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“I don’t know,” Candace says, looking around at me. There’s a downturned look around her eyes, one that I don’t like to see. “Tomorrow is my last day here. Maybe we should do something special.”
“Of course,” I say. I drop to sit on the edge of the bed, where I can meet her at eye level. “I’m sorry, I kind of hijacked your vacation. Did you want to get out and see anything?”
“No,” Candace says, a smile lighting up her face again. “You didn’t hijack anything. I’m pretty sure this is better than any kind of sightseeing tour I could have booked.”
“What, then?” I ask. “What would make it special for you?”
Candace looks to the floor with a thoughtful expression. “I don’t know,” she says again. “It’s been pretty fast, this week. We skipped a lot of… milestones.”
Milestones? My heart beats staccato in my chest. Is she saying that she regrets rushing into things? Whether it was now or later, I was going to make her mine. I knew that. I think on some level, she knew that too. There was no way I was going to be able to hold back for long, not when she was right in front of me and so clearly willing.
“What kind of milestones?”
“Well,” Candace says, biting her lip. She looks up at me, and I understand all of a sudden that she has been giving this some thought. She may be pretending to think, but I’m fairly sure that’s only because she’s shy about saying it. She knows what she wants. “How about we do some… you know… couple stuff? Like we would if we were dating. We’ll have to do it quickly, though, since we only have one day.”
“Alright,” I say, interested in this idea. “Well, we already had dinner together somewhere nice. Twice, actually.”
“And we kind of already went on vacation together,” she replies with a sweet smile. “Especially if you count the day on the yacht.”
“We’ve had a spa day, too,” I say, grinning as I get into the swing of the game. “And we’ve kind of experienced living together, in a way. What else is there?”
“Um,” Candace says, then her eyes light up. “Watch a movie.”
“Well, that’s easy,” I say, turning to gesture out towards the lounge area. “We can do that right here. What else do you want to try?”
“We should get takeout,” she says. “I know we had room service already, but something that has to get delivered. Like Chinese food or something.”
“Chinese takeout and a movie,” I nod. “Done. What else?”
“Oh! Get some groceries delivered. I could cook for you,” Candace says.
I laugh. “Where?” I point out. The suite might be impressive, and it does have a kind of kitchenette, but it’s sorely lacking in resources and appliances. It’s got a microwave and a kettle, and that’s about all.
“Hm, that’s right.” She pauses. “We’ll have to skip that one. I don’t know, what else do dating people do?”
The idea of introducing each other to our friends and family comes to mind, but I don’t voice it. It’s too much of a sore subject. I don’t want to remind her that I’m literally her Dad’s best friend. I’ve been trying hard not to think of it myself.
“They argue,” I say, jokingly.
“Yes! We should have our first fight,” Candace says, her eyes gleaming.
I laugh. “How?”
“Well, usually it’s when a couple starts to spend some more time together and one of them reveals an annoying habit, right?” she says. “We just have to bring our annoying habits out right now.”
I quirk an eyebrow, challenge accepted. I stand up, still only wearing my towel, and keep eye contact with her until I know she’s waiting for the big reveal.
Then I take the towel from around my waist, hold it out, and drop it in a crumpled heap on the floor.
Candace mock-gasps.
“Are you just going to leave that there?” she asks. “Don’t you know how to tidy up after yourself?”
“No,” I smirk, standing deliberately with my hands on my hips, everything hanging out proudly for her to see.
“Sean Fogarty,” she says, obviously about to start a tirade.
“Sean Scott Fogarty,” I supply because a rant is always more impressive when you use the person’s full name.
“Sean Scott Fogarty,” she continues, without missing a beat. “Clear up after yourself. Right now!”
“Make me,” I say, the smirk still in place.
She gets up huffily, pretending to slam the blow drier down on the vanity table but really placing it carefully. “I’ve told you once,” she says. “I’m not going to tell you again.”
“Ah, come on, woman,” I say, my grin spreading. “Enough of your nagging. I’ll tidy it up when I’m good and ready.”
“You’ll do it when I ask you to,” she says, coming to a stop so close to me I could reach out and touch her.
