“Do you feel like a visitor now?”
He considers that. “No. I don’t think so.”
“You look comfortable here. I had no idea you fish so well.”
“It’s pretty much all Chester and I did, growing up.”
I pile sand on my belly, then scrape it off. We snorkeled by the small reef on the other side of the island before ambling to the dock, and Jack held my hand the whole time. I guess he was worried I’d get distracted and swim too far from shore. This version of Jack—on this tiny island, not in the kitchen—is softer. More patient. He knew all the names of the fish we saw, and he repeated them as many times as I asked. I don’t know how to feel about it.
Just like how I don’t know what to do with the fact he trusts me. That he regrets using that word,brat, even though I’m clear-headed enough about the incident now to know I was, in fact, acting bratty. Whenever I think I have Jack Hartman figured out, he throws me for another loop.
“What else did you do?”
“I worked, when I got old enough.”
I roll onto my belly, kicking my feet in the air. “Other than that. What about for fun?”
“How about you? You rode horses, right?”
I gather sand into a tower, then smush it down. My neck itches, thanks to the damp ends of my hair, but I’m willing to ignore it for the sunshine.
“Yep, I was a horse girl. Had a horse of my own and everything. His name was Bartholomew. Yes, I know that’s a weird name.” I start on another tower. “I stopped riding when he died. But Ki wants to take me to see Charger sometime, so I don’t know, I might try again.”
“What was he like?”
“Very gentle.” I sit up, wiping sand off my body in an effort to look presentable, rather than like a toddler covered in sand from head to toe. I can’t quite tell, given Jack’s aviators, but I think he’s amused by me. “I wasn’t very good at horseback riding, but he was the kind of horse that didn’t mind. Did you play a sport or something?”
“Sometimes.” He starts in on the other side of the fish. His body tightens, as if I touched his burn again. “I always wanted to play hockey, actually, but it was too expensive. And I never had anyone to take me to practice, anyway.”
“Ice hockey? In Florida?”
“We do have two professional teams, you know.”
“I didn’t know, actually. I’m allergic to sports.”
“Didn’t you date a basketball player?”
My lips quirk up. “Well, yeah. But I never paid attention to the games.”
He shakes his head, smiling, and points his knife at the soft-sided cooler. “I brought beer, if you want.”
I grab a can, glancing down at the label. “Oh, it’s pineapple flavored.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I’m allergic.” I toss the can to him, and he catches it one-handed. “Pineapple makes my face and throat swell up.”
He sets down the beer, hard. “What?”
“Weird, right? But it’s not like pineapple is in everything. It’s pretty easy to avoid.”
“You have a food allergy and you didn’t tell me?”
I blink. “It’s just pineapple.”
He scowls at me like he did earlier this week, when he disabled the fire alarm after I burnt not one, but two batches of potato purée in a row. “We’re working with food every day. What if I asked you to cook with pineapple? What if I made something for you that had it as an ingredient?”
“Then I would have told you. Believe it or not, I can handle myself just fine.” I kick the sand with annoyance.
