AllFreeNovel
Share Us
9
Fallingin love is a lot like traveling. There are many different ways to get somewhere.
The first way is to take the quickest, most direct route to your destination. That’s the people who fall in love at first sight, or within days, or at most within a few weeks. They jump on the love express train and get to love fast.
The second way to travel is to have no destination in mind at all. You just enjoy the pleasure of going on a trip, so you hop in a car and take the meandering back roads, the side trips, the detours. You may eventually get to a destination, and that would be a wonderful surprise, but the pleasure of the journey is more important. That’s the people who enter relationships just to see where they might go and who are pleasantly surprised by love if it arrives.
The last way to travel is by taking the slow route. The car or the boat rather than the airplane. These are the people who know they want to fall in love, are aiming to fall in love, but will take the trip nice and slow, just to make sure it’s real.
I’m at the charity gala, and watching the couples dance, I’d say there are all types of travelers here. The fast, the meandering and the slow.
It’s evening, the golden orange sun dipped below the water an hour ago and left behind an indigo-colored sky punched with diamond studs. The waves gently lap at the beach. The temporary dance floor is near the water’s edge and surrounded by tiki torches. The scent of citronella mixes with the cologne and perfume of the party goers.
I’m at one of the tall tables surrounding the dance floor, scribbling notes about the gala, and taking pictures. Most of the women are decked out in flowing green and brown dresses. It’s a tradition to wear shades of brown or green in honor of the charity – The Mariposa Turtle Rescue Center.
I’m in a Grecian-style silk dress with a slit to mid-thigh. It’s a muted watercolor pattern of swirling brown and green and gold. I even wore makeup and piled my hair in a curling, twisted up-do.
Earlier, when I was getting ready, I applied and then reapplied my lipstick then rubbed it off and reapplied it again. Then disgusted with myself, I threw the tube of lipstick in my purse and told myself I absolutely wasn’t taking special care with my appearance because I’d be seeing Declan at the gala.
I don’t care what he thinks of me.
Obviously.
This gala is one of the largest charity events of the year, and the cream of the island is here. I’ve already interviewed the governor, the head of the rescue center, and a number of business leaders.
In fact, I’ve got everything I need for my article. I tap my fingers against the bamboo tabletop and watch the couples on the dance floor.
The jazz band plays a love song.
Of course.
Across the beach, lit by tiki torches, I see Kate grab Declan’s hand and pull him onto the dance floor. He doesn’t look happy, but he also doesn’t look exactly upset either. You might say that he’s wearing his usual stand-offish, affronted, slightly annoyed expression.
Kate isn’t deterred at all. In fact, she’s buying a ticket on the jet plane to love and she’s hoping Declan will join her for the ride.
Of course, I already knew this. Kate hasn’t made any secret of her plans.
She called earlier to tell me she was eschewing brown and green in favor of a bright red miniskirt and hot pink strappy top. She asked if Declan had proclaimed a favorite color during our night together. I told her that Declan hadn’t proclaimed anything.
Kate didn’t mind that. She said that all men like red, and she was certain Declan probably did too. Then she started to sniffle a bit, and I realized she was getting teary-eyed, because she said, “Just think La-La, if this works, I’ll be seeing my niece and nephew soon. I’ll go to my sister’s wedding. I’ll have my mum’s figgy pudding.”
“You’re right. Wear the red,” I’d said.
It was good advice. She looks amazing.
Declan has loosened up and is actually leading Kate around the dance floor. They look great together. Declan all dark and broody, Kate all bright and vivacious.
I try to ignore the twisty feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s the same way my stomach drops when a plane takes off.
Ugh.
“I don’t like to fly anyway,” I say to myself. “In fact, I hate flying. I prefer slower modes of travel. Kayaks, bicycles, walking…”
I trail off and scowl at Declan’s back. He’s in a tux and the black lines of his jacket fall perfectly over his shoulders.
“A woman after my own heart. I prefer long walks on the beach to flying as well.”
I turn in surprise at the smooth male voice. I expect to see someone whose looks match the cheesy pickup line. A man with a loud, tropical bow tie, or an obnoxious smile or a skeevy leer. Instead, I’m stunned to find a handsome man in his early thirties with tousled walnut-brown hair, a self-deprecating smile, and an understated tuxedo. His hands are clasped behind his back and he’s turned toward the dancing couples.
“Were you talking to me?” My voice comes out sharper than I intended. Probably because I’m still watching Declan swoop Kate around the dance floor.
The man’s smile fades and he turns to look at me. “Sorry. I thought you were addressing me earlier.” He looks around in confusion. “Weren’t you? I’m the only one nearby.”
He lifts an eyebrow and gives me such a humor-filled look that I can’t help but smile at him.
“I was talking to myself,” I admit.
“Ah.” And he nods with such solemnity, that I immediately decide that I like this man. I like him very much.
“I’m Isla Waterstone,” I say. I hold out my hand.
He looks down at my outstretched hand and grins. He takes my hand in a confident grip, “Michael Sherman.”
His handshake is warm and friendly and I feel a connection with him. Like he would be the perfect person to go on a meandering, off-the-beaten-path trip with. After a moment he slowly lets go of my hand and squints at me in the dim, evening light.
There are smile lines around his eyes that deepen as he looks at me.
“I have the feeling we’ve met somewhere before, but I only arrived here this morning. Have you been to England? To Newcastle?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m strictly an islander. Well, and an on-and-off New Yorker.”
He shrugs and then brightens. “Perhaps it’s our mutual dislike of flying and mutual love of walking. Not many people share those two qualities.”
I laugh. “Plenty of people share those qualities.”
He chuckles in response and I take a moment to study him. His skin is roughened, I think he must spend a lot of time outdoors, and his short hair is messy. He’s handsome in a quiet, ordinary sort of way, not at all in the overpowering, magnetic way of Declan.
That’s good. I have no desire for overwhelming attraction. Ordinary is good.
I frown at Declan. He wouldn’t agree. He claims you need excitement and that lightning bolt of love at first sight.
“Are you here with someone?” Michael asks.
“Me? No. I’m here for work. I write for the local paper.” I hold up my notepad and point to my camera.
“Ah,” he says. “That explains why you’re staring at Declan Fox. He’s certainly newsworthy.”
I flush. I didn’t realize that I’d been staring. Or that it was that obvious.
“I’m actually…that’s actually…he’s dancing with my best friend. I was watching her.”
Oh boy, Isla, try and come up with a better excuse, won’t you?
The music stops and Kate loops her arm through Declan’s. They’re walking our way.
I pick up my notebook and hold it in front of me only to realize that it looks like I’m using it as a shield. I fan myself with it, even though it’s not exactly hot out.
“La-La, hello! I didn’t see you arrive,” Kate calls.
