17. An Ode to Meteorologists…
17
An Ode to Meteorologists…
Mac
One of the most underrated things out there is the weather forecast. Now, I know that’s something an old geezer would say, but hear me out because it’s true. Just think of all the picnics that would get ruined, the brides who would end up crying, all the convertibles that would have their interior completely drenched if it weren’t for the good old weatherman.
Back in my regular life, I know how important the forecast is for my job, but in my personal life, I never think about it. But now, that I’m out here soaking wet, carrying the second dummy—Scuba Bob as Paige has nicknamed him—I’m wishing I had known this storm was coming. That way, I wouldn’t have walked this far, and I’d be back in the safety of a warm, dry cottage, probably playing some cards with Paige. Maybe I’d even talk her into a game of strip poker. Mmm, yes...
But instead, I’m drenched to my underwear, with wet sand clinging to me from slipping and falling a few minutes ago. My eyes are fighting me on the need to stay open so I can keep moving. They’d rather close and not get pelted with driving rain.
Deciding I’m far enough from the last dummy, I find a tree to string Scuba Bob to, then set to work. A few minutes later, I’ve turned back toward the cottage, knowing it’ll take me over an hour to get back. I’m tired from not having slept much last night and all the exertion over the last couple of days. Those pancakes wore off a long time ago, but my feet keep propelling me forward as fast as possible so I can get back to the house where Paige is waiting.
Today I saw a different side of her—the professional go-getter. The industrious version of her. And she is wonderful. Smart, creative, and talented as all-hell to turn a bunch of nothing into something that could work. I can see why her horrible boss relies on her so much. She’s someone who inspires confidence. Someone who’s going places in life, which is why I should step aside and stay out of her way. Not that I’m in the way right now. After all, we just met, and we’re absolutely not going to start up a relationship. But seeing her potential is one more excellent reason for me to stay at arm’s length.
The sky grows darker as I make my way over some boulders on the shore, and I realize it’s a lot later in the day than I thought it was. I pick up my pace, knowing it’s going to get a lot harder in a few minutes when it’s pitch black out here.
When I come around the bend, I spot the happy little cottage, the cheerful yellow glow of the lights beckoning me home and Paige standing in front of the kitchen window above the sink.
Did I just use the phrase ‘beckoning me home?’ Apparently, I did .
Crap on a stick. The fact that I’ve already started to think of it as home is not a good sign as far as my feelings go. It’s not home, and she’s not the woman I’m coming home to every night. We’re just two strangers making the best of a bad situation, and that’s all this is. And I’m going to have to remind myself of that fact every few minutes until we get off this island.
Another rumble of thunder has me hurrying along, and soon, I find myself on the front porch, my hand on the doorknob. I take a deep breath and remind myself that this is not my home. In fact, it’s so very much not my home that I’ll be sleeping out here tonight if the rain lets up. I look over at the lounge chair, only to see my pillow and blanket getting pelted with heavy drops of water. My first instinct is to be annoyed that my things have been rendered useless, at least for the night, but then a slow smile spreads across my face.
My bedding has been rendered useless.
Huh, suddenly a new possibility has sprung up as though it were a seed that required a whole lot of watering to come to life.
Okay, get it together, Mac. There are no ‘possibilities’ here. You’ll be riding the love seat tonight, which is going to be as bad as sleeping sitting up in the plane .
I turn the knob and walk inside.
Paige smiles at me from in front of the stove, where something that smells amazing is cooking. “You made it,” she says, smiling at me. “I was starting to get worried about you.”
“I’m fine. It’s just a little water.”
“You’re soaked through. Let me get you some towels,” she says, limping in the direction of the closet.
“No, that’s okay. I think I’ll go have a quick shower. Get all this sand off of me. ”
“Right, good plan. Supper’s almost ready,” she calls to me as I walk down the hall.
“Great. It’s smells delicious,” I answer.
Flicking on the bathroom light, I strip down, carefully making a pile on the floor out of my sandy clothes, my mind going over everything we said since I walked through the door. If I were just someone observing us, I’d think it was a conversation between a husband and wife. In fact, the entire thing is all too familiar to me. I don’t want to have conversations like that. I like being alone. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The guy staring back at me looks way too happy, which begs the question: if I want to be alone so badly, why the hell am I smiling?
I shower quickly, then dry off before I realize my bag of clothes is in the living room. Wrapping the towel around my waist, I make my way down the hall. Paige is sitting at the table with the food already plated up—spaghetti and tomato sauce. Her eyes grow wide when she sees me and her cheeks turn pink.
Clearing my throat, I mutter, “I forgot my clothes.”
“Right, well … that’ll happen,” she answers as her eyes sweep up and down my body.
I turn and grin to myself while I grab a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from my bag. She likes what she saw. And I like that she likes what she saw.
“Be right back,” I tell her, striding down the hall.
When I return, she’s staring out the window, biting her bottom lip, and I can’t help but hope she’s thinking all sorts of dirty thoughts about me. I sit down across from her and take a deep inhale of the supper. “This looks terrific. I’m starving.”
“It’s just sauce from a jar,” she says with a little shrug.
“Well, thank you. I appreciate you cooking, especially on that bad ankle of yours,” I say, picking up my fork .
“It’s feeling a lot better actually,” she tells me, twirling some pasta around her fork. “I iced it a few times when you were gone, and mainly stayed off it.”
“Good,” I answer, taking a big bite. “Mmm, that’s delicious.”
She chuckles a little, then says, “You’re easy to please.”
“Seriously, you cooked the noodles just right. Not too soft. A lot of people make them too soft.” Like my ex-wife. She overcooked everything. Not that I’d ever say that out loud. There’s no need to make disparaging remarks about her just because it didn’t work out. I lift my iced tea and take a sip, pleasantly surprised that she’s added vodka to it. “Boozy,” I say as I set it back down.
“I hope you don’t mind. I thought you could use a drink after being out in the storm for so long.”
“I could definitely use a drink,” I tell her. “Are you having one?”
She nods. “Mine’s not as strong as yours though.”
I tilt my head and narrow my eyes at her. “New York, are you trying to get me drunk?”
Her cheeks turn bright red. “No! Of course not. I just thought it would warm you up a bit.”
“Right.” I have another bite of my meal, not even bothering to wipe the grin off my face.
“Listen, speaking of getting you drunk, which I’m not doing, but along the lines of … well, no, never mind that. What I’m trying to say is that I should tell you something.”
I stop midbite and look at her, thoroughly confused.
“I may have neglected to bring your pillow and blankets in from the rain,” she says. “I’m sorry. I just umm … was sleeping actually and then suddenly…” She mimes rain coming down. “It was pouring. Like really pouring and your things were already soaked and so … I’m sorry about that. ”
“That’s okay. I can make do on the love seat.”
She has a long sip of her drink. “No, I wouldn’t feel right about that. Not after the day you’ve had.” She swallows hard, her gaze moving to her plate to avoid eye contact. “And before you say it, I know you’re not going to want me to give up the bed for you, so I’m not going to propose that.”
I raise one eyebrow and do my best to hide the smirk that wants to come out. “What are you proposing?”
“I thought, well, since we’re two mature adults … with the ability to control ourselves—not that either of us needs to control ourselves because we’re just two people who happen to be stuck here together and aren’t … you know … interested in each other that way …” Her voice trails off and part of me wants to rescue her from this awkward moment. But the rest of me needs to see how this plays out, so I just sit and wait for her to stumble her way through it. You know, like a total jerk. “But, ummm, I thought we could probably do a reasonable job of sharing the bed without it becoming a problem.”
I nod slowly and glance up at the ceiling, as though the thought had never occurred to me. “Oh, did you?”
“Yes, well, I mean, I was thinking, it’s what I would do if I were stranded with another woman. That way we’d both be able to sleep somewhere comfortable,” she says. “It’s not as if anything would happen. It’s just sleeping.”
“You mean if you were sharing a bed with a woman?”
Her face turns even more red. “With you. I mean, if you were stuck here with a guy, you’d share the bed, wouldn’t you?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. I wouldn’t. That would be weird.”
“What if it was your grandpa? ”
“Then I’d give him the bed.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“It would be weird to sleep with your own grandfather?”
Nodding, I say, “Yup. Totally weird. He’d tell you the same thing.”
“Wow,” she mutters. “Men are strange. Okay, well, anyway, we don’t have to share the bed. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or something. I just thought … pajamas and you know … just purely for sleeping purposes, but … it’s your call.”
I let my lips spread into a grin that gives the game away. “Let’s do it.”
“It wouldn’t be weird?”
“No, New York, it would not be weird. I think we should sleep together.”
Her eyes grow wide and she blinks a couple of times. “But just sleeping.”
“Right. Nothing else. You stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine,” I tell her lifting the forkful of pasta to my mouth. “But you should know, I can’t sleep in a shirt.”
“Oh,” she says, her eyes flicking down to my chest. “What do you sleep in?”
“Boxers. But I could sleep in some shorts if that would make you more comfortable. Just not a shirt. Never could. Not even as a kid.”
She licks her lips, then tries to sound nonchalant. “That won’t be a problem for me.”
“Good.”
Shrugging, she adds, “Because we’re not going to actually touch each other anyway.”
“Because we’ll each stay on our own sides.”
“Exactly. ”
“Well, I’m glad that’s settled,” she says, picking up her glass. “Because I was feeling really guilty about leaving your stuff outside.”
“Hey, there’s no way you could help it, right? It was already soaked before you knew it was raining.”
A guilty look crosses her face, but she says, “Yup,” in a high-pitched voice. “That’s how it happened.”
“I’m sure it is,” I tell her, having another bite of food. I sit and eat the rest of my dinner, humming with excitement, knowing that she one-hundred-percent left my things out in the rain on purpose. And her purpose was to get me into bed.