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“Yes, I’m a teacher.”
“Ah,” he says. There’s a whole world in that word, as if it explains everything about me. “Let me guess. It’s not high school.”
“No, I teach kindergarten.”
His lip curves again and he grabs his navy towel, rubbing it over his head. I look away from the vigorous movement of his hands. The action feels intimate somehow. Like he’s just stepped out of a shower.
“Kindergarten?” he says. “I have to say, you’re my definition of a hero.”
My eyebrows shoot high. “A hero?”
“Dealing with two dozen small kids every day? Half of whom can’t sit still, and the other half who want to eat glue? Yes.” He tosses the towel onto the catamaran’s deck and drops down, stretched out on top of it.
I grip my towel more closely. There’s somuchof him, strong, long legs and tanned stomach, and eyes that meet mine. It’s easier to handle him when he’s focused on his emails. But like this? I feel intimately aware that he’s a man, a stranger, and objectively a very attractive one at that.
I carefully lay my towel beside him and sit down cross-legged. In a bikini.Don’t think about it,I tell myself. What he might think or not think about me doesn’t matter.
Below deck, the boat hums to life. We’re heading up the west coast now, turquoise waters splashing beneath the boat’s hulls.
“It’s fun, though. I love kids.”—I look over at him, unable to resist adding—“Besides, being a teacher means I don’t get to work on vacations.”
“You took pictures of turtles for your students,” Phillip says without opening his eyes. His hands are beneath his head. He looks relaxed while soaking up the sun, with a faint smile stretching over his lips. “So you’re working, too, Ms. Goody Two-shoes, and don’t try to pretend otherwise.”
“So, what do you do for a living, then?”
“I’m an attorney.”
My mind conjures up an immediate image of high-rises and conference tables, and endless nights in front of the lit-up computer screen. “Wow,” I say, drawing out the vowel.
“Whatever you’re thinking—”
“Is probably correct, right?”
There’s silence beside me. And then, the admission. “Probably.”
I chuckle. “Good thing you treat yourself to nice holidays then. Did you enjoy your drink with the little umbrella?”
“The drink, yes,” he says.
“Want another one?” I get up off my sprawl and start making my way back toward the galley. We haven’t taken full advantage of the open bar.
“Eden!” Phillip calls. “No umbrella!”
“I can’t hear you!” I call back.
He gets an umbrella.
Three of them, in fact, in three separate rum punches. I’m on my second when the dinner is served at the back— the stern—of the boat. Anchored in a turquoise bay on the exclusive west coast, not far away from the Winter Resort, with the setting sun as our backdrop.
I sit down on a chair with a small sigh of wonder. I can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe I’m doing this, seeing this.I can’t believe I’m here without Caleb.
Phillip clears his throat. It breaks me out of my thoughts, and I look across the table to see him extending a hand.
“Pardon?” I ask.
“Give me your phone,” he says. “You’d like a picture of yourself here with the sunset, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, good thinking! Thanks!”
