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SEVEN
Laia
I woke up thinking about him, and not the him I usually wake up thinking about.
Felix. I woke up thinking about Felix and it’s almost more terrifying than the thoughts and memories and paranoias that usually drag me from slumber.
Smiling at the woman over the fresh produce counter when she hands me my paper wrapped goat cheese, I attempt to keep my cheeks from overheating. Sex dream. I had one. About a man I barely know, and now it keeps flashing in my mind like some sort of strobe light porno—in the middle of the grocery store—all lips and hands and naked, naked skin—at nine in the morning.
What if he had actually kissed me yesterday? Right there in the car? Was that where it was going? Would I have let him? That moment? Did he feel it too? Was it even a moment? Maybe I made the whole thing up. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse. Better, definitely better. I don’t want moments, or sex dreams, or even tummy flutters. I had them. They didn’t end well, and I have no interest in experiencing them again.
Dropping the cheese on top of the chocolate ice cream in the basket hooked in the crook of my arm, I head back down the dairy aisle and try to focus on the happy little jingle playing over the speakers, the cool air blowing from the AC, anything but—
I turn at the end of the aisle and my face crushes against a warm, hard, T-shirt-covered chest.
I spring back, nose filled with fresh air and peppermint and clean man, the basket falling from my arm, crashing against the tiled floor. My eyes meet the owner of the chest, and a flash of my dream, his hands on me, his lips on mine, assaults me. Seriously?
“Felix.” My voice is a squeak, my battle with my heating cheeks lost entirely. “Sorry. I didn’t … sorry.”
“Laia.” He drops to a squat at the same time I do, those blue, blue eyes scanning my face, his ever-present glower lowering his brows like he wanted to see me about as much as I wanted to see him. “You okay?” He reaches for my ice cream, and I flinch back like his fingers are on fire.
“Yes. Fine. Sorry.” I shake my head. “I didn’t see you I was…” Trying not to think about you naked. My face actually pulses it’s so hot.
“Stocking up on ice cream and” —he lifts the paper wrapped package and frowns at it— “cheese?”
“Goat cheese,” I blurt out. “It’s nice in salads…” I trail off, because really, who needs to know that?
“Right.” He drops it into my basket then pulls himself to standing, my groceries in one hand, his other held out to help me from my crouch.
My gaze flips from his getting lower by the second, eyebrows to his hand.
I scramble to my feet without taking it, brushing my hands down my sleeveless T-shirt dress, sure of only one thing, well, two actually. The universe hates me, and whatever moment I thought I felt definitely lands on the made-it-up side of the scale. “Why are you everywhere?” The words fall out of my mouth, making me sure about another thing too, my words are about as controllable as my cheeks.
His lips twitch into something that’s not even a smile, more a bemused what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-this-woman? “I could ask you the same thing.” He lifts his hand to the back of his neck, flashing the slightly paler skin of the underside of his bicep where his T-shirt sleeve stops as he scans the, thankfully, almost empty store. “I was actually hoping I’d run into you.”
“You were?” My chest does a weird sort of flip and dive at the same time. “Why?” I’m frowning. I can feel it. I bet Flappy Eyes would take this moment and run with it. Flirt, or flap, or something equally pretty. I just frown even harder, the thought alone catching me up. Why am I comparing myself to her now? I don’t flirt, I don’t flap, and I most definitely don’t do anything with moments and this man other than make them excruciatingly awkward.
The creases lining his forehead tell me he agrees completely. “You ran away.”
“I did?” I don’t know why I’m posing it as a question, I totally did. I ran from a moment that may or may not have been in my head, because I don’t want moments. I don’t want anything other than to fade into the background and not be noticed by anyone.
I drop my gaze to where he’s still holding my basket, his big hand wrapped around the red plastic handle, and the spattering of dark hair that covers the tanned skin of his forearm. “I mean I did, I had to … I’d forgotten I had something to—”
“I made you uncomfortable.” He scans my face, and for the first time I wonder if the glower he always wears is because of me or it’s just the way he looks at everyone. Brows down, the blue of his eyes intense with a sort of—I’ve no idea what—if I had to guess I’d go with loneliness? Maybe? Sadness?
Seconds pass.
I’m staring. But not talking. And he’s waiting.
“What? No. Uncomfortable? Pfshhh.” I wince as soon as the pfshhh leaves my lips. “I just. I don’t do well with…” I press my lips together, staring helplessly into his face. “People.”
“People?” The glower is gone, dimples tickling the stubble-covered skin of his cheeks as he tries and fails not to smile. “Not just me then?”
“No.” I shake my head too fast. I almost prefer the glowering, it’s much easier to look away from. “Just people.” I clamp my bottom teeth over my top lip to stop this torrent of randomness. “In general.” I fail.
His chuckle is rough and rich and filled with enough gravel to make even my cheeks halt in their heating.
My mouth plops open before I clamp it shut to stop my lips from tipping up into what I’ve no doubt would be a stupefied grin.
Don’t smile like that. You look like something escaped from a psychiatric ward.
Damon’s words come out of nowhere, stealing my fledgling grin. I lift my hand up to cover my mouth.
It doesn’t go unnoticed. Felix’s face sobers, his dimples disappearing, brows lowering all over again. “So, we’re good?”
I nod, the unexpected brightness from a millisecond ago dimmed right back down to bad lighting and awkward shadows. “Of course.”
His gaze flicks over my face like he can figure out what’s going on in my head if he just glares hard enough. “Good.”
“Okay.” I nod again. “I should probably…” I glance over my shoulder up the aisle, already turning to walk away.
“Laia.”
Shit. My groceries. I turn back to him.
He’s holding out the basket.
“Thanks.” I take it awkwardly in my attempt to keep my fingers from making contact with any part of him.
“See you around, Laia.”
“Yep.” I lift my hand in, I swear, the weirdest little wave I have ever been a part of, then turn and walk back up the aisle I’ve just come down.
The next week flies by, my new life in Clua taking on a realness I never in a million years expected when I stepped off the ferry that first night.
My days are filled with shifts at the hotel, making pies, hanging out on the tiny beach behind the bungalow, and coffee dates with Kenzi or visits from Mrs. Devon. In a couple of weeks Clua has started to do something Arizona never managed to do in the whole year I was there—feel a little bit like home.
And Felix was right. I do see him around. Constantly. And each time is more awkward than the last. I spilled coffee on him when I walked into Clua’s Coffees as he was walking out. Dropped my ice cream when I collided with him in the ice cream shop Kenzi introduced me to in town. Almost backed my truck into his reversing out of a parking space at the grocery store. The list goes on. And on. And did I mention I’m still having those sex dreams? And I never know when they’re gonna come. Like my brain will just sneak one in between the nightly Damon nightmares. One second, I’m being found by Damon, the next I’m being fondled by Felix. Both steal my sleep, though for very different reasons.
At first, I thought he was, in fact, following me, my paranoia spiking every time I found myself pinned by that growly, kind of bemused stare. But I came to realize pretty quickly that it’s just a part of living in a tiny island town. You run into everyone, everywhere. Mrs. Devon in the pharmacy. Mylo on the beach. Kenzi on Main Street. And even Pete shopping for cushions.
Small town life—it takes a lot of getting used to, but I think I am, slowly. More than that, I think I’m actually beginning to like it.
So, when Kenzi invites me to check out the best ribs on the island I don’t think twice.
