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He gave an affirming nod. "Let’s."
We walked through the resort and out onto the beach without saying much. I pointed out the day spa, which I suggested he might want to check out while he was here, as well as the path that led to the staff bungalow where we hung out before and after our shifts, but that was about the extent of the conversation.
I was feeling a little unsure of myself. Why? I didn’t quite know.
I liked the guy, but there was something more to it than that. I wondered whether this was a one-sided thing, or whether he was feeling the energy between us, too. It was as if a tiny seed of hope had been planted in my chest. I tried to brush the feeling away.
He wasn’t my normal type, the last thing from the typical bad boys I normally fell for—and left the next morning. Maybe that was part of the allure?
We made it onto the beach, the soft sand flicking up into the air behind us until we reached the firmer surface closer to the waves.
I decided to break the silence that we had slipped into. "So, how are you enjoying your stay here so far?"
Mitchell peered over at me, his lips tipped upward. "I’m liking it, but I’m hoping it’ll get even better."
His eyes drilled into me, glimmering in the moonlight.
Okay, yep, he was feeling this thing, too. Good to know.
Also good to know: not all good guys were the shy, retiring type, if the searing look he had shot me was any indication.
We broke out into a light conversation, peppering each other with all sorts of the usual getting to know you questions.
"So, tell me more about where you’re from. This Cowbell Creek place sounds intriguing."
Mitchell let out a glorious little giggle. "I like that I can’t tell whether you’re being serious or teasing me."
Funny, I liked the same thing about him.
"It’s just your normal, rural American town. It’s small. Everyone knows everyone. Life is...simple." His voice carried an unmissable note of happiness.
"So, you like living there?"
He nodded. "I do. Small and simple suits me just fine. I’ve been to LA a couple of times, and while I can see that it’s fun with so much to see and do, I don’t know. It’s just...missing something for me."
"Like what?" I pressed.
He shrugged, looking out into the dark sea. "I don’t know, exactly. I just feel weird being in a big city. I don’t like not knowing the people around me or needing a GPS to get around. It feels alien to me."
"I get that," I concurred. "Oundle, where I’m from in England, is no more than a tiny blip of a village."
"Why’d you leave, then?"
The answer was a lengthy, complicated one. "Shall we sit?" I motioned to a flat patch of sand, and we sat down.
He tucked his long legs up, resting his face on them and glancing over at me. Waiting for a reply to his question, I assumed.
"It’s a long story."
"I’m not going anywhere," he murmured. The softness of his voice and the way he looked at me unlocked something inside of me. Something that made me want to tell him my story.
So I did.
How I was born into a very well-to-do family.
How I had a well-planned out life laid out in front of me at a young age and an unspoken—but strictly implied—expectation that I would simply follow it to the letter.
How I had started a law degree at Oxford only to develop an irritating eczema condition, which my best friend back home, Alexandra, managed to convince me was a sign from the universe that I was literally "itching to get out of my own life" as she put it.
