Prologue #2
We go back to not talking. To my surprise, I don't mind it. He doesn't try to fill it, look over, or shift in a way that suggests he's about to ask a follow-up. He just sits there with the harbor in front of him, hands hanging.
I respect that more than I can explain to anyone.
"You're not from here," he says eventually.
I look out at the water. "Just arrived."
"From?"
I turn toward him. He’s watching me.
I’m not sure why that surprises me. He’s making conversation. One should always look at the person they’re speaking to, as I’ve learned from movies.
In Victor’s home, you stare at the floor and only speak when spoken to.
"Far away," I respond.
His lips curve into a smile, softening his strong jaw. With that stubble and muscles, he looks like he could be a cowboy. He doesn’t look like someone who belongs here. There’s an air about him. Something that makes me want to trust him.
Trust. That’s not a word I use very often.
He shrugs. "Fair enough."
I want to say something. I’m not good at conversation or getting to know people. I’ve not had good practice. I know how to listen. I’m good at that. But just for tonight, I want to try my hand at being Monique. I want to be someone who’s good at making conversation.
So I say, “Are you sad?”
He blinks at me. “I…I guess you could say that.”
I don’t bother taking a breath before asking the next question. “Why?”
“Buried my parents today.” He sighs. “Plane crash.”
“Oh…I’m sorry.” I look down at my fingers. I don’t know what to say now.
The silence settles between us. What would the new me do? Will I let the sadness swallow me alive? Or will I do something else about it?
Something else. I’ll do something else.
“What do you like to do?” I blurt out.
His eyelashes flutter. They’re surprisingly long lashes for such a masculine man. “What do you mean?”
“What’s something you enjoy doing?”
His eyes leave my face and drift toward the water. “I like to swim.”
“Oh…well, I can’t…”
His gaze snaps back to me. “You can’t swim?”
Heat floods my cheeks. I don’t know why I’m embarrassed. I can’t be the only person on the planet who can’t swim. “No…I, uh, I can’t.”
“Geez… That’s crazy.” He runs a hand through his dark curls. A stray strand of hair escapes and falls down his forehead. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you? So what do you like to do?”
“I don’t know,” I say before I can even think about it. I instantly regret my answer when I see his eyebrows rise.
“You don’t know?”
I shake my head. This isn’t going very well, new Monique. “I just…I like to…” I rack my brain for anything I enjoy doing and come up with the stupidest response. “I like to clean.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “You like to clean? That’s not really considered a hobby, is it?”
I purse my lips. A hot flush spreads through my chest, neck, and face. I want to lash out at him, and then I realize this is a normal conversation. This is how it goes. No one has to yell. Then it builds up.
Before I know it, I’m laughing alongside him.
“It’s what I enjoy. It’s very productive. You should try it sometime.” I glance down at his jacket. It looks expensive. Victor used to own one of those before he sold everything. “Although, I’m guessing you have people to do that for you.”
“Are you judging me?”
“If that's what you want to call it.” A thrill races through me. Yes! New Monique is doing it. “Didn’t peg you for someone with such a fragile ego.”
He laughs again. His gray eyes are clear now. They look less like rain and more like a light-blue cloud. Beautiful and full of promise.
“You’re really something, aren’t you?” He smiles at me. “What’s your name?”
I stop thinking, stop breathing, and answer, “Monique.”
He extends a hand. “Nice to meet you, Monique. I’m Weston. But you can call me Wes.”
I take his hand. It’s warm and soft. As soon as we make contact, I feel all sorts of things. Safe, happy, comfortable.
Trust. I think I can trust this man.
With my hands still in his, he pulls me up to my feet. He’s much taller than I am. Almost by a foot. I don’t feel intimidated or like prey underneath his gaze. His hands move to my hoodie. He takes it off. I don’t flinch or try to move away.
His fingers touch my chin gently and lift my face up to meet his eyes. I want so much to see the contours of his face, but he's standing with the lamp behind him.
Weston’s gaze moves down to my lips. I start to stand on the tips of my toes. I want this. New Monique wants this. This is something I would do. This is my awakening.
I was new to town when I met your father. I trusted him. He was kind to me. I wish I hadn’t.
I pull back immediately. His hands drop to his sides.
No. This is exactly what happened to my mom. She met a rich man one night and got swallowed whole by his world.
What about my world? My life? I’m just about to discover what that will look like.
"I can't do this," I say.
"Do what?" he asks, even though he already knows why. I can see it in his eyes.
I look at him for a long second. His face, which I'll probably never see again. “I can’t want things. I have a lot to lose.”
He's quiet.
I turn, pick up my bag, sling the strap across my chest, and walk back up the pier. I don’t look back. I’ve learned enough tonight about what happens when you do.
And new Monique still has a life to build.