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Chapter Nine
McKenzie
Fifteen minutes later, he’s dropped anchor on the sailboat and we’re in the two-person kayak, paddling toward the white sandy beach of an island straight out of a movie. Actually, he’s doing all the paddling. I’m too mesmerized by the island paradise that surrounds us to be of much help, but he doesn’t seem to mind. When we get close to the shore, he jumps out and effortlessly pulls the kayak onto the beach and then holds his hand out to steady me as I step out of the kayak. Masculine hands are my Achilles heel, and Noah’s are extraordinary. They are the hands of experience and discipline, the hands of pleasure, and the memory of them on my body has my stomach flip-flopping.
“You hungry?” he asks, careful to let go of my hand as soon as my feet touch the sand. Obviously, he doesn’t feel the same.
“Starving.” I know he’s talking about food, but he’s awakened a different kind of hunger in me.
Leaving the kayak on the beach, we walk to an open-air restaurant and bar just up the beach, where Noah orders us cold bottles of beer and a selection of traditional Filipino dishes to share, explaining each one as he puts them on my plate. The adobo is delicious, but I can’t quite stomach the crunchy, chewy texture of an appetizer called sisig, especially after Noah tells me it’s made with pig’s cheeks, head, and liver.
“I have to hand it to you,” he says, smiling at the face I make when I tentatively taste it. “You’ve got nerve.”
“Not really,” I admit. “I always overthink everything. It tends to make me a little cautious.”
“Paralysis by analysis?” He spears a piece of chicken with his fork.
I laugh. “Something like that. I’ve always been kind of a wallflower.”
“You’ve probably never had a chance to be otherwise,” he says gently. “You’ve been through some hard times. But I have to disagree with you. You have a bold streak that’s pretty damn impressive.”
I’m oddly pleased at his praise. Even if he’s wrong.
“Liam was always the risk-taker. The daredevil.” I take a sip of cold beer, thinking about what Noah said. “But maybe that’s changing. Completing the things on Liam’s bucket list has been kind of liberating, not only because it’s made me feel closer to him, but because with each challenge I tackle and accomplish, I feel bolder and stronger and braver—like I can do anything.” I laugh. “It sounds crazy.”
Noah is looking at me intently. He reaches out a finger and traces it gently across my cheekbone. “No. Not crazy at all,” he says softly.
My pulse quickens at his touch.
Then, obviously remembering himself, he frowns, clears his throat, and busies himself squeezing a lime into his beer. “So tell me more about your brother’s list,” he says after a few minutes. “You said he added some things right before he died?”
I nod. “He must have been thinking about what he wanted to do when he got out of the navy. He loved being a SEAL, but his last few deployments had been hard on him emotionally, and lately he’d been talking about possibly getting out. Actually, this trip to the Philippines was one of the last things he added, and so was diving in Malaysia.” I laugh. “Who knows why. Knowing Liam, he probably met some gorgeous Filipino girl and figured there were more where she came from.”
Noah steeples his fingers in front of him. “I’m glad our paths crossed. From this point forward, let’s honor your brother’s memory and do it right. Let’s do what he would do.”
Doing it right apparently means lying on the beach and more swimming, followed by watching the most amazing sunset I’ve ever seen from a hammock tied between two palm trees on the beach outside the bar. Noah seems a little more relaxed with me, although he does frown when I peel off my shorts and T-shirt. “There’s barely anything to that swimsuit. Don’t you have a one-piece or something?”
Who knew Noah Payne was such a prude? “You’re going to make your daughter’s life hell one day.”
“Not an issue. I’m not having kids.” I want to ask him why, but the look on his face makes it clear the conversation is over. Oddly enough, I can totally see Noah as a dad, the kind who has tea parties with his little girl and plays catch with his son. He’d make a great dad, the kind who is imposing and firm but steady, his love unconditional. It’s too bad he obviously thinks otherwise.
When the sky is dark, the swirls of orange and yellow over the glistening water just a memory, we walk to another bar up the beach. Like everything else here, it’s open-air and a dive by American standards, but it’s clearly the happening place with a rowdy crowd of locals and tourists alike, drinking and dancing and singing karaoke. The atmosphere is fun and friendly, and the drinks are flowing. After a few glasses of a tropical drink called Weng Weng that’s made with six different types of alcohol mixed with orange and pineapple juice, I’m feeling buzzed and almost happy for the first time in ages, even if it’s just for the moment and alcohol induced. I’m also feeling a little wild and impulsive. In a moment of clarity, I realize this is what it feels like to be truly alive. I’ve been missing it, but Liam knew it all along. The secret to life is taking chances and trying new things.
An old local on the stage picks up a guitar and starts strumming, singing the opening lines of the duet “Picture” by Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow. He pauses and looks out at the small crowd gathered in front of the stage. “Any of you ladies want to join me?”
I’ve always wanted to try karaoke, but I’ve never had the guts to do it. He continues to sing, and with the alcohol lowering my inhibitions and clouding my brain too much to overanalyze it, I set down my drink and walk up on stage, picking up the microphone just in time to chime in with the female lyrics.
The crowd erupts with applause. He gives me a wink and a toothy smile, encouraging me. I’ve never sung in front of anyone before, and while it’s a little scary at first standing on a stage singing to a crowd, even a small drunk one, it’s pretty exhilarating. When the song is over, I leave the stage to a roar of cheers. It’s the most fun I’ve had in ages.
Noah watches it all from the table, never taking his eyes off me, an ever-present ghost of a smile on his lips. He observes everything with that predatory, watchful look in his eyes, but he keeps himself apart slightly. In the crowd but not of it. There seems to be an instant friendship between everyone else at the bar, though, the kind that is forged by being thousands of miles from home and in a new place where strangers quickly become friends. Before long, a group of young twenty-somethings from Texas arrive. They’re funny and chatty and easygoing, and soon, we’re sharing stories of how we came to be in Palawan. They’re all fascinated by my story of Liam’s bucket list. Before long, a couple of guys from Colombia join us.
From the moment they sit down, Noah seems to take an instant dislike to them, especially Sebastian, the one who sits next to me. He’s attractive in a suave, urbane way, with dark olive skin, long black hair that brushes his collar, and an engaging smile. Surely Noah’s not jealous. He clearly wants nothing to do with me.
“So what is this bucket list you’re talking about?” Sebastian asks with a smile.
“Just the best thing ever!” answers a blonde girl named Miranda who’s touring the islands with her boyfriend, Matt. “Her brother was a Navy SEAL, and he died in the line of duty. McKenzie’s finishing his bucket list.”
He arches a dark brow at me questioningly. “This is you?”
