …” I chuckle.

“You’re just showing off now.”

“You think?”

She smiles. “So, down the corridor?”

“That is the master’s quarters and the powder room, dressing room, spa facilities, and gentleman’s wardrobe.”

She busts out laughing. And I’m joining her, even though I’m not that funny. There’s this contagious lightness between us and it’s ballooning the longer we’re together.

Joy . Maybe this is joy.

“May I see where you keep your glasses?”

“My … glasses?”

She nods shyly.

“What is it with you and my glasses?” I smile at her warmly for no other reason than the fact that she makes me smile.

“I imagined you wearing them.”

“Ahhh. Well, far be it from me to keep you from realizing a fantasy. Besides,” I say, as I turn on the hall light and walk the three steps it takes to get to my bedroom door. “I have to outshine these inaccurate fantasies you have about my younger brother. Firemen. Pfft. What’s so hot about that?”

I open my bedroom door and she follows me, lingering in the doorway.

“Probably nothing,” she says with a taunt in her voice. “Firemen. Totally not hot.”

“Exactly. Trust me. Biologists are where it’s at.”

“Do you want a T-shirt?”

“I have one.”

“Really?” She's slack jawed.

“Yeah. My Biologists Are The Hottest shirt? It’s right through here.” I move toward my closet, then I stop, turn toward her and smile. “No. I don’t own that shirt. That would be ridiculous. And troublesome. Women would … Yeah. No.”

“Women would what?”

“They don’t need a billboard, or a T-shirt.”

“I bet.” She smiles and her gaze grows appreciative.

It may be the first time I’ve ever wanted anyone to look at me the way she’s looking at me right now. I walk to the side table, pull open the drawer and extract my glasses from the place where I store them.

“Is that the octopus book?” she asks from her spot in my doorway. She’s leaning against the jamb now.

“It is.” I hold it up.

There’s this nearly imperceptible lift of her brows. Her eyes soften.

Oh, why not? I’ve gone this far, I may as well …

“So, every night …”

I pick two pillows up and stack them along my headboard.

“I climb onto my bed.” I do just that, extending my legs out on the mattress.

“And I grab this book.” I hold it up like an exhibit.

“And these incredibly-sexier-than-any-fireman glasses.” I wink over at her.

She laughs. It’s a few soft chuckles, but they are nearly as sweet as her full laughter.

“And then I place these on my very rugged, marine-biologist face.” I do that and her cheeks pull up into a grin. “And then I open the book and read.”

I open the book and look at the page where I left off. Then I look up at her and she’s staring at me through her lashes.

“Yep,” she announces. “Hotter than a fireman.”

I laugh as I take my glasses off, put them back in the drawer and shut the book.

“Well,” I walk toward her. “That’s the tour of my mansion.”

Her voice is soft when she says, “It’s lovely, Stevens. Just right.”

“It serves the purpose. Oh. I also have a back yard, but it’s too dark out to show you on this particular tour. You’ll have to do the daytime one to see everything properly.”

“I’ll have to make arrangements for that, then.”

I have nothing witty to say. We’re less than a foot apart. I’m caged into my room and she’s blocking the doorway, smiling up at me. I lean in and place a soft kiss on her forehead. Then I turn us both so we’re heading back down the hallway.

We walk out of the house together and I drive Alana to her home.

She’s quiet on the drive. We’re on the hill going up from the resort toward the other side of the island when she reaches over and takes my hand in hers. I smile over at her and then return my attention to the road.

“Tonight was … unexpected,” she says as we near her home. “And … wonderful.”

“Wonderful.” I echo. “If you don’t mind leaving a Yelp review? And also, mention the whole biologists rule, firemen drool thing …”

“You’re just making me want to meet your brother. You know that, right?”

“Me telling you he drools makes you want to meet him? ”

She laughs again. Then her voice softens. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“For dinner. This evening. For making me laugh. For the walk on the beach. Definitely for the house tour and indulging my hot biologist in dark-rimmed glasses fantasy.”

I smile over at her. “It was my pleasure. Thank you.”

Alana’s beauty nearly knocks the wind out of my lungs. For a while, I forgot. I acted like a complete goofball. And now, we’re here at her hilltop acreage with ocean views.

Alana Graves . A voice deep within me chants her name, tempting me to elevate her above the woman who joined me for dinner and a pretty awesome date.

“This was the most fun I’ve had in a while,” she says when I park the golf cart in front of her gate.

“Me too.”

Alana opens the gate with a code and I step out of the cart to walk her to her door. It’s far later than I’d imagined it would be when this date ended. And I’m nowhere near ready to let her go, even though we both need our sleep.

Alana turns to me on the porch. I draw her into a hug. She tucks into me and nestles her head under my chin. I feel her release a sigh. When she pulls back, I place a kiss on her lips. It’s soft and quick. Leaving me wanting so much more. Hopefully leaving her feeling the same way.

“I’m entering a busy season of my work life,” she says, apologetically.

“So … don’t expect you to return my calls?”

She stares up at me. “I’ll return your calls anytime I can. Just know I won’t be around as much. The six to eight weeks before a release tend to be like a freight train without brakes.”

“So, you do want a second date?” I can’t help smiling.

I have no chill. I’m literally the male elephant seal, lolling around in a floppy mass, waiting for her return. Pursuit is not in my wheelhouse. Waiting for her definitely is.

“I’m already thinking of a fifth date.” She surprises me, and I feel my eyes go wide.

“Too forward?” she asks.

“No. Not at all. I’m just … adjusting.”

“Me too. But I want to adjust together. With a heads up that I won’t be here as much for the foreseeable future. But when I am, I’ll let you know.” She pauses. “Because, I’d like to see you.”

I barely register her last sentence. I’m hit again with the reality of who she is and what she does for a living—the chasm between our lives and lifestyles couldn’t be greater.

“There’s no pressure to let me know when you’re here,” I say. “I’m sure you need time away from people.”

“From people. Yes. I don’t think I’ll need time away from you for a while.”

“On that note, I’m going to back away slowly. Before you change your mind.”

She giggles. It’s different from her usual laugh. This one is more girlish. I picture her as a little girl, curls bouncing around her shoulders as she runs in and out of the surf. Like a girl I played with when I was a boy.

“Oh no you don’t,” she says, reaching for me. “Not without a proper goodnight.”

I pull her into me, holding her to my chest and she wraps her arms tightly around me for another hug. We stand there, embracing one another, delaying the inevitable change that will begin when I drive back down that hill.

I kiss the top of her head. “Goodnight, Saturday Island Girl.”

“Goodnight, Marbella Island Man.”

She pulls back, leans in for one more quick hug, kisses me on the cheek and then turns to walk into her home.