8. Michael #2
I suppress a smile, because Matt was able to catch onto Diana’s habit to downplay the importance of her own happiness just like I have.
“Um,” she says, scratching the side of her nose.
“It’s mostly been busy for me, too. I’m either working or with the girls, so I haven’t had much time to explore the towns or anything.
This is actually my first time at the beach in the entire six weeks I’ve been here. Or at least since Barbara’s wedding.”
“Wait, really? Well, thankfully you have this guy over here to invite you out to these types of events, am I right?” Matt slaps me on the back. I glare back at him. “He’s just so nice and generous.”
Diana presses her lips together, suppressing a knowing smile when her gaze meets mine, right before turning back to Matt. “Oh, yes. Michael has been an absolute treat.” She laughs.
“Hey,” I grumble. “I thought we were in a truce. Or at least moving towards a friendship?” Sigh. I hate this. I hate that I want her to like me.
“I’m just joking.” She lightly elbows me in the side with a laugh. “Michael has been really nice. Lately, at least. And inviting us to this was super sweet of him. Otherwise, my daughters and I probably would’ve just stayed at home after hitting the parade.”
“Not a chance. I never would have let that happen.” I say it with such conviction, I even surprise myself.
Matt laughs and raises his brows at me. “Alright, then. Well, I need to go find my wife and ask whether I can get her anything to eat. Food is her love language. It was really nice seeing you. I’ll tell Liza to come say hi.”
“I’d love that.” She smiles—that perfect, open smile I wish she’d give me just once.
Matt leaves us by the edge of the group of umbrellas, walking away with a knowing smirk.
Fucker.
Diana looks around our set-up. “This looks incredible. Like something out of Martha Stewart or Ina Garten. Did you do all this?”
I turn and look around, filled with pride. A normal man might feel insecure after being compared to those two legendary women, but I’m not closed-minded to let it affect me. “Yeah, but Lexi and her wife helped.”
“Lexi?”
“My cousin. Business partner, too. She’s married to Lauren, over there.” I point to where they both stand, huddled next to one of the coolers. When I catch them staring, they quickly turn and face different directions.
Smooth.
“Ah.” Diana shifts her canvas tote from one shoulder to the other, and that’s when I see the welts it’s left on her skin.
“Jesus, that’s just from carrying this from the parking lot to here? It’s that heavy?”
“It’s got all the girls’ stuff. And mine.”
“Give me that; let’s set it down.” In an uncharacteristic move, Diana lets me help her by gently pulling the bag off her shoulders.
“Careful. There’s an apple pie in there, too.”
“You shouldn’t have—really. I told you in my text last night we were more than good on food.”
“I know. And I know it’s extremely lame to bring a store-bought apple pie compared to all this, but it goes against every grain in my body to just show up with three hungry people and nothing else.”
I laugh, and pull out the pie box from inside the tote and place it over one of the coolers.
“Two kids is the equivalent of, like, one adult, so it’s not a big deal at all,” I joke.
She snorts. “And I’m sorry to disappoint you if you guys are already hungry, but the food isn’t ready yet,” I say with a grimace, cursing myself for not setting up earlier.
“We were hoping to have the actual food for sunset, and that’s a few hours away.
But we have snacks and drinks and stuff.
Can I get you anything while we get the grill going? ”
“What is everyone having?” She looks around the group. The wind whips at her loose curls, finally free of a bun. And I love it. Am obsessed with the way her long, dark hair falls over her shoulders, the way it makes her look a bit more unwound—carefree. As she always should be.
I take this time to look at her—really look at her. Soak in the glow of her skin and the small mole right above her lip. The delicate curve of her neck. The way her chocolate brown eyes squint in the sun while she holds a hand up to protect herself from the rays.
“Michael?” she asks, breaking through my wayward thoughts.
“Mmm?”
“I was just asking what snacks you have?”
“Ah. Yes. Well. Hummus and carrots and chips and some other stuff.”
She makes a face. “Do you have something a little more refreshing?”
I laugh. “Would you like to see a menu?”
She blushes and shakes her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s clear you’ve done… so much work for this.” She looks around at our set-up.
I laugh, and reach out to touch her wrist, but immediately pull my hand away. “Hey, I was just joking.”
She sighs. “Sorry. I’m just having a particularly exhausting day. I was trying to catch up with work and some coursework. And it’s really so hot…” She shakes her head. “I honestly can’t wait to get in the ocean.”
I suppress a groan because I just know I’m going to fucking die the second I see her wet in that red bikini like some sort of scene out of Baywatch. But better.
“So you obviously need a pick-me-up,” I say, trying to steer my brain away from my imagination and back to the present.
I lead her over to one of our larger coolers, pop it open, and dig through the ice almost all the way to the bottom, wincing at the cold ache in my joints, the blade-like slice of ice over my skin.
After a few moments of painful digging, I pull out just what I was looking for.
The look of pure happiness on Diana’s face brings me more satisfaction than I’m comfortable with, the way my chest tightens leaving me a bit disoriented.
“A bomb pop?” She gasps, reaching quickly for the red, white, and blue popsicle.
Her enthusiasm makes me laugh again. She’s so fucking adorable when she’s happy, and it’s addictive to help make it happen. “Yes and no. It’s one of the healthy ones because I’m trying to be a responsible parent. Sugar free. But yeah.”
“Oh my god, yes. When we first moved to the US, these quickly became one of my favorite things.”
“How old were you when you moved to the US?”
“Mmm, around thirteen?”
“Really?” I inhale sharply, a surge of happiness coursing through me from peeling back another layer of who Diana is. She’s been such a mystery since the beginning of the summer, only showing me pieces of her—and reluctantly so. The thrill of this discovery is surprising.
“Mmhmm. We moved here because of my dad’s job. And because it really wasn’t very safe for us back home.”
“So that’s where your accent comes from.” I grin.
Diana glares. “I don’t have an accent. I’ve worked really hard not to have one.”
I exhale a laugh. “You do have one. But barely. And what’s wrong with having an accent? It shows you know more than one language, which is super cool. Honestly, it’s—”
Diana licks the cherry and lemonade popsicle from bottom to tip, my entire system short-circuiting.
Is she doing this in slow motion? Is this a fever dream?
Am I dead and in heaven? Or possibly hell and being tortured?
Because in the split second it takes for me to process the fact that she’s going to keep licking the popsicle, I realize it’s going to be next to impossible to continue to formulate any type of rational thought, let alone carry a conversation.
“Michael? Are you okay?” she asks, finally pulling her lips away from the popsicle.
Seriously, what the fuck was I thinking giving her one of those? It’s an obscene food. She’s too hot for it.
I make a mental note not to offer her a hot dog or any other phallic shaped foods in the future. At least not while we’re in public. “Uh. Yeah. Just… lost my train of thought.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “I can see that.” She reaches out to place the back of her hand against my cheek, but I physically recoil.
“Have you been drinking any water? You’ve been out in the sun for a while, right?
Why don’t we sit under the umbrellas in the shade and get you something cold to drink? ”