24. Stevens

TWENTY-FOUR

Stevens

Being with you is the only way

I could have a full and happy life.

You’re the girl of my dreams and apparently,

I’m the man of yours.

~ 50 First Dates

“ H ow was the big date?” Ben’s question catches me off guard when I approach the guys for a morning surf session.

I set my board on the sand next to their three and stare out at the waves. It’s a good day for surfing. None of us have lessons or tours this morning, so we decided to meet up to hit the waves. I don’t always join them.

Today, I could use the distraction from thoughts of Alana, our kiss, our night, the way she smiled and laughed. And, most torturous of all, whether I should call her, text her, or give her space. I’m so rusty when it comes to dating, and I’ve never dated someone where the stakes felt so high. I don’t want to mess this relationship up before it’s even gotten sea legs.

I keep reminding myself she’s SaturdayIslandGirl. She knows me. We have more hours logged making a connection than many couples spend together over years of dating. That does help. For a minute or two. Then the nerves creep back in, along with this unfamiliar warmth. Just thinking of her makes my face break into a smile.

“Uh, Kai? Looks like we’ve got a diver down over here.” Ben chuckles. “Man. You got it bad, Stevens. Must have gone well.”

“Yeah. It did. I think.”

“You think?” Ben asks.

Bodhi and Kai give him twin looks of warning.

“What are you basing your assessment on?” Ben asks. “What tells you it went well?”

“We laughed. She came to my house. I drove her home …”

“She came to your house?” Ben asks.

“Just to see where I live.”

“Yeah. That’s why women come to a guy’s house after a date. To check out the architecture, the floor plan … to see if the load-bearing walls are holding up.” He laughs.

Did I blow it? Was my goofy tour a misfire?

“What did you do when she was at your house?” Ben wags his eyebrows.

Bodhi shuts him down. “Not your business, bro.”

“I uh … gave her the tour?”

“Oh! No! No, you didn’t!” Ben is cackling.

Bodhi looks at Ben with a scolding expression a father would give his child.

“I did, actually.”

I thought she liked it. Did I misread her?

“What exactly is included in the tour?” Bodhi asks, with a soft look to his face. “I mean … your house is like a 20 second tour tops. No offense.”

“None taken.”

I don’t answer right away because I’m busy overthinking Alana’s expressions and what I did and said. I’d rather be buried alive six feet under this beach than tell them about the hot biologist in glasses .

“Are you blushing?” Ben asks.

Kai turns on Ben. “Look. It wasn’t too long ago you were nearly crying in my lap about Summer, so you need to take it down at least ten notches.”

“It’s okay,” I assure Kai.

I don’t know if I’ve ever heard Kai so upset. He’s as steady as the waves on a flat day. Kai’s not yelling, but he’s slightly red at the neck and his face says he means serious business.

Ben raises his hands. “Sorry.” Then he looks at me. “I’m sorry, Stevens. I didn’t mean any harm. You know how we all are. We rib one another. It’s what we do. So, tell us about the tour. If you want.”

I do. I want their perspective. Minus the glasses part. That’s between me and Alana.

Alana .

I smile again.

“We had dinner at Cucina.”

“Good. Good,” Bodhi encourages me.

“And it was good. The food, our conversation …” The fact that she’s ALANA GRAVES .

I don’t say that, of course. These guys actually know her. They’ve all hung out with her in person far more than I have at this point. Summer and Alana are both in the movies. Mila is Phyllis’ niece. And Phyllis and Summer are close. Kai is connected that way.

But I just met her. And kissed her. Another smile … I don’t think I’ve smiled this much in the cumulative past five years. Not like this. Not the kinds of smiles that won’t quit.

“Yep. Dinner was good. Look at that smile.” Ben grins at me.

“It was. Then we walked to the beach. I uh …” Took off her sandals. Not saying that either. But I think she liked it when I did that. “Held her hand. ”

“She let you?” Ben’s voice is like a doctor checking for symptoms so he can give a diagnosis.

“Yeah. She laced her fingers in mine.”

“Lacing of the fingers! This is good,” Ben says in that same tone. “That’s next-level hand holding. A good sign.”

Kai sighs heavily.

“Some dogs don’t potty train,” Bodhi mutters to Kai. “What can you do?”

“I heard that!” Ben shouts.

“And she wanted to see my house.”

Because I’ve seen hers, and it’s only fair. They would freak out if they knew.

Plus she joked about showing up unannounced. At least, I think that was a joke.

“So we walked to my place, and I gave her the tour.”

“Which included?” Bodhi’s waxing his board now, glancing up at me casually.

“I told her in advance how practical and small my house was. It’s just a place to live. Nothing fancy.”

“It’s clean and … Mila called it cute.” Kai shrugs.

“Yeah. I keep it clean. Match the decor. Whatever. It’s just a place to eat and sleep and hang out when the weather keeps me from being on my boats.”

“Or underwater,” Bodhi adds with a smile.

“Exactly. So, anyway, I made it fun. I was like, here’s the living room, family room, great room, entryway, and the library … You know, pointing around at that small front room and my bookcase.”

“That’s actually funny,” Ben smiles. “Good on ya.”

“What are you, Australian now?” Bodhi asks Ben.

“I’m a surfer, dude. I can speak Aussie or any beach language.”

“Aussie isn’t a language,” Kai corrects.

“What do you call, good on ya?”

“A saying.” Kai crosses his arms over his chest .

“In … Aussie. Which … is a language.” Ben crosses his arms over his chest.

“You were saying?” Bodhi asks me.

“Yeah. So I did that kind of exaggerating intro with each room of the house.”

“What did she say? What was her reaction?” Ben asks.

“She smiled and laughed. I think she liked it.”

“That’s great! Ya’ little ripper!” Ben affects an Australian accent, and he doesn’t even do it well.

“Ben! Cut it with the Aussie talk,” Kai says.

Ben just smirks at Kai. I’m laughing. Ben’s funny, and I need the laugh.

I also need to wrap this up before I leak that my date was actually with Alana. “So, anyway, we finished up the tour and I drove her home in the golf cart.”

“Where does she live?” Ben asks.

It’s a reasonable question.

“North Shore. So … everyone up for some waves?”

“Nice try, apple pie,” Ben smiles. “First, your grade.”

“My grade?”

“On your date.”

I have nothing to say. At least he’s dropped trying to narrow down where Alana lives.

“I give you a B plus. No. No. A minus. You definitely passed. You brought in humor. You got the interlaced fingers. You drove her home. Did you get a kiss worked in sometime during this tour?”

During the tour? No. Not unless you count the kiss I gently brushed across Alana’s forehead when we were walking out my bedroom doorway. Which I’m also not sharing.

“No.”

“Well, B plus, then. I think you get to ask for a second date.”

“I get to ask?”

Bodhi chimes in. “That’s how it works. I mean, sometimes the woman asks the guy these days, but usually it’s still the guy. ”

“Purrrr-soooooot!!” Ben shouts, garnering the attention of a few other surfers who are zipping up their wetsuits down the beach from us.

Bodhi shakes his head, his shoulder length hair swinging with the motion. “Sorry about him. You know how he is. But, unfortunately, this time he’s not wrong. Ball’s in your court, man. Call her. Or text. Send her something. Let her know you’re thinking of her and you had a good time and you’d like to see her again.”

Kai nods silently in agreement.

“What did I tell you?” Ben asks.

“Pursuit,” I say like a dutiful elementary student.

“That’s what I’m talking about. Pursuit. Go get ’er, Tiger.”

“Let’s go get these waves,” Kai suggests.

Surfing does the trick. I’m focused on the salt air, the feel of my board beneath me, and the familiar scenery of Descanso across the beach from where we’re riding. We surf for a few hours and then say our goodbyes. I store my board in the shed at the side of my house and pull my cell out.

Bodhi’s words echo in my mind. It’s up to me to reach out. Maybe I should send her something. But what? Flowers seem so overdone and unimaginative.

I get an idea and make a call before I even have a chance to chicken out or question myself.

“Brigitte here! Is this the illustrious Stevens?”

“Doesn’t your phone have caller ID?”

“I’m kidding! What can I do for you mister merman, sir?”

I chuckle, and I think I’m blushing a little. Alana said Brigitte was the one to dub me a merman. I’m not complaining. It’s just a tad awkward hearing it from her.

“I want to send something to Alana.”

“Oooh. What? I’m all over this like white on rice, like spots on a cheetah, like salt on a margarita glass, like petals on a flower … Wait. Is it flowers?”

“No. Not flowers. They seem too …”

“Boring. You are so right. I mean, if a man sends me flowers, you will not hear me complaining. But they are boring. Unimaginative.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“So? What’s your plan?”

I have no idea if Brigitte knows I went out with Alana last night, but something in her tone of voice tells me she knows.

“I want to send her …” Is this crazy? It may be. But it’s the best I’ve got. “Tacos.”

“Oh. My. Gosh! You want to send her tacos!”

“It’s bad? Right? It’s bad. Okay. Okay. Not tacos.”

“Nooo! It’s flipping AWESOME ! Where did you come from, you taco-sending merman? Are there others in your species? This is incredible. It’s creative. It’s fresh. It’s so never-been-done. And, Alana loves tacos. I mean, she never eats them unless they’re like tofu tacos with microgreens on some sort of oat-based, grain-free tortilla that was hand-fashioned by Tibetan monks in the hills of the Himalayas or something. But she neeeeeds tacos. And she does love them. And if you send them, believe me, she’ll eat them.”

“Okay.” I’m relatively stunned into silence.

“So, what’s the plan?” I can almost hear Brigitte rubbing her hands together.

“Well, my sister owns a taco place here on Marbella. I thought I’d order tacos to be delivered, but then …”

“You realized she can’t have any deliveries.”

“Right. And I really want them to arrive like a flower delivery, brought by someone else … otherwise I’d take them to her.”

“Okay. I’ve got you, boo. I can get one of her guys who regularly drives for her to drop them off at her place. And, lucky for you, she’s home. After this, she’s outta Dodge for a few days. She’s got this premier thing.”

My stomach feels like someone blew up a balloon in it and then popped it. Premier. Because she’s a movie star. And I’m sending her tacos. What am I thinking?

“You got awfully quiet over there, merman. I think you might be freaking out. Please don’t. She likes you. Keep it simple. Alana. She’s just a woman. And you’re a man. And she likes you. That’s all. Keep all the other stuff an ocean away, because trust me, when you get close to it, the glamour dies off real quick.”

“Thanks.”

“No problemo. Now. Tell me where you’re getting this order. Better yet, call the order in. I’ll text you the name of the guy who’s going to pick it up and we’re golden. You just tell the taco place his name. Alana’s going to freaking love this. I’m serious. Also serious about whether you know other taco-bearing mermen.”

She laughs, so I can’t tell if she’s really serious.

“No. I think I may be the only one.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. Well, good for Alana. She needs a good man in her life.”

She does? And I’m it. Wow.