“Maybe, so. But you didn’t have to do it. Not unless something else is pulling you here.”
I glance at her, wondering what she means.
“The bride,” Marley answers. “Are you over her?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m over her,” I say.
Marley gives a tight-lipped grin, looking as if she wants to press the issue but is holding back. Her head nods slowly, and I can tell she’s gone down an inebriated rabbit hole the way her eyelids lower and her gaze lingers. Her mind seems to be elsewhere, and then realization hits her, straightening her like an iron rod. She clears her throat and looks away.
“Well, we should hurry to the resort,” she admits. “I wanted to visit the beach before it gets too dark.”
“Of course. Yourvacation agenda.”
“Yes, that. I appreciate you opening up to me. You’ve been a perfect gentleman, and this was the perfect date. So, thank you.”
My brow lifts in amusement. “You think this was our date?”
She blinks. “Is it not?”
I tilt my head, feigning offense. “Absolutely not. We’re just two hungry people who stopped to get something to eat.”
I pick up my glass, pausing before I drink.
“A date with me is an experience, Marley.This?” I gesture to the mess of half-eaten plates and empty glass cups that the waitress has failed to clean up. “This is just an appetizer before the main course.”
9
anything goes
MARLEY
It’s toogood to be true.
All of this.
My mother always says,“A smooth road doesn’t mean there aren’t potholes waiting ahead.”I used to roll my eyes whenever she’d drop little warnings like that, convinced she didn’t want me to be happy. But right now I feel her words settle into my chest like a brick.
Othello’s charm sinks in slowly, a lazy warmth that sets off butterflies in my stomach. He’s thoughtful and easy to talk to.
Too easy.
It should take longer to feel this comfortable with someone, shouldn’t it? To laugh this hard? To trust this much?
We’ve settled back into the convertible, the warm Maui breeze and the soft throwbacks playing tunes from Othello’s phone.
We chat about everything and nothing. His poetry. Grief. Books. Doughnuts. Pet Peeves. My road to success and how the road to staying on top is just as demanding. We talk about thedays ahead, and how beautiful Maui is until the radio suddenly slips into a familiar 90’s R&B groove.
My eyes light up, and I can’t help but turn the dial to raise the volume. Othello glances at me before shaking his head as I croon the words to Mary J Blige’s“Sweet Thang”.
I stop mid-chorus, catching the amused but unimpressed look in his eyes. “What? You can’t tell me you don’t remember this one.”
“Oh, I remember it. Mary is a legend, but nothing beats the original.”
“Chaka did her thing, but Mary added that razzle dazzle of hip-hop flavor.”
“True, true. But since we rockin’ throwbacks, tell me what you know about this one,” he says once the song ends. The next melody floats from the speakers and into my memory. A smile plays out on my lips. “Wow,” I drag out. “Okay, okay, you might know a little something.”
“Imight?”
