Page 30 of Sincerely, Mr. Braden

“Because you make me want to buy you everything.”

He sounds as relaxed as he did on the boat. “That’s sweet, but I don’t need everything.”

“You don’t have to need it to want it. If you see something special, I’d be happy to get it for you.”

“Why would you want to do that?” I ask playfully.

He draws me against his side, speaking low and seductive. “Because I like watching you fall in love with things.”

That catches me off guard, completely disarming me. He leans in for a kiss, then steps away to check out more pottery, as if he knows I need a minute to get myself in check. I linger by the pottery display, pretending to study a row of mugs while I try to calm the flutter his words caused. He’s too charming for his own damn good, saying things that make ordinary moments feel like promises of more. I tell myself it’s the island, the freedom of being away from my responsibilities, but it’s a hard sell, so I remind myself not to romanticize what should stay simple.

We continue strolling down the street, passing a bakery, where we catch whiffs of sugary goodness. We stop to watch a painter working by lamplight, his brush tapping against the edge of his easel as he paints color into the glow over the harbor.

Seth holds me close and says, “Would you ever consider drawing out in public like that?”

“No, because most of the time I’m drawing from memory of something I’ve seen or making up a vision based on something I’ve been told.”

“You never just pull out your sketchbook and draw something you’re looking at, like he is?”

I love that he’s curious about my art. I wish I could show him the things I’ve produced, but they weren’t made by Ellie Mitchell. “Not very often.”

We wander through more shops and follow the sound of music into a small plaza, where the walls are painted with ocean scenes and realistic fishermen sitting on rocks, their pants rolled up to their ankles, feet perched in the sand and water. A band plays a mellow rhythm in front of a salmon-colored building. In the center of the plaza, people sit at iron tables, dining beneath a canopy of sea grape trees, strings of bulbs swaying from the branches. The din of their voices blends with the music.

Seth guides me toward the band, where mosaic tiles in the concrete catch the light of the bulbs and break it into a thousand colors. I stop to take it in. “It’s like the whole island turns itself inside out at night.”

He glances around, then back at me, his eyes full of mischief. “Or maybe it only shows off when you’re here.”

“That, Mr. Braden, is a fantastic line.”

He takes my hand, spinning me into his arms. God, he makes me smile. We find the same easy rhythm we found last night when we danced, only it’s threaded with something that feels deeper now, like it’s ours.

“Why is it,” he murmurs into my ear, “that every time we dance, even the music fails to exist?”

“You do realize I’m a sure thing, right? You don’t have to sweet-talk me.”

He grins. “Maybe I like sweet-talking you.”

My heart skips, but my chest constricts, because he’s doing it again, being too freaking charming, making it hard for me to keep my head on straight. It dawns on me that maybe this much charm and sensuality is normal for flings. It’s not like I’m experienced in vacation trysts, so I throw caution to the wind and go with it. “In that case, please continue.”

His breath brushes my temple, and I close my eyes, giving myself permission not to overthink anything else he says this weekend.

After dancing to a few songs, Seth finds the host, who greets him fondly, and we’re seated at a quiet table. We share plates of grilled fish, spiced rice, and something delectable with mango and lime, and conversation comes with the same ease it did the rest of the day, the kind that only happens when you’re exactly where you want to be.

We chuckle about ridiculous things we did as kids and tell stories about heartfelt moments with our families, and never once does his attention drift. When he reaches across the table, brushing his thumb over a drop of wine near my wrist, my breath catches at the simple intimacy of it. As the night deepens, a group of people flood the plaza, dancing and singing along with the band, off-key and fearless. Seth and I both laugh, and he pulls me into a kiss.

By the time dessert arrives, a pineapple tart with a dollop of vanilla ice cream, I wish I could bottle up these hours so they would last forever.

After dinner we head back to Seth’s house and take a walk on the beach. It’s quiet, save for the sounds of the waves and the whisper of palm fronds as we walk barefoot along the cool sand, our sandals dangling from our hands. Moonlight shimmers on the water, lights flicker on boats in the distance, and Seth’s thumb traces an entrancing path along the back of my hand. I have the strange thought that this is what peace feels like. It hits as unexpectedly as the man beside me. I keep trying to figure out if Seth is different from what I thought he’d be like, and I realize I never let myself wonder that deeply. I’m glad I didn’t, because nothing could have prepared me for him. This feels like a dream, too good to be true. In a way it is. Guilt creeps up on me for the umpteenth time, edging the peacefulness with discomfort.

Seth brushes his shoulder against mine. “Penny for your thoughts.”

“I was just thinking about how far away this is from my real life. Is it selfish of me to want to soak in every second of this time away?”

“No.” He holds my hand a little tighter. “But even if it were, it’s okay to be selfish sometimes.”

I wonder if he’d say that if he knew the truth about my identity. “What are the parameters for that? I mean, we can’t be selfish all the time, obviously, but when is it okay? What makes it okay?”

He flashes an easy smile. “I think it’s probably different for everyone, but you do for others all day in your job, and caring for someone who doesn’t want to be cared for is a thankless, even if vital, act of love, which I can only imagine is exhausting. So in my opinion, taking a few days to rejuvenate will make you better at both when you get back.” He slides his arm around my waist, pulling me against his side, and says, “And selfishly, I want you to put yourself first for the next two days.”