9. Claire

CHAPTER 9

CLAIRE

I t turned out there wasn't a whole lot we could do. The hotel staff had dealt with these storms before, and far worse ones. They were efficient. But they couldn't do much about the downed cell towers, and the line for the house phone snaked through the lobby. Conrad went upstairs to bring down his sat phone and I helped a young couple with their burst suitcase.

"I swear, this trip, it's been like a curse." The young man sat on the suitcase while I helped his girlfriend buckle it. "First, our plane got delayed. Then we lost our tickets. Then we finally got here and our motel had roaches. So we went to this other place, and it was right by a karaoke bar. We were trying to sleep, and… Kate, what's that song?"

His girlfriend looked up. "‘Stand By Your Man .' "

"Yeah, that's the one. Is it a thing here, or something? Because I swear, every second song — oh, hey! You've got it." He stood up, relieved, and righted his suitcase. "Thanks for your help. We'd better get this upstairs before it busts out again."

I gave them a wave, then searched for Conrad. I spotted his phone with a tight knot of tourists, but he wasn't with them.

"Conrad?"

I did a slow turn, scanning the crowd. He wasn't at the front desk, or by the phone, or the doors. I couldn't see him in the restaurant, or by the fountain. Then I turned again and glimpsed the top of his head, sticking up from behind a row of planters. I headed out to the terrace.

"Conrad? That you?"

He poked his head up. "Hey, Claire. Meet Jake."

I skirted the planters and the scattered soil, and Conrad was kneeling to comfort a child.

"Little buddy here can't find his folks." Conrad smiled warmly and dug in his pocket. He came up with a keychain shaped like a fish. "You know what this is?"

The boy eyed the keychain. "Whale shark," he said.

Conrad's eyes widened. "You're sure that's a shark? Aren't sharks more like… grrrr? " He bared his teeth, and the kid sniffed and giggled.

"Not whale sharks," Jake said. "They're pretty chill." He reached for the keychain, then jerked his hand back. "Um, can I touch it?"

"Tell you what," said Conrad. "You come on with me, up to the front desk, and we'll find out where your folks went. We'll ask them if you can have it."

The kid wiped his wet eyes. "If they say yes, I can have it?"

"That's right, all yours." Conrad smiled up at me. "This is my friend Claire. Why don't you come with us, and we'll talk to your parents?"

The kid looked up, trusting. I smiled awkwardly. I'd never been great with kids, never been much around them. I was an only child, no brothers or sisters, and I'd spent my summers lifeguarding, not babysitting. Conrad, meanwhile, was swimming that shark around, humming the Jaws theme, making the kid giggle.

"Now, what do they look like, your mom and dad?"

"Mommy shark," said Jake. "She's tall like your friend, but she has brown hair. Dad has a mustache, but he shaved off his beard."

We headed inside, the kid skipping between us, and soon he shouted Mom and went tearing across the lobby. He barreled straight into a scared-looking woman, who dropped to her knees and gathered him to her bosom. A man with a mustache came darting to join them, covering his son's head in tickly kisses.

"Jake! Didn't I tell you, you've got to stay close?"

"You can't go off wandering in a strange place!"

"It's not his fault," said Conrad, striding up to the family. He pointed at the dad's pants, the same beige as his own. "We're wearing the same pants, and he followed me out. Never knew the difference till I turned around. You should've seen his face fall, the poor little guy."

His dad hugged him. "That true? You thought he was me?"

Jake nodded against him and buried his face in his shirt.

"Anyway, uh…" Conrad cleared his throat. "He was a bit scared, so I showed him this keychain. If it's okay with you, I'd like him to have it."

Jake's mom took the keychain and smiled. "He loves sharks. Jake, sweetheart, what do you say?"

"Thank you," Jake muttered, into his dad's shirt.

"He gets shy," said his mom.

Conrad smiled. "Don't we all?"

We left the family to settle in and started back for the terrace, only to run into Verity and Ken. They were coming off the elevator as we passed by it, leaving us no choice but to stop and say hi.

"You two are up early," said Verity.

Ken laughed. "It's near noon. I think we're up late."

Verity elbowed him, and I felt my chest tighten. They'd been married how long now, and they were still so playful, always teasing each other, finding something to smile over. I wondered how they did it, if it was as easy as it looked. Had they somehow lucked into their perfect pairing, stronger together than they were apart? Or had they worked at it, to find their balance?

"We're just going to brunch," said Ken. "But we should meet up after. I heard the tennis courts are open. We could play a few sets."

I couldn't think of a good reason not to, and the next thing I knew, we were signed up for tennis.

"This is a good thing," said Conrad, as they walked away. "Your chance to cement this, show her you're good people."

Or my chance to blow my whole mission sky-high.

My phone service came back while I was changing for tennis, in a tinny cacophony of chirrups and pings. I had about a zillion to-dos from work, IM pings and texts and calendar reminders. I had emails a mile high and a nice stack of mentions, and on top of it all, a text string from Sunny.

OMG I HEARD HOLY CRAP HAVE YOU KISSED YET!?!!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?

I mean, r u ok???? but srsly, have you kissed yet??????

Then came a long string of kissy lips and hearts, and an animated rose bouquet, and a box of chocolates.

No, we have NOT kissed , I typed, and I sent it, jabbing the screen so hard my nail cracked. I tossed my phone in my bag and headed out to play tennis.

"You okay?" said Conrad, as I jogged onto the court. "You look kind of flushed, like you started without us."

"I'm fine," I snapped, Sunny's text in my head — have you kissed yet? Not have you kissed? She'd stuck that yet in there like it was a given, like sooner or later, his lips would meet mine. All I could think of was the end of our tango, when he held me and dipped me and my body flushed hot. What I'd felt in that moment, it had been like she said, not if we'd kiss, but when it would happen. I'd thought for a second it would be right then — not thought it, but felt it, right down to my marrow. A chill had swept through me, then a hot rush, a sizzle of wanting all down my spine.

"You sure you're okay?" He pressed his palm to my forehead. "You feel kind of warm."

"It's a hot day." My protest came out harsh, and I shrugged, sheepish. "Sorry. My phone came back with a ton of work emails. I think I'm just stressed, is all."

"Yeah, mine came back too." Conrad grimaced, then smiled as Ken and Verity joined us. "I don't have a coin. You guys can serve first."

"Somebody's confident," said Ken, with a grin.

"They think because we're older, they have the advantage." Verity winked at me, and the game was on. I wasn't ready, and the first ball zipped past me. Conrad dove for it, an instant too late.

"That's a gimme," he called.

"Fifteen love," Ken called back.

They took the next point as well, and the one after that, but then we rallied. We lost our first set, but we found our rhythm. I learned how Conrad moved, how he stalked the ball, his eyes never leaving it as it tore about the court. He moved like a puma hunting a deer, all feline grace and bursts of sharp movement. I matched him, mirrored him, followed his lead. Like dancing, almost, except we weren't touching. Except I wanted to touch him, those taut, rippling muscles. When had his body got so strong, so supple?

"Point," shouted Verity, and I yelled out, frustrated — not with the lost point, but with myself. I'd missed an easy ball, caught up in Conrad. Daydreaming, when I needed to be on my game.

"We've got this," said Conrad, leaning close for my ear. "She slants to her left, and he's slow on the fast balls."

I nodded and mouthed the word focus. Focus . If Verity thought I was letting her win, she'd see me as dishonest. The wrong kind of player. I had to get with it and play my hardest, or I'd lose my match and my contract in one.

Our next set, I steamed in with all I had, my head full of nothing but the tok of the ball. I threw myself into it, spurred on by Conrad, his competitive fury stirring my own. This was what we were good at. Winning. Business. Doing what we had to do, the ruthless dream team. Conrad surged forward, glistening with sweat. He twisted. The ball flew. Ken lobbed it back. I went for it, skinned it, and it sailed off in two pieces, the felt dropping off as the rubber kept going. Verity hit it back and Conrad smashed it. The set went to us, and Verity bent over, panting.

"One more set to clinch it." She straightened up, breathless. "I think you two hustled us. Don't you think, Ken?"

Ken swabbed at his forehead. "Oh, doubtless, they think so. But we were going easy after their rough start."

Conrad laughed. "Sure you were."

"You better believe it."

Our last set played more like some high-noon shootout, balls whizzing like bullets through the tropical air. Verity and Ken did up their game, and we upped ours to meet them, shoes scuffing, racquets whistling. We traded points back and forth up to a deuce, and Verity stood gasping.

"Next— next point wins it."

Conrad moved next to me and growled under his breath. "That's our point, got it?"

I shuddered. "All ours."

The match point flew by in a burst of frenzied motion. I'd never been so aware of my body, every beat of my heart, every bunched muscle. Every breath, every movement — and then we had won. It all stopped and the ball bounced off and rolled into the court fence. I could hear Conrad breathing and the rush of my pulse, the singing of hot blood high in my ears. I opened my mouth to tell Verity ‘good game,' but what came out was a shriek as Conrad swept me aloft. He took me in his arms and spun me like a dancer, and the world flashed by behind him, the hotel, the beach. His eyes were alive with the joy of the moment, the triumph of our win, the rush of exertion. His cheeks were all flushed, and I knew mine were too, then he lowered me down gently and set me on his feet. He leaned in?—

Has he kissed you yet?

—and my eyes fluttered shut. I felt the heat of his breath and his hand on my back, the scrape of his stubble, then Verity whistled.

I jerked back with a hiss.

Conrad's eyes flew open.

Verity laughed. "Oh, don't let us stop you!"

I stared, open-mouthed. We'd been right on the verge. If not for that whistle… How would it have felt? My lips tingled hotly, the thrum of denial. My whole body was trembling. I felt… incomplete.

"We forgot where we were," Conrad was saying, and he had no idea how right he was. For a moment in his arms I had smelled almond blossoms, champagne on his breath, Manhattan exhaust. I'd flashed back twelve years to that last almost-kiss, and it had felt like no time passed at all, or only one breath. One heartbeat between us.

"I need a shower," I said.

I scurried away.