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“Here, let me get that for you.” Sebastian leaps for it.
“No!”
But he’s already grabbed the device. When he hands it to me, his eyes are almost black. “New Message from Iceman,” reads across the screen.
“I guess Mike’s texting me!” My pulse is through the roof. My hands shake as I take the phone back. I could still tell Sebastian everything. Right now. I could come clean.
“Isn’t Iceman the bad guy fromTop Gun?” Sebastian’s brow furrows deeper. His gaze is almost as electric as the first time I ever saw him. I shiver.
“Iceman is good at what he does. And so is Mike.” I shrug, trying to pass off my bizarre lie as normal. There’s no way Sebastian could ever guess that Iceman is the best stunt pilot I know: Grant Kevlar himself.
* * *
SEBASTIAN
Something’s up with Anna today. Maybe those gross comments on Instagram threw her off more than she’d like me to know. Grant’s not the only man to make lewd remarks on there. Although, after checking the profiles of a bunch of the other dudes, I’m pretty sure he’s the only one she knows.
“Ready!” She steps out of her bathroom in a pink crop top and very short, high-waisted jean shorts. In that outfit, with her hair flowing over her shoulders, she’s like a walking advertisement for Festival Cruiselines. Except for her wrapped ankle. She takes her crutch with her, and we pick up some ice packs from the medical center before leaving. I’m relieved to see she’s playing things a little safer now.
Right when we get down to the dock, I notice a sign for a dune buggy rental company, along with a list of interesting sights to visit on the island. I have an idea. A foolish idea, but once I’ve had it, I can’t pass it by.
“How about a more unusual drink than you were expecting?” I ask her.
“What did you have in mind?”
“You willing to let that be a surprise?”
The look of sheer delight on her face says it all. Worth it, even if I know there will be consequences. Like letting myself fall a bit more and having to get over it later. But it’s a choice that’s within my power to make. I suppose all relationships are like that, full of choices. Choices to love. Choices not to cheat. Choices to work hard at keeping it together. Or choices to let it all fall apart. Today I know the choice I want to make.
“Come on,” I say, jerking my head towards the dune buggy rental agency at the end of the dock. The rental process turns out to be quick and painless - our small ship is nothing compared to some of the multi-thousand passenger ships they’re used to handling. We’re set up with a hot pink buggy that’s open-air up top, save for a couple of roll bars. There are no doors, so you have to climb in, and I’m about to offer Anna a hand, given her ankle, but she tosses her stuff in the back seat, including her crutch, grabs onto the roll bars and hoists herself over, lean biceps popping. This woman never ceases to amaze me.
The town of San Miguel is crowded and slow, but once we start down the coastal highway, the view is stunning. I poke the radio and salsa music blares out at us. Anna lifts her hands, catching the wind, and lets out a long hoot. I can’t help but join her.
“Look at this place,” she says. To our left, flat greenery stretches away as endless as the bold blue water to the right. Long white beaches wrap the coast, and pounding surf sends spray up towards us. “I always wanted to drive the Pacific Coast Highway back in California,” she says. “It has the same sort of wild feel to it in places.”
“Did you ever get to do it?” I ask her.
“No, not the whole thing. Little stretches here and there. Maybe someday…” She trails off, looking wistful.
“I always wanted to spend a year driving across the US and checking out the coolest places,” I say. “It was probably because of how much I loved visiting all my great aunts and uncles when I was a kid.”
“I’d like to do that,” she says. “I have this idea that when I have kids, I’ll take them out of school, buy an RV with my husband, and—"
“Wait, are you serious?” It’s uncanny. Like she somehow snuck into my daydreams, back when I still believed I might get married, and stole them. “You too?”
“What do you mean?” She looks puzzled.
“You’re telling me you want to drive all over the US and homeschool your kids? So they could learn immersively? Like say, you could teach them about Lincoln and the Gettysburg address—"
“While they’re in Gettysburg?” She grins.
“Or learn geology somewhere like—"
“Yellowstone?”
I laugh. “I can’t believe you’ve thought about this, too. How didyouget the idea?” I’m still grinning, but Anna grows serious.
“My reasons for having the idea were a little less fun than yours.” Her voice is flat, almost like those first few times we met.
