25. Ellie #2
“Do not negotiate past breakfast.”
“I would never.”
“That is clearly untrue.”
I pulled the T-shirt over her head before she could answer.
The kiss that followed was not careful.
We had attempted careful at the seawall and in the kitchen. Now Annie’s hands moved across my skin with familiar confidence, interrupted by moments when she paused and searched my face as though checking whether I had changed my mind.
I had not.
We undressed between kisses and several collisions with the furniture. Annie struck her knee against the bedframe and swore into my shoulder.
“You warned me about the steps,” she whispered.
“The bed has developed defensive measures.”
“I feel unwelcome.”
I pushed her backward onto the mattress.
“That should clarify matters.”
“It does.”
The first time we slept together, I had known Annie for only a few days and believed I understood the parts that mattered.
This time, I knew more and trusted less, but she was not asking me to ignore either fact.
Her mouth moved along my throat. My fingers tightened in her hair, and every thought I had used to protect myself became harder to hold onto.
There was nothing cautious about wanting her.
The caution existed around it, in the questions we had not answered and the promises neither of us was ready to make.
Annie said my name against my skin, without turning it into a performance or a vow, and I pulled her closer until there was no useful distance left between us.
Later, we lay beneath the sheet while the ceiling fan clicked once during every rotation.
Annie listened to it for several minutes.
“That fan requires attention.”
“It has always clicked.”
“It sounds like it is counting something.”
“Possibly your remaining hours here.”
“That became dark.”
“I’m tired.”
She turned onto her side.
“Do you regret this?”
The question came quickly.
My answer did too.
“No.”
Annie’s shoulders lowered.
“I’m not regretting it,” I said again. “I may become complicated in the morning.”
“I expect complexity.”
“You say that now.”
“I met your parents.”
“Fair.”
Her fingers moved lightly across the inside of my wrist.
“What are we doing?”
There it was.
The question we had avoided at the seawall.
“You said you wanted to date me.”
“I do.”
“I invited you back, kissed you, and removed you from the spare room.”
“All true.”
“That seems consistent with dating.”
“Should we notify anyone?”
“No.”
“Then we’re dating.”
I looked at her.
“That sounded suspiciously confident.”
“I was afraid hesitation would produce another policy.”
“That remains possible.”
Annie smiled.
“We’re dating.”
The words did not transform the room. No music began, the ceiling fan continued clicking, and I still had to wake at six-thirty for the morning boat.
“That sounds strange,” I said.
“We can call it something else.”
“No. Leave it alone before you damage it.”
She kissed the inside of my wrist.
“Understood.”
In the morning, I woke to an empty space beside me and the smell of something burning.
I found Annie in the kitchen wearing yesterday’s T-shirt and staring into a frying pan.
Smoke rose from one side.
“What are you doing?”
“Making eggs.”
“You are conducting an attack.”
“The stove is more powerful than expected.”
“You turned the burner to maximum.”
“I wanted efficiency.”
I switched it off and opened the window.
One side of the eggs was black. The other still moved when the pan tilted.
“You have achieved both carbon and a public-health concern.”
“I was attempting contrast.”
“We’re eating at Rosa’s.”
Annie examined the pan.
“Could this be repaired?”
“No.”
“That feels final.”
“It is breakfast, not a relationship.”
She looked at me.
“I was not going to make the comparison.”
“You thought about it.”
“Briefly.”
At the café, Rosa looked at us once and placed two egg sandwiches on the counter.
“You burned food,” she said to Annie.
“The stove misunderstood my intentions.”
“Stove has judgment.”
Hank entered behind us with Captain Pancake, who immediately pressed his body against Annie’s legs.
Rosa looked at me.
“She slept at your house?”
“I live at my house.”
“That is not answer.”
“It is the answer available.”
Rosa smiled and poured coffee.
Nothing else happened.
There was no announcement, no interrogation, and no island-wide celebration. Hank fed Captain Pancake a piece of egg while pretending not to, and Annie finished her sandwich without dropping any of it.
At Reef Rascal, the morning rush began before I had unlocked the equipment cage.
A family of four needed snorkel sizes. Two divers arrived without their certification cards. Mateo could not find the fuel receipt, though it was later discovered in his own wallet.
Annie stood near the counter, uncertain where to put herself.
“What can I do?”
I handed her a stack of rental forms.
“Check that every box is complete. Do not accept signatures from children, dogs, or anyone claiming paperwork interferes with spiritual freedom.”
“That sounds specific.”
“Experience creates policy.”
She took the forms.
A girl near the fin rack stared at her for almost a minute before approaching.
“Are you Savannah Brooks?”
Annie glanced at me, not for permission but to check whether the room required anything different from her.
“Yes.”
The girl’s eyes widened.
“Why are you working here?”
“I’m not qualified to call this working.”
I handed Annie the sizing chart.
“She’s helping with fins.”
Annie crouched beside the rack.
“What size shoe do you wear?”
The girl held up one foot as if visual inspection would provide the answer.
“Seven.”
Annie selected a pair, checked the label, and handed them over.
The girl tried them on.
“They fit.”
“I have concealed talents.”
The girl’s mother asked for a photograph. Annie agreed, took it near the front window, and then returned to the rental forms without turning the moment into anything larger.
At nine-thirty, Rachel texted to confirm she remained alive.
Annie sent her a photograph of Captain Pancake sitting on one foot, placed the phone facedown, and went back to checking forms.
One customer had signed on the wrong line.
Another had forgotten the emergency contact.
Annie found both.
“You’re alarmingly good at this,” I said.
“I have signed many contracts.”
“That is not the same skill.”
“I recognize an empty box.”
Hank passed behind us carrying two tanks.
“Can she stay?”
“She has a flight tomorrow.”
“I meant eventually.”
Annie looked at me but did not answer for us.
“I’m visiting her next,” I said.
The sentence surprised me slightly after it left.
Annie’s face changed.
“When?”
“I have four free days next month.”
“You never mentioned them.”
“I’m mentioning them now.”
“I can clear the calendar.”
“You already cleared it.”
“I can improve the furniture.”
“Do not. I need to inspect the original damage.”
Annie smiled.
“Send me the dates?”
“Yes.”
Hank nodded as if a commercial agreement had been completed, then continued toward the boat.
A new family entered before Annie could say anything else.
The father looked from her to me as recognition began to form on his face.
I lifted the next set of waivers.
“This is Annie,” I said. “She’ll help you with the fins.”
Annie took the sizing chart from the counter.
The youngest child held up one bare foot.
She crouched beside the rack.
“Let’s find one that fits.”