13. More Empirical Proof That One Truly Is the Best Number…
13
More Empirical Proof That One Truly Is the Best Number…
Mac
The sun is low in the sky by the time we finally reach the beach. My back hurts and my arms feel like they could fall off, but that is information I will never share with Paige, on account of her thinking there’s something wrong with her as far as her weight goes. The truth is, I’d be sore and tired if I carried anyone down that mountain, including Lisa Loeb. It was a freaking long way. Also true? That she’s perfect as is. She’s got curves for days—the kind you could really take your time exploring. But that’s not what I should be thinking about right now, because we’ve got some serious problems to deal with—the most urgent one being that nasty gash on her knee. If that gets infected, it’s not as if I can just zip over to a doctor with her. Worst case scenario, she could wind up with sepsis. Not that it’s likely, but it’s something I have to keep an eye on.
Speaking of keeping my eye on things, I can’t seem to stop glancing at her. It’s quickly become an uncontrollable reflex. I glance at her lips, then look away. Then her eyes, her cheeks, her chest. She’s got a little sprinkle of freckles across her nose and on her upper chest that you can’t see unless you’re close-up. Especially not through that spray tan. But having her here in my arms allows me a unique vantage point, a window into how she normally looks—pale, freckled, and really, really pretty. She might irritate the hell out of me, but it’s in the best way possible. It’s in that way that makes me want to press her up against the wall and do all sorts of ‘things to her body’ that you wouldn’t do without permission. My mind flashes on the conversation about permission and takes me down a twisty, curvy path it shouldn’t be on.
A while ago, there was a shift in the tension between us. It’s as if we’re both too tired and worn out to be annoyed with each other anymore. There’s something softer about her now. I suppose I could chalk it up to her being grateful that I’m carrying her. But it feels like something more.
“We’re almost there,” she says, smiling up at me.
“Yup. Freedom might be just around the bend.”
Her smile falters a little, but she quickly recovers. “Fingers crossed someone will be there.”
“Yup. Or maybe a HAM radio, if we’re lucky.”
“That would work too.”
I look over at Tweety while I trudge through the sand past her. She looks broken and fragile, and the sight of my plane like that makes my stomach tighten.
As if Paige can read my mind, she says, “I’m sorry about Tweety.”
I break my gaze from the plane to look back at Paige. “I’m sorry you’re stranded with me.”
She gives me a little grin. “I don’t know, there are worse people I could be stranded with. Like my asshole boss, for example,” she says, referring to our conversation from last night.
I chuckle a little, then say, “Well, I’m glad I’m above him on the list of people you’d hate to be stuck with.”
“You’re way higher than him. Especially after fixing up my wound and carrying me down an entire mountain.”
“It was only halfway down.”
“Still, extremely impressive,” she says. “And kind.”
“Do me a favor and don’t tell anyone. The last thing I need is people thinking I’m nice.” I stare at her again, this time not even bothering to look away like I should. And she’s staring right back. Her eyes dart down to my lips, then she looks away.
We’re both silent for the few minutes it takes me to walk around the bend. As soon as we round the corner, the cottage comes into view. It’s nothing much to look at, but with everything we’ve been through, it’s paradise to me. It’s a small, white house with a red clay roof and a wrap-around porch with a couple of Adirondack chairs on it. A hammock sways between two palms, and a couple of lounge chairs wait in the shade for us. It’s so close to the plane that I almost burst out laughing at the irony. I can tell by the look on her face that she’s thinking the same thing.
I grin at her. “Go ahead and say it.”
“Say what?” she asks innocently, even though there’s a definite twinkle in her eye.
“Say you told me so.”
“I would never,” she answers, trying to suppress a smile. “Only a total jerk would bring up the fact that she suggested taking a quick peek around the corner, but that you insisted on taking a grueling day-long hike instead.”
We exchange a look, then we both start to laugh. When we finish, I say, “So nice of you not to rub it in. ”
When we reach the house, I take the two steps up onto the porch, then set her down on one of the two Adirondack chairs, my arms suddenly empty. Taking off the backpack, I set it on the porch near her and knock on the door, even though there is a zero-percent chance someone is here. I peer in the window to see a small kitchen and a living room, but no people.
Paige turns around in her chair and looks inside. “I think you’re right. No one is here.”
She lets out a sigh and chews on her lip.
Hating to see her so disappointed, I say, “There could be a radio inside.”
“Right, yeah,” she answers, trying to smile again. “Fingers crossed. So? Do you think they left a key hidden somewhere?”
“Nope.” I reach for the door handle, turn the knob, and push the door open. “I don’t think they even have a lock.”
“No lock? That’s insane.”
Shrugging, I say, “I never lock my door.”
“Huh. Imagine that. I’m always worried about someone breaking into my apartment,” she says, standing up and hopping to the door.
“Seems like a crime that people have to live that way.” I pick up my backpack and step inside while Paige follows me, using the wall to help prop her up.
I set my bag down on the plank floor. To the right is a small sitting area made up of a wicker love seat with colorful striped cushions, a rectangular wooden coffee table painted white, and a rocking chair. To the left is a tiny kitchen with a dark blue tile countertop and a sink under a small window overlooking the beach. An apartment-sized fridge stands silently next to the cupboards, waiting to be plugged in. A wooden table for two sits in front of a window facing the sea. The table has been painted aqua blue, and has two metal chairs with orange upholstery tucked under it. I walk down the short hallway opposite the front door to find a storage closet that holds a broom, a dustpan, some towels and linens. Next to the closet is a bathroom with a stand-up shower, a sink, and a toilet, and across the hall is a bedroom with a double bed.
I walk back into the kitchen and find Paige standing in front of the cupboard with her left foot up in the air behind her. “Is there a bathroom?”
I hurry over to her in case she loses her balance. “Yup. There’s even a shower. Only one bedroom though. Kind of a small bed, actually.”
“You didn’t happen to find a phone or a radio, did you?”
“No, sorry. I have a feeling whoever owns this place comes here to completely escape.”
She nods, and I can tell she’s doing her best not to look upset, even though the radio was our last chance at getting the word out to her family that she’s here. “It was a long shot anyway.”
Wanting to pull her in for a long hug, I force myself to keep my hands at my sides. “I know it’s disappointing for you.”
“For you, too.”
“Yeah, but it’s not the same for me. I know how badly you want to get word to your family,” I tell her.
Tears threaten to spill from her eyes, so Paige returns her gaze to the cupboard. There’s a big bag of rice, a bag of oats, spaghetti noodles, tomato sauce, a few boxes of pancake mix, and a bottle of maple syrup. She picks up one of the boxes of pancake mix and checks the date. “We’re in luck. It’s not expired.”
“Pancakes for supper?” I ask .
She gives me a small smile even though I know she’s probably devastated. “That is literally my favorite dinner.”
Wanting to do anything I can to make her feel better, I say, “Okay, why don’t you have a seat and relax for a bit while I go see if there’s a hot water tank outside.”
I dig around in the drawer and find a box of matches, then go outside and walk to the back, where I find a shed that’s been built against the back of the house. In it, I find a hot water tank and a water filtration system, as well as some shelves with a few random items. I light the water tank, hoping it’ll heat up fast.
When I walk back inside, I find Paige bent over, plugging in the refrigerator. I tell myself not to gaze at her bottom, but my eyes aren’t taking orders right now. That is one nice ass. She stands and grips the chair, using it to prop her up while she hops over to the cupboard to get down a bowl.
I walk over and take the bowl from her. “How about I cook and you go shower? I turned on the hot water, so it should be ready in a few minutes.”
She gets a dreamy look on her face, then says. “You shower. I’ll cook. It’s the least I can do after you spent half the day carrying me.”
“I’m not going to go shower while you’re standing in front of the stove on that ankle. You need to rest it.”
Grinning up at me, she says, “You just can’t stand the smell of me.”
“Not at all, New York. You smell like daisies.”
“Liar. I reek.”
Moving a little closer to her, I say, “I’d still do you.”
Oh, crap. That was out of line, and the way her eyes are popping out of her head tells me she thinks so too. I need to fix this. Now. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. ”
She shrugs and laughs a little. “Don’t worry about it. A girl could use a little ego boost every now and then.”
“I’m sure your ego gets boosted all the time.”
She blushes and looks down at the floor. “Not really.”
For some reason, I can’t stand the look on her face. It’s as if she thinks she’s somehow not good enough. “Well, that’s an even bigger crime than needing to lock your doors.”
I need to stop hitting on Paige. No gazing. No flirting. No touching her unnecessarily. No matter how much I want her. If I don’t stop, things are going to get very complicated, very fast. I managed to get the hell out of the house as soon as I said that thing about it being a crime that she doesn’t get hit on more often, using the excuse that I should go back to the plane for her luggage. By the time I got back, she was in the bathroom and I’m now trying to focus all my attention on measuring out pancake mix.
I hear the water turn on down the hall, and the fact that she’s naked on the other side of the wall pops into my mind. Blowing out a long puff of air, I force myself not to think about her soaping up her body. Instead, I vigorously mix up the pancake batter.
My mind should be on figuring out a way off this island, but at the moment, I have no desire to leave. Shit. I really must be losing it if I want to prolong my time with Ms. High-Maintenance-Five-Year-Plan .
That’s it. By the time she comes back out, I’m going to be all business. I need to put the brakes on whatever this stupid feeling is, or I’m not getting off this island without complicating the hell out of my life. I hunt around until I find some powdered iced tea mix and a couple of glass beer steins. I mix up a glass for each of us, then set them on the table. Just as I’m flipping the last pancake, Paige comes out looking gorgeous, her wet hair falling around her shoulders. She’s dressed in a red tank top and some grey shorts. Her face is makeup free, and she looks fresh and lovely this way. She hops over to the table and sits down. Oh, crap. There’s that damn feeling again. Nip that in the bud, you idiot.
I lift the last pancake onto a plate and set it in front of her, then settle myself at the table across from her. “How was the shower?”
“Amazing,” she answers, that dreamy smile returning. “I hope whoever owns this place won’t mind that we’re using their things and eating their food.”
“I’m sure they’d understand.” I pour some syrup on my pancake, then hand it to her. “Here you go, Goldilocks.”
Now, why the hell did I say that? I’m flirting again.
She takes the jug, her face turning red to match her hair. “More like Orangylocks.”
I chuckle a little. “I don’t know, I’ve always been partial to gingers.” Dammit, stop that!
Paige blushes again as she pours syrup on her pancakes. “I don’t want to complain, but I much prefer real maple syrup to this imitation stuff.”
“What? No way. This is the real deal,” I answer. “And it costs a lot less.”
Shrugging, she says, “I guess it’s what you grow up with, right?”
“Yeah, I suppose,” I answer, knowing she’s the type who grew up with name brand everything. No thought to cost, only to what was the best, which is completely the opposite of how I was raised.
She takes a bite, then suddenly adopts the demeanor of a very serious businesswoman. “We should keep a tally of everything we use, so we’ll know exactly how much we owe the homeowner.”
I shrug, digging into my pancakes like a starving man, which I sort of am at the moment. “We can just leave a hundred bucks and call it even.”
She gives me a stern look, reminding me of a librarian when someone’s whispering too loud. “Do you have a hundred dollars on you?”
I stop midbite, and say, “No. You?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Well, a thank you note will have to suffice.”
“We can’t just leave a note. An imposition of this size requires cash.”
“Is that what they taught you at finishing school?” I ask. “Make sure you always travel with a hostess gift in case you’re ever stranded on a deserted island.”
Raising one eyebrow, she says, “You’re trying to get a rise out of me? Really?”
“It’s just so easy,” I say, having a sip of iced tea. “Besides, I’d rather see you mad than sad.”
“How about neither ?”
I scratch my head as though considering the question. “You mean like happy?”
“Yes, like happy,” she snaps. “Well, as happy as a person can be under the circumstances.”
I stare into her lovely green eyes. “I think a person could be pretty damn happy in this situation.”
“Not pretty damn happy,” she answers. “Just … you know … make-the-most-of-it happy.”
“Huh.” I stare at her for a moment, trying to figure her out. “So, you’re going to cap how good you let yourself feel based on the situation?”
“Yes,” she says, looking defensive. “It would be appalling for me to be overly thrilled right now. Not after missing my sister’s wedding, or when I’m stuck out here with you when I should be back home working.”
Stuck out here with me? Ouch. “Well, you go ahead and let yourself be at whatever level of happiness you believe to be appropriate. I’m going to go all-in and enjoy myself.”
Paige folds her arms across her chest. “Even though your plane is wrecked, we may never make it off this island, and if we do, your career might be over forever? You’re cool with all of that?”
“Yup. I am.”
“Bullshit.”
Shrugging, I say, “Believe what you want, I don’t really care. Every day you wake up on the right side of the grass is a good day.”
She stares at me, and somehow it feels almost as if she can see right into my soul. “That’s cute, but I’m not buying what you’re selling. Last night, you told me all about my life. Now, I’m going to tell you about yours. You pretend you’re living the dream—you’re single and free without a care in the world, right?”
“Yup,” I say, slicing into my pancake a little harder than necessary.
“That’s just a nice way of saying you’re completely alone in this world. At least my family might be looking for me as opposed to a gecko. You put on this whole devil-may-care act to hide the fact that you’re scared of having anything meaningful in your life. Instead, you spend your life alone, pretending you want it that way.”
I snort at her, even though her words are hitting a little too close to home. “I have plenty of meaningful relationships. They’re just short-lived. ”
Rolling her eyes, Paige says, “Of course you do. Well, then forgive me, because it turns out you do have it all figured out. Random flings are truly the secret to happiness.”
“At least I’ve had plenty of amazing sex.”
“Again, you definitely have life all figured out,” she says, her sarcasm scratching at my insides.
“You know what? You’re one to talk. I don’t see a ring on your finger either.”
“That’s just because the right man hasn’t come along yet. But someday I’m going to get married, and hopefully we’ll have a family and it’ll be wonderful. But you go ahead enjoying your short-lived, not-so-meaningful relationships.”
I give her a hard stare, then say, “You might be surprised to know I was married.”
“Really?” she says, looking genuinely shocked.
“Yup. For all of four years. She was a real go-getter like you. I had just started my own charter company when we met. Took out a big loan and bought a fleet of aircrafts. I was going to be the premier tour operator on the island when Hurricane Irene showed up and took everything out.” I glance out the window for a second before continuing. “She realized the safe money wasn’t with someone like me, it was with the insurance guy.”
Paige’s face falls. “She left you for your insurance adjuster?”
“Nope, the guy who owns the insurance company. At the exact moment when my life turned to shit.” I reach forward and stab another pancake from the pile, then let it flop onto my plate.
“Well, that was shitty of her, but it doesn’t mean every woman would do something like that.”
Pouring the syrup on it, I say, “I’m not blaming every woman. But I learned my lesson the first time. One and done.”
Paige starts to speak again, but I say, “One and done,” in a firm voice.
She stares at me for a second, then shrugs.
Good. We’ve now reached the best part of the conversation. The end.