Chapter 6
Conditions ideal to decline an invitation
Heat clings to my shoulders around the straps of my swimsuit. I grimace. My skin is toasted and tender when I press my fingers down. I’ve lingered on the beach too long this morning, but…
Five more minutes?
A few families have settled on the beach.
Children wobble across the sand with their buckets in hand and shriek when the tide creeps into the moats surrounding their lopsided castles.
I’m well past the age of my parents waving me back to shore.
I adjust my goggles and take a deep breath before bobbing back below the waves.
I’m alive here.
The water is so clear. From the beach, this spot looks like curved glass, pale blue aquamarine, but underneath, in a tumble of limbs and a fan of hair, I can pretend I’m a mermaid like I did when I was a child.
I need carefree moments like these sometimes. The knot that tightens in my stomach whenever my thoughts drift to the future is getting harder to ignore.
God.
What future?
I’m more lost at thirty than I was at seventeen.
Thirteen years later, what do I have to show for all my careful planning?
A divorce. An ex-husband about to break onto the Top 100 Rich List for the first time, while I get excited about buying a nice cut of steak instead of ground beef.
My parents even struggle to lecture me about my wasted potential these days.
“Elspeth,” Mum sighs every week when I call her. “You need direction.”
But do I?
Maybe this murky sort of hopelessness is my future?
Three degrees collect dust in a box under my bed.
Sure, moving to the beach came with sacrifices, but it’s not like my job at the university was going anywhere.
I reached the highest rung on the ladder I could without finishing a PhD, and the thought of endlessly chasing grants or schmoozing at conferences makes me want to crawl inside a wall and never come out. No, thank you. The clinic, it is.
The direction of the world—and just how quickly technology is leaving me behind—is even more bleak.
But in the water, I forget all that. It’s probably why I stay too long.
Here, I’m just Elsie.
It’s okay if I don’t have everything figured out.
I’m graceful. Weightless, even. But I can’t float on the waves pretending my problems don’t exist forever.
My fingers are prunes, and the prickle of sunburn is the final warning to head home before I’m less of a mermaid and more like a boiled lobster.
I shake the sand off my towel. After wrapping it around me with a careful tuck, the cloth is secure and snug over my chest. I scoop up my bag. There’s no point attempting to tame my hair. No brush will survive being dragged through all the knots when the tangles are still wet.
My flip-flops slap against the sidewalk in weary steps. Walking home always takes longer.
“Elsie!” a familiar voice calls.
I groan.
Why me?
When I’m looking like this?
I glare at the clouds. “Grandpa,” I whisper through gritted teeth. “Quit it with the life lessons from Heaven, will you?”
“Elsie!” Luke calls again. “Wait up!”
I almost resist the urge to turn my head.
Almost.
Luke breaks away from the crowd gathered around the volleyball net and jogs over from the beach. Kristen’s there. She throws her head back with a dramatic eye roll, but he’s the one my gaze locks onto.
Every ancient tale about impossibly beautiful men—and every marble statue I admired when I wandered around museums overseas—comes rushing back when I see him.
Broad shoulders. Bronze skin. He’s shirtless, and those red board shorts leave little to the imagination.
I gulp. It doesn’t help that I’ve seen the uncensored version. The man is—unfairly—gorgeous.
I yank my towel up to cover as much of myself as possible.
“He can’t be too worried about the reporter…” I mumble.
Maybe his fear of tabloid journalism only extends to stories about women who score low on one of his scales.
I’d argue Kristen’s personality is a train wreck as well.
She’s mean. Girls were nicer to me in high school—and that’s not saying much.
But I can’t deny she has the perfect body to fill out her teeny-tiny white bikini…
even if her fake tan is the same shade as the glaze on my mother’s meatloaf.
Luke jogs beside me. “Hey there.” He has the audacity to not even be a little out of breath.
“Hi,” I grumble.
“Did you go for a swim?”
“No. The salon carefully styled my hair to resemble a drowned rat.”
He laughs only until I spear him with a glare over my sunburnt shoulder. “Why don’t you come over?” he says. “Join us for a game.”
“I’d hate to show you all up with my athletic prowess.”
“Okay, skip the volleyball. Walk with me to the cafe.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Together?”
“We can share a smoothie. One cup, two straws.”
“In public?”
“You don’t get more public than the cafe on a Saturday.”
“Won’t that look like we’re in”—I fake a horrified gasp—“a relationship?”
“Maybe that’s what I want.”
Oh, he’s decided, has he? “I didn’t realize our arrangement was a totalitarian regime.”
“Pardon?”
I sigh. “Did you ever stop to think about what I want?”
Luke halts mid-step. “I…”
Of course, he hasn’t. Solar systems literally revolve around stars like this man. “I agreed to your arrangement, remember? Despite our escapades in your bedroom, I’m sure you’ve realized I’m hardly Peggy Guggenheim by now.”
“Guggenheim? Like…the museum?”
“The museum is named after her uncle. Peggy… She appreciated art, but she was also known for being rather…free…with her affection for men.”
“And you, my little gem, are rather selective.”
I turn and carefully scan his face. Curious. So, he does know me. “I am. Did you ever wonder why I agreed to your arrangement then?”
“Ah…” He covers the shock of being put on the spot with quick blinks. “You think I’m sexy?” He smirks.
“Keanu Reeves is sexy, and I wouldn’t agree to his penis going anywhere near—”
“Els, bloody hell. Not in public.” Luke’s cheeks darken, and he waves at his nether regions. “I’d prefer not to embarrass myself.”
“Shouldn’t your size make you less embarrassed?”
Luke’s mouth is a stern line when he holds up his index finger. “No more dirty talk.”
“Please,” I scoff. “That was very tame.”
“No more.”
“Whatever you say, chef.”
Luke likes me calling him that too much. I want to wipe the enormous grin off his face. “Explain it to me then,” he says. “Why did you agree to my arrangement?”
My heart seizes in my chest. How do I get out of this mess? He doesn’t get to know my secrets after he tore me to shreds in front of Kristen…and who knows who else.
“I was new in town,” I say.
“That’s not the reason.”
“I make poor choices in men when I’m ovulating.”
He barks a laugh. “The Elsie Hoskins version of horny, huh?”
“Biology is a cruel mistress.”
“Come on. Tell me. You’re not impressed with fame, and I’m pretty sure you don’t give a crap about my money. You were polite and paid me some generic compliments, but you barely blinked when you walked into my place. So, then, what about me tempted you into my bed?”
“You’re…okay looking.”
“So, you’re admitting I’m handsome?”
“You wish. A four. Maybe. On a good day, a five.”
“Uh-huh.”
His grin softens to a smile that’s almost heartbreaking.
Who is this version of Luke? I glimpsed it before.
Once. One night after…well, after. His fingers gently traced my cheek before he asked me if I wanted to stay over.
I was quick to say no. Cuddling leads to feelings, and that was never part of the arrangement. He said so himself.
“Do you want to know what I think?” Luke says.
I clutch the towel to my chest like it’s armor. “No.”
“I think that…maybe…” He dips his head closer, his words just for me. “You’re as lonely as I am.”
My shoulders are on fire, but a chill slides down my spine. Keep walking. I suck in a deep breath. Do not react.
Luke doesn’t just listen to me about books. He sees me. He understands. And it’s so much worse than being mocked about my clothes or how I look on the outside.
“I’ve got to go,” I mumble.
Wincing as the cotton handle scrapes against my sunburn, I hitch my bag higher on my shoulder and push past him. I can’t look back. I want to finish my Saturday with some of my dignity intact.