8. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Like when surfing, I lose track of time, space, temperature, and light. I’m deep in the kiss with Rocco and when I surface, my conscious reality filters back. The beginning of the kiss is demanding and feverish, a buildup of years composed of angst, unanswered questions, and resentment.
Then it shifts gears as I remember what caused all that and I’m guarded, drawing my armor around myself for protection. But Rocco doesn’t let go. He holds me tight, secure, showing me I can trust him because he gives so much to me with his generous mouth, with his steady presence.
His strong and capable hands don’t waver from their place around my waist, letting me steer, going at a pace that’s comfortable for me.
Our surroundings breach my awareness. It’s night, I’m outside, it’s pleasantly warm, and the streetlights flicker nearby while the moon provides a fixed source of soft light.
I’m no longer a fierce teenager, barely managing to get by. Rocco isn’t the kid whose interest was fueled by hormones.
I’m a woman who’s grown and changed. He’s a man who’s been through so much and come out new and whole on the other side.
I can trust myself. Trust him. He can trust me.
My palms slide down his neck, feeling the uneven surface of his scar, wishing I could erase the pain of the past. But I can give him the future.
I pour this promise into the kiss as our mouths move together. The kiss shifts from sparks to a warm smolder, lending a certain surrealness to the situation. However, our staccato breathing confirms we’re alive, and this isn’t a dream or fantasy.
My pulse does wild things, and it’s like we’re speeding down the Pacific Coast Highway. Only, for once, we’re not running away. No, we’re moving toward each other, deeper into the kiss.
After a beat, my voice is little more than a whisper when I say, “Should we pump the brakes?”
Rocco makes a contemplative sound. “We could slow down.”
But we don’t because we’ve both always had a penchant for motorcycles and driving fast. The kiss intensifies and just when I’m afraid we’re going to run out of gas, it settles into a Sunday drive, a pleasant cruise. A ramble as we go just as far as we can.
It’s the kind of kiss that feels like the perfect day that doesn’t have to end when night falls. The moon follows the sun. The imaginary car windows are open with the breeze blowing in, tussling my hair, the music on the radio is loud, and when it swells, so does the kiss.
For so long, Rocco and I have been at odds or entirely absent from each other’s lives. We pushed until the tension got so taut, it might’ve snapped. Only here we are, and instead of going to extremes, we’re drawing each other back toward the center.
I cannot get enough.
When we eventually drop the kiss, he says, “I choose you. I want you, Katy.”
“I’m afraid to believe you, but I do...and I want you, too.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think Rocco and I pressed rewind and repeat. For the last few weeks, we’ve been spending all our free time together, sneaking around...smooching.
The sneaking part is mostly because this is a small town, but I’m also afraid it’s because both of us are scared.
However, with my grandmother’s birthday party only a week away, it’s time we go public if our fake relationship is going to be convincing.
The realest thing I know how to do is surf and because I don’t want to think about this hazy situation, I’m out at first light.
The waves are fitful little pests that grumble and roll over and into each other. The wind whips my hair into my face. The sea can be fickle and fussy at times. Me too if I’m honest.
Instead of the smooth rides that make me forget everything but the water below and the sky above, my paddle outs are an agonizing challenge. Fighting with wave after wave to stay atop my board puts me in a salty mood.
But I force it, trying to tame the sea. When a wipeout knocks me under for longer than I’d like, I get the message. I have to think about what’s developing between Rocco and me.
Make a decision.
Be brave.
Otherwise, I’ll continue to get tossed by the whitewash of my own thoughts. I resolve to see where things might go with Rocco and me instead of trying to sneak out the back door, through a window, or escape while in the tumultuous ocean.
Plus, I wouldn’t mind another kiss...or a lifetime supply of those.
Finally, when the sun fully rises over the bluff, the ocean calms, and I catch one final wave. The wave of the day.
My arms feel like spaghetti which brings Rocco right back to the front of my mind. He also occupies the back because what’s next for him after this summer?
The truth is he also takes up room in my heart (always has) and the idea of him leaving again, just like everyone has always left me, carves out an emptiness I don’t want to face.
When I tear off my surfboard’s leash, I find Rocco and the kids building a sandcastle up the beach by the boardwalk. It’s not the drippy kind or even a little one with a couple of turrets and an uncooperative moat.
No, they have constructed the ultimate sand chateau-palace-fortress, complete with towers and turrets, a drawbridge, and battlements. It’s massive and impressive.
The thing is fortified. Even Tugger would be hard-pressed to knock it down with his battering ram body. I spot him chewing on a toy by the beach blanket and he hardly looks my way. Traitor.
Even though I’m cold from my session, I melt inside because there’s something sweet about seeing this bad boy turned military man turned manny with a dog and kids who adore him.
I do too for that matter even though I’m still hesitant to admit it.
However, the thing about sandcastles is the tide eventually washes them back out to sea, and I know to expect Rocco’s departure at the end of the summer.
Thankfully, we have right now.
Avery springs to her feet when she spots me and gives me a big hug. We’re both wet and sandy and smiling. Aiden and Rocco wave then turn their focus back to fortifying the sandcastle’s eastern wall.
“How’s my favorite mermaid?” I ask Avery.
“Squirmy.”
“Squirmy?” I ask.
“I think I saw a squid.” She shields her eyes and gazes out to sea, pointing toward some rocks.
Aiden has been teasing her about all kinds of fearsome sea creatures. Rocco said she hasn’t been wanting to get in the water.
“I was just out there for a couple of hours and no squid in sight. They wouldn’t want to come this close to shore, anyway. It’s too warm and there are too many cooties.” I point to Avery’s uncle and brother.
Rocco must’ve been stealthily watching because he pops to his feet. Aiden follows, barely visible above the sandcastle wall.
“Who said we have cooties?” Rocco closes in on me.
“All boys have cooties,” I say, standing my ground.
“They do not,” Aiden says.
“I didn’t say cooties are bad.”
“They are,” Avery says. “They smell really, really bad especially after they have baked beans.”
Despite himself, Rocco laughs. “We had a bean incident the other day.”
“We said we weren’t going to talk about it,” Aiden says, cheeks pinking up.
I make a zip-lipping motion. Then say, “I helped Rocco with a jellyfish sting not long ago. I also know how to get rid of cooties.”
Both kids’ gazes glue on me. “It’s a simple recipe. We need three seashells. A bucket full of salt water, a piece of kelp with its little bobber intact, and empty snail shells. I repeat, empty snail shells.”
“Sounds like sea-witchcraft,” Rocco mutters.
“Kidcraft. Come on, play along. We don’t want these two thinking boys have cooties.”
“You’re the one who said it.”
“So you were listening?”
He winks. “On the other hand, George might be fine with Avery thinking that until she’s at least twenty-five.”
“Not if she meets the right man.” My eyes land on Rocco and remain there, appreciating his stature, his strong hands, his handsome jawline that’s freshly shaved, and everything that isn’t readily visible. The softer, secret parts of him that no one but me has ever been lucky enough to see. How when we were just kids, we’d stare at the stars and he’d tell me his wishes. How he looks at me differently than anyone else. How his crooked smile evens out when it lands on me. How he got that scar—after he made me dinner that first time and we sat outside on the window ledge, he told me how he tried to save a kid from a feral dog in a remote town in the mountains during the war. He threw himself between the child and the animal, and was attacked at the same time an explosive went off. He took the shrapnel and the animal tearing at him but lost the kid. It was devastating. I can see why he wants to spend time with his niece and nephew.
Avery and Aiden run back to us and we mix all the ingredients into a pail.
“Okay, now drink it,” I say with a laugh.
“You’re wicked,” Rocco says.
“I’m joking. But see how you worked together to get all the stuff? That proves that no one has cooties. It’s make-believe. But you know what isn’t?”
They both look at me intently.
“Family. You guys are really, super-duper lucky.” Tears sting my eyes and before I can cry, I take them both by the hand and rush for the water. We dive in. Rocco joins us and we splash and play “Over, under, through” a game like Simon Says but with the incoming waves.
When they’re adequately exhausted and hungry for lunch, we wander toward Rocco’s place but make a pit stop at Pinky’s. For once, I don’t mind being here on my day off. Rocco no longer lets the kids have ice cream for breakfast, but they each get a scoop pre-lunch, which Geena might take issue with...if she knew. The kids are ice cream vacuums. Even Tugger gets a pup cone.
Shelly trills, “I’ve been seeing a lot of you two together.”
Like a tennis match, I send the ball back, hinting at her budding relationship. “And Dune hasn’t been making it out to the surf break as often.”
She blushes at the same time Rocco elbows me, then I remember we’re supposed to be fake dating. I glance over my shoulder at where the kids happily lick their ice creams and draw with chalk on a board where the indoor eating area opens to the patio. Tugger watches over them and waits patiently.
Out of practice with lying, I blurt the first thing that comes to mind, “We should go on a double date.”
Shelly is saved by a smoothie order that’s ready and brings it to the other end of the counter.
Without moving his lips, Rocco whispers, “Let’s not move too fast.”
I reply with a tight smile like a ventriloquist so she doesn’t overhear. “I’ve never been one to do things halfway.”
“Except get stuck in the window.”
I elbow him. “A double date will be a great way for us to practice being a couple.”
He elbows me back. “Didn’t we practice outside your house?”
My cheeks warm at the reminder of our kiss when Shelly returns.
“Yeah, sure. A double date. That would be fun, but Dune and I are not officially an item yet.” She wilts slightly like she’s afraid it’ll never happen. Dune isn’t a people person which means he’s likely not a relationship person either.
Then again, Rocco and I aren’t official, but I’m not sure real kissing is included in the list of fake dating requirements and that kiss was nothing if not genuine.
“No pressure or anything,” Rocco adds to Shelly.
“You two seem made for each other. I’m just not sure about Dune. He’s hot and cold. We’ll spend the day together then he’ll disappear for the weekend.”
Rocco and I exchange a glance.
“Oh, she’s definitely hot,” he says at the same time I exclaim, “He’s totally cold?—”
Our expressions falter.
“See? You even finish each other’s sentences. Dune is just so confusing.”
I wag my finger between us, “Definitely confusion city here too. I just never know what’s going to happen.”
“Yeah, one day we’re fake dating, the next we’re kissing, and now we’re here, having fallen for each other.” Rocco wears a self-satisfied grin.
I jab him in the ribs with my elbow.
Then he adds, “She just can’t get enough of me.”
Shelly goes to help another customer and we turn away from the counter.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Sometimes to sell the lie, you have to expose it.”
I cross my arms in front of my chest. “Oh, so that’s your tactic?”
Rocco brushes the back of his hand down my face. “No, Katy. I was telling the truth. After the other night, I just don’t think I can fake it.”
“Fake it ‘til you make it—” But the rest of my scolding and demand that he pretend dies on my tongue when the kids rush over to us, excited because they found a cool lizard outside.
“Actually, Tugger found it,” Aiden says.
“I was afraid he was going to eat it,” Avery adds.
Thankful we can put off the conversation about whether we’re on or off, and what I truly, deep down want—something real with Rocco?—until another time, I pet Tugger and say, “Nah, this guy is full of ice cream.”
Afterward, the dog leads the way and the kids trail behind with Rocco and I taking up the rear.
“You’re good with them,” he says.
“That’s because I’m still a child...according to my family.”
“You’re definitely not.” He pauses then says, “Do you want any of your own?”
“Kids? A family? I never let myself think about it much. But yeah. How about you?”
“Same and same.”
We’re both quiet a spell as we cross the street. My thoughts wind and whirl around the interaction with Shelly and how I’m clinging to the idea that there’s anything fake between Rocco and me. My inner stubbornness and self-protection mechanisms make it clear that they’re holding out until I’m sure Rocco isn’t going anywhere.
“The kids love you,” he says with a quiver in his voice.
Then I say, “I once heard that the secret is children spell love T-I-M-E. They want attention. To watch them try to do a cartwheel for the tenth time or the fiftieth time.” We’re on the sidewalk in front of Rocco’s house and I do one.
Avery squeals with delight. Aiden asks if I can do a handstand. I promise to teach them both next time we’re at the beach where the sand is soft.
Rocco kisses my forehead and whispers. “I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.” Then he and the kids disappear inside.
I have the day off from Pinky’s but more than enough work to do at the shop. My phone beeps with a text. I still haven’t heard back from Joey. With Tootsie’s birthday coming up, he’d better be here, otherwise, I will track him down and drag him back here by the toes because I wasn’t exactly truthful earlier. My brother definitely has cooties.
Only, it’s Rocco who texts.
Rocco Raccoon: Thanks for today...and all the other days. Every. Single. One.
Me: All of them?
Rocco Raccoon: Yep. I’m going to be sentimental, which I know you hate, but what you said about being a child... Firstly, that’s not true at all. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. And Geena is my sister, so that’s saying something. But yeah, thank you for all of it. Had we not had all “those” days—you know the ones I mean—we wouldn’t be where we are now. I like it. I don’t want to leave.
I read and then reread everything he wrote, trying to find a red flag or a pink one. But I cannot, so I say the first truth that comes to mind, then the next, and the one after that. I suppose that alone is what helped me become the woman Rocco sees now, compared to the little twit he used to know.
Me: I don’t hate sentimentality. Sometimes when people get mushy, I get uncomfortable because I’m afraid they’re going to snatch it away.
Rocco Raccoon: I can understand that.
Me: Thank you for seeing the good in me. Also, your sister is phenom. I meant everything I said about your family.
For so long I didn’t let myself feel emotions. It was just one foot or boot or sandal in front of the other to get through life, to get out from under the specter of my family of origin, and to make my own way. Now that I’m on the other side of that, these little wants keep creeping in: love and relationship, family and connection, a future that looks like today at the beach with Rocco and the kids.
Rocco Raccoon: I know a family that would like to adopt you.
Me: Haha. Trust me, you don’t want the baggage.
Rocco Raccoon: Don’t be like that. I’ll take you even if it means a little baggage. Have you noticed my muscles?
Now he’s being funny, though I have noticed how he’s buff but not bulky. How he’s confident and capable. For instance, he easily carries the two kids when they’re tuckered out from the sun and sand, while somehow also managing a bag full of beach gear.
I’m about to reply to the last thing Rocco wrote in his original text, telling him You’re welcome when there’s a knock on the door.
Tugger raises a ruckus, barking. Again, I expect my brother to stand in the entry, hangdog and full of apology. Never mind, he’d never say he’s sorry. But this time, instead of feeling superior and self-righteous, I feel bad for him. Even though Rocco and I aren’t in an official relationship, we’ve built a friendship out of the ashes of the past.
Then I remember we’re going to fake it for Tootsie’s party and guilt rises in me like a swift tide.
When I peer through the sidelight in the door, the silhouette of a hulking figure takes shape. I’ve just showered and cleaned the grease out from under my nails after a late night at the garage and grab a wrench I’ve been meaning to bring back across the street.
Only, it’s Rocco. I set down the weapon, open the door, and point to him and then myself. “Weren’t we just texting?”
“Yeah, but you don’t use emojis, so I can’t gauge whether you’re being serious, sarcastic, or something else.”
“You don’t use them either,” I fire back.
“See? We have so much in common.”
I’m about to disagree, but he’s not entirely wrong.
Meanwhile, Tugger gives Rocco a royal welcome and I step aside, letting him in.
“I won’t be here long,” he says, remaining in the doorway.
My stomach drops out and I man my defenses, armoring up.
Rocco grips my shoulders, likely noticing how they sagged and then stiffened slightly, something I wouldn’t admit under penalty of law.
“I mean right now. Geena has an early shift which means Uncle Rocco is on duty at dawn. I’m not going anywhere if you were thinking...”
I shrug like it’s no big deal.
Rocco shakes his head. “I’ll only leave Palisade Shores if you want me to and even then you’ll have to chase me out with the hound, which I don’t imagine happening.”
Tugger fetches his favorite throw toy as if it’s playtime.
“I still haven’t heard from Joey.”
Rocco hooks my chin with the edge of his forefinger, drawing my gaze to his. It’s dark, heavy, and won’t let mine go.
My lips part slightly and my stomach flutters as I anticipate what’s about to happen.
Cupping the sides of my face, Rocco says, “I came here to tell you something.”
My gaze searches his as I try to suppress hope, hope for what I want more than anything. My pulse quickens as I push back, willing all that hope to flood in.
Then he says it. Three simple words. Ones I’ve never, not in my entire life, heard spoken to me. “I love you, Katy.”
As if he senses I’m going to object, he presses his lips to mine, sealing this truth with a kiss.