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“Try again.”
Embarrassed, I shrugged. “I don’t want to.”
“Mad? Humiliated? Scared? That’s when you should do things anyway. It will always piss the other guy off.” He grinned at me with pencil point freckles dotting his nose. “Have fun anyway, Koti. I’ll keep a lookout for you.”
I knew a little about the boy inside the man I watched. The boy who had put together my first s’more, laughed with his whole body at the surprise in my eyes when I tasted the toasted marshmallow, a product from a fire which he, himself had built. While Ian was allowed freedoms like that, I was allowed very little sugar and spent an hour bubbling marshmallows and smashing them between graham crackers and melted chocolate. I could still remember Ian’s amused reaction as I gorged. He was a firecracker then, about to turn fourteen, but he took me under his wing that summer.
There wasn’t a trace of that boy in the man who stood in a puddle at the edge of the sea.
Life was funny like that. For a moment in time, a few weeks in the summer when we were both just a couple of naïve kids, I called Ian Kemp a friend. Earlier that day he had treated me as a stranger. It was the summers after that turned us into nothing more than a few memories.
But those few memories turned significant.
Ian Kemp had introduced me to my comfort food. He’d also given me the confidence to smile to spite my mother when she got the best of me.
And for those memories, I felt a little indebted. A little bit more familiar to the stranger on the beach.
I made my way back to my house, my gaze fixed on Ian until I was forced to unload my sand-filled panties. A hot shower and a loofah scrub down later, I poured another glass of wine from my already corked bottle and took residence on my porch chair overlooking the calm sea. In an attempt not to screw up my routine, a routine I carefully followed to the letter on most days, I lit my hurricane candles on my porch as Novo Amor’s “Faux” drifted through my speakers and out to sea.
I learned much too late, ambiance was the key for me. Music, wine, and candles created my safe haven. These little things made me feel like I was in the midst of something, instead of looking forward to something else. I had spent way too much of my life looking forward to things.
Those things rarely ever came the way I’d imagined them.
Certainties were pap smears, head colds, and flat tires. But the feeling you got wrapped up in a good book, the perfect song, surrounded by candlelight could be repeated over and over.
Endless self-made memories that no one could screw up? Yes, please.
Because when you date yourself, there is no one to disappoint you. Jasmine didn’t get it. But me and my hesitant libido understood. I’d gone through an entire year without missing men. I’d go through another if I felt like it. But it wasn’t about setting restrictions on my life. It was about the way I felt about myself.
I’d come to the island anxiety-ridden and the blue water was my prescription. I’d set goals to forget my old ones and shed my skin for a better fit. One that bled life without calculations and bred alternate possibilities. I basked in the smell of the ocean—a new necessity—and marveled at the swirl of different shades of blue that hit the slightly rocky shore.
Several healthy sips of wine later, and much to my dismay, my bottle was empty.
As wrong as it was, I glanced over at Ian who remained in the same spot on the beach and then over to the Kemp’s house, where I knew an expensive bottle was chilling in the fridge.
As the sun began to fade behind the new Armani-clad statue in the neighborhood, the ocean and surrounding mountain islands behind him, I tiptoed over to the house. In record time, I had the bottle in hand and walked out of the Kemps’ ready to step lightly back to my side of the invisible fence. I shrieked when I saw the dark cloud that waited on the other side of the door and dropped my keys on the porch between us. Ian peered down at me as I scrambled to retrieve them.
“Shit, I’m sorry. Ian, hi, do you remember me? Koti?” He remained mute with no recognition on his face. “Well, it’s good to see you. I was… just making sure the place was ready for you. I manage this property now, I don’t know if your mother mentioned it?” Ian stood silent, his hands in his pockets. He was pale, his stubble-covered face was slightly bloated. Red-rimmed eyes were a sure sign of the day he’d had, and his full lips didn’t move with a single tell.
Ian glanced at the bottle of wine with indifference befo
re he sidestepped me, plucked the key out of my hand and went through the door shutting it soundly behind him.
“Well, that was good, Koti,” I muttered, taking a step away when he sounded through the door, his South African tongue slightly faded, but much more masculine.
“It was awful, actually. Terrible liar. But then I guess that’s a thing with you women.”
“Wow, uh, geesh. I’ll replace your wine tomorrow,” I said through the closed door. “Sorry, for… sorry.”
What in the hell was I apologizing for? He’d just thrown women into a collective group and labeled them all liars, insulted an entire sex because of my slight alcoholism on a Tuesday night.
The nerve.
Stomping across the sand, my cell phone rang. Already on edge, I shrieked in surprise before I pulled it out of my pocket. I’d forgotten to turn it off after my shift and it was Jasmine’s night for after-hours calls. I blew out a breath as I looked at the lifeless house behind me while dusk set in. He hadn’t turned on a single light. Reluctantly I answered. “At Ease Property Management, this is Koti.”
“Hi, Koti, it’s Rowan Kemp.”
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Kemp.”
