“No way.”
She challenged him to another race, then to a floating contest, then to something involving holding their breath. Finally, they’d had enough, and we ordered lunch from one of the attendants.
For the next hour, we ate our sandwiches under the umbrella. Dorian insisted we get a fruity adult beverage. Annie had a Shirley Temple. After that, Annie alternated between swimming and lying on a lounge chair. Dorian read a novel. Ilaid back and closed my eyes, letting the sounds of the pool settle around me. Laughter. Water. The distant call of gulls. Ice clinking in glasses.
It occurred to me then that there had been so few days like this. Not because Annie had lacked joy. I had made certain she had joy. I had driven her to practices, hosted sleepovers, baked birthday cakes, taken her school shopping and to movies and all the fun dinners with our friends. Our life had not been bleak. But it had had an absence. Even on good days, I had felt the empty chair at the table, the missing voice in the car, the lack of someone beside me who loved Annie simply because she was Annie.
Dare I hope that Dorian could be that person?
Later, after we’d all had enough sun, we went up to our rooms to shower and change for dinner. Dorian had made a reservation at the hotel restaurant. We reached the terrace just as the first lights came on around the restaurant. The hostess led us to a table near the railing, where the ocean moved below in darkening bands and heat lamps stood ready, but unlit, in the mild evening air.
Dinner felt like something stolen from a life I had not known I wanted. Annie ordered pasta she declared was the best thing she’d ever eaten in her life. I had fish with lemon and herbs. Dorian ordered steak and a bottle of red for us to share.
We chatted and laughed throughout the wonderful meal. Dorian told us stories about his time in the Navy. Of adventures that took him all over the world but ultimately led him back to Willet Cove. Annie answered his questions about school and where she hoped to go to college. I mostly listened, enjoying every moment.
After dinner, Annie insisted we needed a photograph. A server took the photo near the terrace railing. Annie stood between us, one arm around my waist and the other loopedthrough Dorian’s arm at the last second. I felt him still slightly, not pulling away but receiving the gesture with a care that made my chest ache. The server counted down. Annie grinned. I laughed because the wind blew hair into my mouth at the exact wrong second. Dorian wasn’t looking at the camera but at us.
By the time we headed upstairs, Annie’s energy had begun to fade. She leaned against me in the elevator, her head almost on my shoulder, though she would never admit it. In the hallway, Dorian walked beside us without speaking, and I had the sense that all three of us wished the day would never end.
At our door, we stopped to say goodnight.
Annie threw herself against Dorian, hugging him tight. “Thanks for doing this for us. I’ll never forget it.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, hugging her back.
Annie pulled away and looked at the carpet. “Night.”
“Good night, Annie,” Dorian said. “Well done today.”
She turned back. “You too.”
She disappeared into our room, leaving the door open behind her. Dorian and I stood in the hallway facing each other. His silver hair was mussed from the wind and his face just slightly sunburned. He looked tired and happy and dangerously handsome.
“This was a good day,” I said. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
I stepped closer, and he met me halfway. The kiss was quiet, soft enough for the hallway and deep enough to make me forget where we were. It tasted of wine, salt air, and the day we had spent together, of sun-warmed grass and Annie’s laughter and something like hope. When I drew back, I rested my hand briefly against his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath my palm.
“Good night.”
“Good night, beautiful Delphine,” he said.
I went into the room and closed the door gently behind me. Annie was in the bathroom; humming to herself, she got ready for bed. When she came out, she dove into one of the queen beds, limbs moving like she was making a snow angel. “Oh my gosh, it’s so soft.”
I kissed the top of her head. “Good night, sweet girl.”
“Mom?” Annie asked sleepily.
“Yes?”
“This was the best.”
“It was.”
She was asleep within minutes, worn out by sun and soccer and the kind of happiness that asks a body to surrender. I turned off the lamp, then stood for a while at the balcony doors, looking out at the moonlit water.
My phone buzzed from the dresser with a text, and I turned to pick it up.
