I nod, and Remy sighs, shutting his eyes. I notice that the muscle in his jaw is bunching and twitching.
"Oh, Leilani. My mermaid unicorn girl. I expect you're going to break my heart, babe. One of these days, you're going to want a husband, and kids, and something stable. And you deserve all of that, and more. You deserve the universe."
I nestle into the crook of his arm and sling my bare leg over his. He's right. Someday, I probably will want a husband, and kids, and something stable. Maybe someday soon. I'm already thirty years old.
What I don't understand is, why can't I have those things with him?
EIGHTEEN
Leilani
"You nervous?"
Remy stretches his arm around the back of my chair. It's six days after we had that emotional discussion at my house, and I've seen Remy every day since then. We're now at the Chamber of Commerce's annual dinner, held in a giant, silver-and-white accented ballroom at his family's resort, the Magnolia Grand.
"Let's see." I study his face and marvel at how relaxed he is. I'm a bundle of nerves and my palms are slick with sweat. "There's a chance we could win, I'm opening my business soon, and we just stuffed ourselves with filet mignon. And I'm dressed up in an actual dress and heels for the first time since, well, that other Chamber meeting. And the heels are killing me. So, yeah, I'm a little nervous."
"You've got this. We've got this. You gonna eat that cake?"
My gaze goes to the mini chocolate Bundt cake sitting in front of me. Normally, I love chocolate and cake is my weakness. But tonight? My stomach churns with anxiety.
"No. Go ahead." I inch the plate toward Remy.
"Thanks, babe. Didn't eat enough today when I was out on the water." He tucks into the dessert. He's always ravenous after a day of fishing, I've noticed.
My nerves aren't only due to where we are, or the possibility that I might be called up to the stage to speak in front of all these people if we win the contest.
No, they're also because of the man sitting next to me, the one who's wolfing down cake like a person just released from jail. Tonight, he's in actual, adult clothing — a dark blue suit and white button-down shirt that's open at the neck, no tie — and he's heartbreakingly handsome. The most beautiful man in the room.
And I'm definitely in love with him. No question. It's become painfully obvious. I've been thinking about this ever since we had that conversation in my house, the one where he said he'd give me plenty of warning if he wanted to be with anyone else.
Since then, he's treated me so tenderly, as if I'm breakable. His words have all been gentle and complimentary. He's brought over two more bouquets, fixed my kitchen sink, and ordered my favorite pizza.
Twice.
So, what's the issue, I keep asking myself.
Why are you creating problems where there are none, my rational side wonders.
If something seems too good to be true, it probably is. The wary, broken part of me repeats that phrase like a mantra. I've even written both sides down on a list. The pros and cons of Remy. Then I burned the list and saged my house with a "clear the air" herbal bundle I'd bought at The Astral Attic.
I'm not sure it helped, because my mind is anything but clear.
Now that the mentor contest is coming to a formal end, I fear that it will also be the end of me and Remy. Irrational, I know. Probably I should just tell him that I'm in love with him and let him sort out the rest. Voicing my boundaries aloud after years of being torn down is difficult, though. Like swimming throughmuck, slow and dirty. That I don't want to feel like I need a man like my mother always does complicates matters.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," a woman from the Chamber says from the stage at the front of the room. "Welcome to the annual dinner of the Cypress Grove Chamber of Commerce. Tonight, we'll be handing out various service awards, and giving one new business a prize of ten thousand dollars."
Everyone claps, and my stomach constricts into a tighter knot. I only half-listen for the next thirty minutes, partially because I'm trying to calm myself by breathing deeply, but also because Remy's so close that every time I inhale, I get a whiff of his cologne.
By the time the contest award is announced, I'm somehow clammyandcold, while my mouth has gone bone dry. All this formal stuff isn't for me, and I'm second-guessing all of my decisions up to this point. What if I'm like this in the bar with the public? Or will I be more relaxed because it's my own space?
"And the winner is..." the woman on stage says, fumbling for an envelope, "Leilani Kostas, the owner of Mermosa."
"Oh," I whisper, as all the breath leaks from my body. I shut my eyes and shake my head in disbelief as the woman talks about how my bar and the project guided by Remy — and my business plan — were the best of the bunch.
"Innovative, irreverent, delightful. That's what the judges said about Mermosa," the woman says as a big photo of my business flashes on the screen behind her.
I hear Remy's whoop, and feel him wrapping his arms around me.
