Chapter Thirteen #2
Dolores was right—Eva did like him. For the first time in her life, she’d met a man who interested her and made her feel the sort of flutters she’d only previously read about in books.
It was unlikely that it would go further than the remaining summer that they had together, considering her life was in Havana and his was in Boston, but she didn’t want to return to Cuba and regret that she had let go of this feeling inside her because she was afraid.
If this was her one shot at romance, she wanted to enjoy herself so when she returned to her quiet life, she could look back on this adventure with fondness and remember that she had dared to take a chance, to open her heart to someone.
“I trust you.”
She said it so quietly, the wind nearly carried her words away, but the heat in his gaze told her he’d heard her.
When he’d finished his preparations, they cast off, James tucked beside her on the sailboat’s seat.
He was right—it was a beautiful day to be on the water. There were other boats in the distance, their sails like white flags floating across the sea. The scene before her was so picturesque, so idyllic, as though it had been plucked from a painting, the day covered in cerulean brushstrokes.
A gust of wind kicked up the wide brim of her straw hat, and Eva lurched forward, grabbing it just before it blew overboard. The water tipped up toward the edge of the boat, a splash of salt and sea hitting her square in the face as the vessel rocked on.
She startled, James’s hands immediately at her waist, steadying her as the boat listed.
Eva sank back down onto her seat, grateful for the stability.
James smiled, his fingers lingering at her waist for a moment before he returned his attention back to the boat. “Do you like it?”
Eva leaned back and laughed, overcome with the moment, with the feel of the sun on her face and the exhilaration that pumped through her veins.
“It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
They sailed on, going farther into the bay until the dock became a speck in the distance, the other sailboats occasionally peppering the landscape as they all spread out to their little corner of the sea.
“What do you think of the summer school?” he asked her once he had settled down again.
It was fascinating watching him sail, responding to hidden cues only he could see, adjusting their course with ease.
“Honestly. Not the diplomatic answer you give because you’re here representing your country, but the truth. ”
“How do you know my diplomatic answer isn’t the truth?”
“Because you have this way about you—it’s like you slip on a mask when you go out into the world. Occasionally, though, when we talk, you give me glimpses of what you really think, who you really are. I find myself eager for more.”
She wanted to deny it, wanted to tell him that he was being preposterous for suggesting such a thing, when truthfully, the whole point of a mask was that no one was supposed to be able to strip it away from you.
It was an armor of sorts, necessary when you were a woman these days, and she’d grown quite fond of hers.
But he’d disarmed her now, and she had vowed to be brave today, to indulge in this one adventure, so she gave him the truth instead.
“I was skeptical at first,” she admitted.
“In Cuba, we’re still acclimating to this new relationship we have with your country.
To have spent decades fighting for independence from Spain only to end up under the control of a foreign power once more has been disheartening.
It’s not personal to the Americans; it’s just a product of not having the freedom we desperately crave.
“But now that I’m here—I feel like there is an understanding growing between us and the Americans.
This exchange has given us the opportunity to learn from each other, to see each other as equals, to develop a true friendship.
It feels—promising. Hopeful, even. My entire life has been defined by conflict.
It is nice to see another side of things, to be part of a diplomatic endeavor that builds bonds between countries especially when the stakes are as high as they are here.
“I hope this is just the beginning of these types of opportunities. Perhaps one day a contingent of American teachers will travel to the University of Havana to learn from their Cuban counterparts. It seems that if we are to get along, to listen, and to respect each other’s opinions, then it is best accomplished when we can interact not just on an academic level, but also as human beings.
I’ll admit that I wasn’t looking forward to the dances, but now that I see how they loosen people up, how the act of having fun together, learning each other’s dances can eradicate barriers, I understand how effective they are. ”
“Are they just effective or have you been enjoying them yourself?” he teased, even as she could guess at the hint in his voice, the unspoken question there.
“I suppose I have enjoyed them,” she replied truthfully, still too nervous to fully play the coquette even though she could see the hint of jealousy in his gaze that sent a thrill through her for the novelty of the experience.
“You must have received many invitations to dance.”
He said it softly, testing, and for a moment she indulged in the notion, in the possibility that she was the sort of woman like Dolores who fended off suitors.
“Not too many,” she replied, her voice just as light.
She turned her head, looking out at the water, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Surely, he had to know, could sense her inexperience. For all that she was a mature woman in her twenties, this was outside of her depth.
Silence descended between them, stretching far longer than a natural conversational pause.
She heard James move beside her, the soft brush of his linen trousers as he shifted on the wooden seat.
She could smell the scent of his cologne, could feel the heat coming off his body.
Eva glanced down, unable to meet his gaze, focusing instead on his arm braced next to her.
He’d shucked his ivory-colored linen jacket before they’d boarded the boat and had rolled the sleeves of his worn white shirt up, exposing slim pale wrists covered in a sprinkling of fine hair.
His skin was far paler than hers, faint freckles spread across his forearm.
His cuff was ink-smudged once more. Had he worked on his novel this morning before he picked her up?
The question was on her lips, but it died in her throat as she looked up and their gazes locked.
James reached out, the hand she had just been admiring grazing her cheek before reaching to the side of her face, his fingers ghosting across her skin as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered.
Was she?
She wasn’t sure she could feel her body anymore. She was suspended, hovering on the precipice of something she didn’t have the words to name.
Eva opened her mouth to offer some response, but before she could formulate a thought, he moved, his head lowering to meet hers, or perhaps she gravitated forward as well, reaching out to grasp his biceps for purchase as she tumbled headfirst into something she was wholly unprepared for.
There was a hint of mint on his breath, like he’d had one of those peppermint sticks earlier, and then his lips whispered across hers and the unbearable sweetness of it, the intimacy of it, struck her to her core.
Eva might not know what to do, but it was clear that James did, because as soon as he began, from that first introductory brushing of lips, he began laying waste to any misgivings she might have had.
She didn’t understand how she was equipped to judge such things, but she knew on some instinctual level that he was an excellent kisser right about the time she lost her head—and quite possibly, her heart.