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“I am,” she said. “It’s nice to go out on a proper date.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Improper ones suck. All that drunken foreplay and strange morning sex. Who wants any of that shit?”
“Exactly!”
She felt so comfortable with Rafe. She’d never had a boy she could talk to like this. Conversation flowed so freely with him. None of her other dates had been anything like this, and this one had just started. Once, when she’d complained to Faith about her shitty love life, Faith told her it was because men were intimidated by her beauty, but Kalina didn’t see it that way. She didn’t think she was all that pretty. She was okay. She’d always thought that maybe it was her personality. Maybe they didn’t like her playful, goofy, and kind of childish demeanor. Men always wanted sex kittens with spread-open legs. Or serious professionals with sharp intellect.
I can totally be that woman. I have a freaky side. I’m capable of behaving and being serious if need be.
But she didn’t want to do that. She wanted a flirtatious relationship, one she looked forward to continuing for a long time. With Rafe, she couldn’t imagine dreading seeing him at the end of a long day. He was the type of guy she could run to, jump in his arms, and wrap her legs around his waist as she kissed his lips. The thought gave her butterflies and she hoped that would always happen.
Most people at restaurants like Tilly’s looked unhappy, like they were forced to sit across the table from their date, and their only escape was the Smart Phone they clung to with dear life. They would rather get an Instagram “like” than a real life one from the person they were spending time with. Kalina loved that Rafe didn’t even seem to have a phone. Surely, he did, but he never pulled it out when in her presence.
“We should get out of here,” Rafe said. “I’ve planned something for us.”
“You have?” she asked, feeling her face redden.
She’d never had anyone plan anything for her. Not even a present. They didn’t really do gift exchanges on the island, so birthdays and holidays were always barbecues and drinking. This boy had planned something for her and that alone was enough to make her want to lean over the table and plant a kiss on his lips, but she wanted it to be special when she did it. Rafe was getting there, the boy was definitely earning points, but it still wasn’t the right moment. She could practically hear Faith in her ear laughing and saying, “This isn’t an 80s romantic comedy, Kalina. What are you waiting for? That ass-grabbing kiss at the end of Weird Science?”
That wasn’t what she was waiting for at all, but she could totally settle for the one at the end of Dirty Dancing. She giggled to herself as she thought of running toward Rafe out in the parking lot of Tilly’s and having him lift her up into the air, completing the move they’d practiced so many times in the water. Only in her case, he would have been lifting a big, heavy ass tiger shark. This thought made her laugh even harder.
“What are you laughing about?” Rafe asked. “You don’t think I can plan a romantic night?”
She bit her lip and shook her head teasingly.
“Seriously? You don’t?” he asked. “Surfer guys can be romantic too, man. You know, I once brought a girl a stuffed unicorn because she said her dad wouldn’t let her have a pony growing up.”
“What does a stuffed unicorn have to do with a pony?” Kalina asked.
“It’s a horse…but with wings…” he said.
“That’s a Pegasus,” she said. “I think you bought her a Pegasus. Unicorns are the ones with the horn at the front of the head.”
“That’s a rhinoceros,” he argued.
She laughed out loud and drank from his beer.
“Still a cute gesture though,” she said.
“Oh shit,” he said. “I’m sorry. Do you want something to drink? I thought we were getting out of here.”
“We are,” she said. “Come on, show me your surprise romantic evening.”
Twenty minutes later, they hopped out of a taxi and stood in the parking lot of a beach she hadn’t visited in a long time. She’d known it had become quite the tourist attraction, with pop-up shops and snack carts opening up late in the afternoon. Food trucks rolled in to the area after sundown and locals brought kegs and coolers to keep the party going into the late-night hours. The spot was called LampaVille after the artist, Carlos Lampa, who’d dragged himself into town a few years earlier and, having little to no money to start up his own art studio, came out to this area and set up shop in an old shipping crate that had been filled with rust and local wildlife until he came along. With one generator, he’d cleaned it o
ut and transformed the ugly rectangular box into a full-fledged art studio. Once word spread of his new business, other local artists and traveling troubadours shuffled out to LampaVille to set up similar shops. Vintage clothing stores, memorabilia markets, artisan bodegas, and failed chefs cooking anything that could be made by charcoal or small propane tanks flooded the scene. LampaVille’s new slogan: Where Art Transforms Reality, could be found on the windshields of parked cars at shopping malls in every major Australian city. Word was spreading.
“This is your idea for a romantic scene?” Kalina asked.
“Have you been out here?” Rafe replied.
“Not in a long time, not since Lampa first started this place. My God, it’s changed a lot. I’d heard, but to see it is something else entirely. Amazing.”
“But not romantic?” he asked.
“Could be,” she said. “Let’s see what you can do with the tools you’ve been given.”
He laughed.
