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Julia
“I owe it all to a jellyfish,” I tell Imogene, a dreamy smile crawling across my lips.
She scrunched her nose. “A…jellyfish?”
Reaching for the bottle of wine I’d opened, I poured a bit into a glass and took a sip.
“It’s how we met. My first morning on Oahu, I stepped on one. He dug out the stingers.”
“Ouch. Are you okay?” she asked, eyes darting to my leg.
“It was nearly three weeks ago. I’m as good as new. Don’t get me wrong.” I took another sip of wine. “It hurt like a bitch.”
With a smirk, Imogene dropped her food onto her plate, holding out her hand. “That’ll be a dollar.”
I huffed out a breath, feigning annoyance. Regardless, I stood and reached into the back pocket of my shorts, withdrawing a bill from the stash I kept on me solely for this purpose.
I could act annoyed all I wanted, but the cash I gave her went toward a good cause.
A girl after my own heart, every year around Christmas, Imogene took all the money she’d earned, thanks to my colorful language, and we went toy shopping, which she would then donate to women’s shelters in the area.
Most teenagers would probably want to buy something for themselves, such as designer clothes or the latest iPhone.
Not my girl.
It served as another reminder of what an amazing human she’d grown into.
“So… You stepped on a jellyfish. He came to your rescue. What happened next?”
“I went on my way. He went on his. But we kept running into each other.”
“Aww…” She covered her heart with her hand, visibly swooning. “It’s like fate wanted you to be together. It’s so romantic.”
At first, I certainly didn’t think that was the case. Romance wasn’t part of my initial arrangement with Lachlan. But even that first night, when we were just two strangers who didn’t know each other’s real names, he’d romanced me.
Romance wasn’t about grand declarations of love or passion-filled exchanges. It was in the little things.
Like the way he looked at me as if I were the only woman on earth, even in a crowd.
Or the way his hand always found mine, like he couldn’t stand so much as a second passing without feeling my skin against his.
Or the way he put my comfort above all else, going so far as to bake a cake with me to help ease my nerves over the prospect of having sex for the first time in years.
“Wow…,” Imogene exhaled, cutting through my thoughts.
“What?”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you smile like this in, well…ever.”
“I smile,” I argued. “There are magazines all around the country filled with my smiling face.”
“But that’s Julia Prescott, the Baking Sweetheart of the South,” she mimicked in a pronounced Southern drawl. Then she leveled her stare at me. “That’s not really you. But right now…” She gestured at me. “This is you. It’s a good look on you, Mama.”
Her words left me momentarily speechless. Not just at their content, but at the maturity Imogene possessed in order to come to that conclusion.
“Thanks, sweetie.” I smiled before clearing my throat. “There’s something else I should probably mention.”
“What else is there? He makes you happy and treats you well, right?”
