Someone Else's Ocean(35)

“Wow.”

“Yeah, my favorite was Stevie Nicks. She is incredible.”

“So, your father knew rock stars and your mother was a model. Some childhood you must’ve had.”

“Yeah, their life.” I shrank in my seat. “Not mine.”

He smirked at me. “And you are the castaway.”

“And loving it.”

He raised a brow. “Right,” he said as he lifted his glass, “to the castaways.”

“To the black sheep.”

“Baaaa,” Ian belted out and we both burst into laughter.

“You look like you’re shedding a little wool,” I noted, glancing at his rapidly slimming physique.

“Yeah, and it’s hell,” he said, patting his stomach. “While you’re clearing naked dead men from rentals, I’m hauling my ass down the beach regretting about a thousand fast meals I ate during my divorce.”

“That bad?” I asked.

“That bad,” he muttered tonelessly as he studied the fire.

I picked up the wine this time. “But it didn’t kill you.”

“No, no it didn’t.”

So, what did?

Just on the tip of my tongue lay the intrusive words but there was no way I was breaking up the carefree vibe. I needed a reprieve from my own shit, just as much if not more than Ian did from anything that had to do with his hurts and I wasn’t about to stir things up. I’d watched him tax his troubles for weeks. And I considered every smile, every laugh that erupted out of him a small miracle.

“You know, professor, every day I woke up when I got here… I was just numb. I’d been blindsided. It took me weeks to truly see the ocean and feel the sun on my face.”

“I’m there.” We exchanged a long look before he spoke. “It’s a shame it wasn’t the flying sand ball that did the trick.” He smirked before he took a sip of wine.

“Yeah,” I winced. “Not my finest moment. I’m sorry.”

“I deserved it.” He hesitated. “I have to admit, I was a bit resentful toward you when I arrived.”

I gawked at him. “What in the world for?”

He leaned in toward me. “You know.”

“No clue. My great taste in music?”

“No, I kind of like your nightly concerts,” he said pensively. “You just…”

“Yes?” I drew out the word.

“You were all sunshine and smiles, just so fucking happy,” he said with slight humor. “I wanted no part of it, still don’t. I’m allergic.”

“How inconsiderate of me.” Still, his words stunned me and inwardly I beamed at his confession.

He gauged my repressed elation. “I don’t expect you to apologize for being happy, Koti.”

“Ha!” I said remembering my episode earlier that day. “Please don’t take this the wrong way but you have no idea what you’re saying.”

“I’m pretty sure I may sneeze if you smile any wider. I can count your teeth.”

“It’s the wine.”

“You’re happy here,” he said looking back at our matching houses. “And I want some of that for myself.”

I sat up in my seat, leaned over and gripped his hand. He flinched and turned to face me. “It’s already yours.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re so sure.”

“I am. Trust me, okay?”

He pushed the hair that stuck to my gloss away from my lips. And it took every bit of strength I had not to lean into his touch.

“You sure about everything, Koti?”

Buzzed, I willed myself away from his lingering fingers. “Lord, no. I had an anxiety attack today when I saw a dead man on a sun chair. I’m afraid of my own shadow some days and I blur out the bad parts as quick as they come, but I know this island and it’s magical healing powers. This has nothing to do with me. I don’t have the answer to anything. But here, this place is where everything wrong can be made right.”

“I’ll just choose to believe you.”

“Hmmm, you’re a skeptic.”

“Realist.”

“Okay, tell me this. Of all the places in the world you could have fled to, why did you come here?”

Ian sat back and harrumphed. “I never thought about it.”

“Because you remember being happy here.”

“I guess so.”

“Me too. I hadn’t been back since I was seventeen. And now onto s’mores.”

Ian chuckled. “Well, that’s random.”

“No, I’m buzzing, and this is s’mores. I take them seriously.” I grabbed the metal skewers from my bag and divided the ingredients between our laps. With practiced precision, I loaded a skewer with marshmallows and stuck it in the fire. Ian waited with a loaded cracker.

“Here, spread that on one of the crackers.”

“Nutella?”

“Yep, and chocolate. If I’m feeling wild, I’ll use Ferrero Rocher.”

“You do take this seriously.”

I placed a bubbling marshmallow on his cracker and pushed it toward his mouth.

“Ladies first,” he said pushing it my way.