Chapter Ten
Taylor
After an incredible day on the water, we head back to Seth’s house to shower and change.
I checked in with my father while we were out on the water, and I check in with him and Becca again while I’m getting ready for dinner.
Thankfully, they seem to be behaving themselves.
Becca tried to pry details out of me about who I’ve been spending time with, but this weekend feels too intimate to share, and once I tell her, I’ll have to explain why Seth thinks I’m Eleanor Mitchell.
I’m having a hard enough time carrying on this ruse.
It physically hurts not to tell him the truth, but I tried a dozen times today, and I couldn’t do it. The risks are too high.
This can’t lead anywhere, so why risk losing my job? Especially since Seth made it clear that he’s not the settling-down type. Besides, I’m knee-deep in it now, and all the wishing in the world won’t change the fact that I should have told him the minute he showed up on the island.
Slipping on my sandals, I take a few calming breaths and go in search of Seth.
I find him in the living room by the bar, which brings a rush of steamy memories from last night.
My pulse quickens as I make my way across the room, taking in his black linen pants and aqua tropical shirt with a pattern of dark blue leaves and red and pink flowers.
He turns, and I realize he was looking at his computer.
I worry I’m keeping him from work, but the smile that crawls across his face tells me he doesn’t mind.
Suddenly his brows knit, and he looks around. “Did you see that?”
“What?” I look around the room.
“All my thoughts just whooshed out of my head.”
I laugh as he takes my hand and pulls me into his arms. “You’re ridiculous.”
He kisses me. “It’s not my fault you make it impossible to focus on anything but you. That’s a killer dress.”
“It is not. It’s just a summer dress.” I’m wearing a yellow halter dress with tiny white and brown flowers on it. It has a plunging neckline and a wide cinched waist, which accentuates my chest, but I wouldn’t call it killer.
“You’re right. It’s not the dress. It’s the woman in it.” He kisses me again. “Did you check on your dad?”
I love that he asks. “Yes. He’s good.”
“Excellent.”
“Should you be working?” I ask, eyeing his computer. “I can whip up something for dinner here. We don’t have to go out.”
“No, I was just arranging for a care package for my man T, since he’s sick.”
“Oh,” I say with surprise. My man T? Why do I love that so much?
“You don’t have to do that.” He’s sent care packages a few times over the years.
I use a service in Delaware that forwards packages to my home in Port Hudson same- or next-day air, but I feel guilty that he’s sending me something now when I’m perfectly healthy and having the time of my life.
“It’s already done. He should have it tomorrow.” He reaches for my hand. “Let’s go, gorgeous. You’ll love this town.”
“What is my lucky brother getting?” I ask on our way out, knowing I’ll need to send a text from Taylor thanking Seth for the gift.
“What every guy needs when they’re sick. Soup, tea, and whiskey.”
“That’s really nice of you.”
“Hey, I’d be lost without him, and being sick sucks.”
I try not to drown in guilt while we head into town.
The sky still holds a trace of rose when we reach town, giving the evening that romantic glow between day and night when everything feels softer.
We walk hand in hand down narrow streets lined with colorful sun-bleached buildings with faded shutters and flower boxes spilling over with vibrant blooms. Strings of lights sway in the breeze above outdoor seating at a café, and music drifts from open doorways, blending with the din of voices.
Storefronts stand open, boasting artwork, jewelry, boutiques with bright cotton dresses, specialty foods, and souvenirs.
My life back home is so busy and regimented, it’s nice to be able to meander with Seth and enjoy everything this charming town has to offer.
We stop at nearly every stand, admiring handwoven fabrics, intricate carvings, baskets of seashells, pottery, and hand-carved trinkets.
He’s patient with me, maybe even a little amused by my enthusiasm as I point out all the things I find fascinating, but I can’t help it.
Everything is beautiful and different from what I’m used to, and I like discovering it all with him.
“Look at these.” I motion to small pottery bowls about the size of my palm, each one a different color, with wavy edges, their surfaces dusted with fine flecks of cream and sand, as if they were formed by the earth and not by a pair of talented hands.
“They’re gorgeous.” He puts his hand on my back, leaning in closer like he does so often, and says, “You’re dangerous in a place like this.”
I give him a curious look. “Why?”
“Because you make me want to buy you everything.”
He sounds as relaxed as he did on the boat. “That’s sweet, but I don’t need everything.”
“You don’t have to need it to want it. If you see something special, I’d be happy to get it for you.”
“Why would you want to do that?” I ask playfully.
He draws me against his side, speaking low and seductive. “Because I like watching you fall in love with things.”
That catches me off guard, completely disarming me.
He leans in for a kiss, then steps away to check out more pottery, as if he knows I need a minute to get myself in check.
I linger by the pottery display, pretending to study a row of mugs while I try to calm the flutter his words caused.
He’s too charming for his own damn good, saying things that make ordinary moments feel like promises of more.
I tell myself it’s the island, the freedom of being away from my responsibilities, but it’s a hard sell, so I remind myself not to romanticize what should stay simple.
We continue strolling down the street, passing a bakery, where we catch whiffs of sugary goodness. We stop to watch a painter working by lamplight, his brush tapping against the edge of his easel as he paints color into the glow over the harbor.
Seth holds me close and says, “Would you ever consider drawing out in public like that?”
“No, because most of the time I’m drawing from memory of something I’ve seen or making up a vision based on something I’ve been told.”
“You never just pull out your sketchbook and draw something you’re looking at, like he is?”
I love that he’s curious about my art. I wish I could show him the things I’ve produced, but they weren’t made by Ellie Mitchell. “Not very often.”
We wander through more shops and follow the sound of music into a small plaza, where the walls are painted with ocean scenes and realistic fishermen sitting on rocks, their pants rolled up to their ankles, feet perched in the sand and water.
A band plays a mellow rhythm in front of a salmon-colored building.
In the center of the plaza, people sit at iron tables, dining beneath a canopy of sea grape trees, strings of bulbs swaying from the branches.
The din of their voices blends with the music.
Seth guides me toward the band, where mosaic tiles in the concrete catch the light of the bulbs and break it into a thousand colors. I stop to take it in. “It’s like the whole island turns itself inside out at night.”
He glances around, then back at me, his eyes full of mischief. “Or maybe it only shows off when you’re here.”
“That, Mr. Braden, is a fantastic line.”
He takes my hand, spinning me into his arms. God, he makes me smile. We find the same easy rhythm we found last night when we danced, only it’s threaded with something that feels deeper now, like it’s ours.
“Why is it,” he murmurs into my ear, “that every time we dance, even the music fails to exist?”
“You do realize I’m a sure thing, right? You don’t have to sweet-talk me.”
He grins. “Maybe I like sweet-talking you.”
My heart skips, but my chest constricts, because he’s doing it again, being too freaking charming, making it hard for me to keep my head on straight.
It dawns on me that maybe this much charm and sensuality is normal for flings.
It’s not like I’m experienced in vacation trysts, so I throw caution to the wind and go with it. “In that case, please continue.”
His breath brushes my temple, and I close my eyes, giving myself permission not to overthink anything else he says this weekend.
After dancing to a few songs, Seth finds the host, who greets him fondly, and we’re seated at a quiet table.
We share plates of grilled fish, spiced rice, and something delectable with mango and lime, and conversation comes with the same ease it did the rest of the day, the kind that only happens when you’re exactly where you want to be.
We chuckle about ridiculous things we did as kids and tell stories about heartfelt moments with our families, and never once does his attention drift.
When he reaches across the table, brushing his thumb over a drop of wine near my wrist, my breath catches at the simple intimacy of it.
As the night deepens, a group of people flood the plaza, dancing and singing along with the band, off-key and fearless.
Seth and I both laugh, and he pulls me into a kiss.
By the time dessert arrives, a pineapple tart with a dollop of vanilla ice cream, I wish I could bottle up these hours so they would last forever.