15. Darby
15
Darby
Beach Hair
I sense someone encroaching from the right, so I lower my book and turn to see what’s happening. His face is hidden from me because he’s walking backwards, pulling a chair through the sand, but I’d recognize that back anywhere. And that hair.
He doesn’t say a word, just continues rearranging the beach furniture as he brings a second chair over and plants an umbrella between them. The girl who’s been watching him from the other side picks up the small table he’s left behind and brings it over. She places it in front of their umbrella. And then she walks right up to me and says, “Hi, Darby.”
“Hello, Izzie. It’s nice to meet you.”
Zane sits in the chair he’s placed next to me, but Izzie gives him an emphatic, “Uh-uh.” She pumps her thumb skyward.
Her big brother gets up and moves to the chair on the end. She immediately settles into the one between us. Zane waves at me as if we’re separated by an ocean rather than a petite girl with a very big presence.
I’ve known her less than a minute, and already I can tell she’s exactly as he described her.
“Did you drop a tracking device in my bag before you left the room this morning?”
“Finding you here was completely fortuitous.”
Izzie rolls her head toward me and says, “He talks like a nerd, but he’s actually cool.”
Zane sits forward and lowers his sunglasses so I can see him roll his eyes at her comment. “I saw your hair blowing in the wind.”
“You recognized me by the back of my head?”
“Of course I did.”
A young man approaches and tells Zane, “Sir, you’re not supposed to move the chairs and stuff. We’re supposed to do that for you.”
“Well,” Izzie responds. “Where were you when we needed them moved? We paid to rent two chairs, an umbrella, and a table. And that’s exactly what we’re using.”
“It’s fine that you’re using them, but—”
“Of course it’s fine. We paid for them. Why are you still here?”
Oh, she’s so salty. I love her.
Zane intervenes. “Sorry. I grew up here, and I used to work on this beach, too. Old habits. Next time, we’ll find someone to move them for us. Here . . .” He opens his wallet and offers the guy five bucks. “Consider it the tip you would’ve earned if I hadn’t forgotten that I no longer work here.”
He’s good. The ultimate mediator.
The young man takes the five. “Thanks, man. Y’all enjoy the beach.”
“We’re trying to,” Izzie says in a tone infused with so much teen annoyance I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“Be nice,” Zane tells her as the young man walks away.
“Nice gets women killed.”
“Stay sexy and don’t get murdered,” I add.
“Exactly,” she says.
Zane shakes his head. “That’s from that podcast you and Mom listen to, isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
“Aw,” I say. “I love that you listen to it with your mom.”
“I love that you listen to it, too.”
“I think it’s morbid,” Zane says. “Not that y’all probably care what I think about it.”
“We don’t,” Izzie and I say in unison.
And then we laugh together, even Zane.
We all stare at the waves. I think about my job offers, weighing the pros and cons. I’m sure Zane and Izzie are thinking about far more difficult things. We all sit with our own thoughts while the gulls swoop and the waves roll.
Two days ago, all I wanted was to spend a week alone on this beach. And I was enjoying it alone, but being alone together feels better.
I’ve never known someone who knew how to let me be alone with him, a man confident enough to not prod for constant reassurance. Someone who could make being stuck at the airport feel like a vacation. One who could make me feel at home, even in a place I hardly know.
When Zane says they should get back for dinner, we all gather our things. I hadn’t planned to leave the beach yet, but I don’t want to stay by myself anymore. I’ll go to my room and finish my book. Maybe I’ll order room service.
“Are you free to go sailing tomorrow?”
“No,” Izzie huffs. “Tomorrow’s Monday, loser. I have school.”
“I was talking to her.”
“Oh, right,” she says, taking a step back.
Zane closes the space between us. “I’ll have breakfast with Mom and visit with her for a few hours, but I could pick you up at your hotel around ten. She’ll need to rest for a while.”
“Yeah, I’m free.”
“See you at ten.”
He kisses me sweetly, but I can feel the want-to in it, as in wanting to kiss me harder. Or maybe that’s my own want-to I’m feeling.
Before we can go our separate ways, Izzie says, “Zane has something he wants to ask you.”
He shakes his head. “Izzie . . .”
“Just ask her. She’s right here.”
“Adults don’t do that, okay?”
“Then how do you ever know if you’re dating someone if you never talk about it?”
“We talk about it. It’s just different. And after much more time has passed.”
“Wow,” she says. “I’m pretty sure she knows what the question is by now. And you’re still just going to stand there and refuse to ask her? What’s she supposed to think about that? That you don’t want her to be your girlfriend? Why should she waste her time with you then? Bet that sailing date is about to get canceled.”
Zane looks like he’s praying for a sinkhole to open under his feet.
“Zane Jacoby, do you want to be my vacation boyfriend?”
“Yes, Darby Bartlett, I will be your vacation boyfriend.”
He kisses me again, and this time we both unleash all our want-to. Until Izzie says, “Okay, okay. We get it. The whole beach gets it. Unlock your lips so you can invite her to dinner at the house.”
We end the kiss. “No, I can’t do that,” I say.
“You don’t have a choice,” Izzie says. “Mom likes to meet all his girlfriends.”
“Izzie . . .” he says again, his voice more exasperated than before.
“Just invite the poor woman to dinner before she has to invite herself! We both know we’re not leaving this beach until you’ve invited her. I’m asking on Mom’s behalf.”
Expert level manipulation. I’d expect nothing less from her.
“Darby, would you please come to dinner at my parents’ house tonight? I’ll text you the address. You can come just like you are. We’re a casual bunch, I promise.”
“Yeah,” Izzie says. “I guarantee neither one of us plans on changing before dinner.”
I can’t believe I’m about to meet his parents with beach hair. “I have to go up to my room and rinse off.”
“Nope,” he says. “We have an outdoor shower. You can rinse off there just like us.”
“But I should change into a clean sundress at least.”
“Just shake out the sand,” Izzie says. “Live like a Jacoby.”
“From what your brother has said about him, your dad doesn’t sound like a shake-out-the-sand kind of guy.”
“Yeah, but he knows he’s outnumbered. See you at the house.” She walks away as if it’s been settled.
Zane smiles. “She’s right. I’ll wait for you out front.”
“Thanks. I think.”
He leans in and whispers, “We can shower together after dinner. In your hotel room.”
As I’m saying my goodbyes to his family, Mr. Jacoby says, “Darby, you’ll have to join us for Christine’s birthday party tomorrow night. I’m making my famous Bolognese sauce. You can tell us how you liked sailing.”
His dad is so much warmer than I expected. He’s just a little more reserved than the rest of them, that’s all.
“Yes, we need to hear all about it,” Mrs. Jacoby, who insists I should call her Christine, says. “Come to my party. There will be chocolate cake.”
She hardly ate anything at all tonight, and I know she’s exhausted. I can’t imagine how she’s going to be up for a party. But Zane told me while we cleaned up the kitchen that she loves to entertain. He said having a guest for dinner was probably really good for her, and she should have a little more energy by tomorrow.
“I’d love to come,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Stay sexy and don’t get murdered!” Izzie calls as she bounds up the stairs.
Their father rolls his eyes.
Christine laughs and says, “That’s from a podcast she and I like.”
“She knows, Mom. She listens to it, too.” Zane’s voice is soft like he approves, but I know he’s rolling his eyes internally.
Who knew a murder podcast could be endearing?
As I walk to my car, leaving their incredible house and Zane’s incredible family behind, I’m glad I didn’t try to be nicer to him when we met. It would’ve been fake. And he would’ve known immediately. He might’ve left me alone.
My phone lights up with a message when I reach for my car door.
Don’t start the shower without me. And you still owe me a backrub, by the way.
Eleven Days Later
“You know,” I say. “I wouldn’t book myself into a middle seat for just anyone.”
Zane pulls down the window shade. “I wouldn’t normally let my seatmate hog the armrest.”
“I extended my vacation just so I could fly back with you.”
“You’re unemployed.”
“Not anymore. I’m a senior PR rep.” I smile, knowing a smaller firm with a woman at the helm is the right choice for me. My new job comes with a higher salary than the place that proved how disposable I was by handing my position to a less qualified man. It’s still less than I would’ve gotten with the other firm who offered, but there are more important things than money.
The pilot warns us that we may fly through some rough weather, so the seatbelt sign will be on for most of the flight. She assures us that she’ll take us around the worst of it, but there will probably be a few bumps.
Zane squeezes my hand as if to reassure me I’m safe. He can’t help himself. He’s a protector, but I’m not worried about a little turbulence.
The world would be a boring place with nothing but clear skies and smooth sailing. And sometimes, delays and detours create the best memories.