THE TROUBLE WITH PAPER PLANES(31)

“Let me take you back to my place, okay? I don’t think you should drive. We can have a cup of coffee – or something stronger, if you prefer – then come back and get your car later.”

Slowly, she seemed to come out of the trance she was in, turning to me. Her eyes were red and glassy, probably from the sea water, and her face and hair were still smeared with sand, but it was her expression that made me want to take her in my arms.

“I’m fine, but thanks,” she said, managing a weak smile.

I had to admire her determination, but she wasn’t the least bit convincing.

“Nice try, but I’m serious. I can’t let you drive.”

The smile faded and she stared at me, her eyes searching deep inside mine. I felt the same sensation I’d felt the first time we met, except for one major difference. Whatever it was she was looking for, I found myself wanting to give it to her. It was a primal instinct, an urge that came not from my physical self, but from somewhere deeper, harder to reach. Somewhere I thought was inaccessible after so long.

I was in real trouble here. Like Maia, I felt like I’d just been dumped by a wave. Slightly breathless, elevated heart rate, body tingling with the last threads of an almighty adrenaline rush.

“Can you just sit here with me for a little while?” she asked.

The vulnerability oozed out of her. She’d just had a hell of a shock, been through an ordeal that had obviously terrified her, and she was asking me to stay with her. At that precise moment, wild horses couldn’t have dragged me away.

“Absolutely.”

I reached for her hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze. She was still trembling, but she didn’t object or withdraw. I shouldn’t be feeling this way. We’d known each other for a matter of days. I shouldn’t want to take her into my arms and soothe her. I shouldn’t want to kiss her. I shouldn’t want to know every single thing about her. Not yet, it was too soon – all of this was too soon.

It felt like we’d missed a step somewhere along the line. Like we’d skipped a few pages in the book, or scenes in the movie. It felt both wrong and right, simultaneously. I wanted to caution myself against getting too involved, yet at the same time, I wanted to scream that I didn’t care and dive in head-first regardless. My head swam.

A few minutes passed in silence. She had settled back in her seat and was staring out of the windscreen. Her hand felt comfortable in mine, familiar, easy. I wanted to sit here like this with her as long as she would let me.

Surreptitiously, I checked out her car. It was clean and tidy, which didn’t surprise me. Then, glancing over her shoulder, into the back seat, I saw something that did. There was a pile of clothes, neatly folded, on top of an unravelled sleeping bag, a pillow at the other end.

My brain was still processing that information when she spoke again.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

I looked up to find her watching me. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t think it’s a crime to sleep in your car, is it?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

She bowed her head, staring at our hands, laced together.

“Can I ask why?”

“I like it.”

I wasn’t buying it. The answers to all the questions I had were somewhere inside of her, and I wanted to pull them out – one by one, if I had to. But I could feel her shutting down, pushing me away again, so I backed off, just to be safe. I would need to be careful.

The heat in the car was stifling, with the sea breeze barely taking the edge off. I was already dry, the sand clinging to my legs from earlier. I spied her towel in the back seat and handed it to her.

“Here,” I said. “For your face.”

She slipped her hand out of mine and used the towel to carefully scrub the sand off her face. She missed a few spots, and I reached over to gently wipe away the grains from her cheek and the tip of her nose.

“How long have you been sleeping in the back seat?” I asked, as sensitively as I could.

She seemed to consider the idea for a moment, as if trying to figure out how to explain it. The towel dropped back into her lap.

“A while.”

She was mentally shoving me backwards, so I settled on something less intrusive. “So, tell me a bit about yourself. Where are you from, where did you grow up?”

She leant back against the head-rest and closed her eyes. “Oh, y’know. Around.”

I backed down immediately, afraid of pushing too far, of pushing her away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do the whole Spanish Inquisition thing. I just realised that I don’t really know much about you, and you pretty much know everything about me.”