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"Of course," Sunday says, charmed by how formal the man is when she's as naked as the day she was born and swimming in the ocean in broad daylight. "And there's a linen closet in the hallway right next to the downstairs bathroom. There are plenty of towels there."
"Stay where you are, please," Banks says, turning towards her house. "I don't like leaving you out here alone at all, but I'll be as fast as I possibly can."
True to his word, Banks runs across the sand and up the steps to her house, disappears inside, and is back to the edge of the water in less than sixty seconds. Or what must be less than sixty seconds, as Sunday has no watch on, and she isn't really counting. But either way, she's amused at his concern for her safety, and appreciative for the towel, which he sets on the sand and then backs away from like it's a bomb that might detonate at any second.
“I’m going to turn my back,” Banks calls out. “So don’t worry about me seeing anything.”
Sunday smirks as she steps out of the water, stealing another glance up and down the beach to make sure no one else is around. When she’s sure she’s in the clear, she runs to the edge of the water, breasts held in her arms for modesty, and snatches the towel from the sand, wrapping it around her body and tucking it tightly like she’s just stepped out of the shower.
“There,” she says breathlessly, wiping the wet strands of her hair from her eyes. “Better. Thank you.”
Banks turns around slowly and then smiles, satisfied that Sunday is safe from the rip tide. “Just out of curiosity, what was your plan for getting back to your clothing, if I might be so bold as to inquire?”
Sunday tries for insouciance as she shrugs one sun-kissed shoulder. “I probably would have just held my head high and walked my buns across the sand like I didn’t have a care in the world.”
Banks gives a gravelly laugh that sounds like it’s full of dark and inappropriate thoughts. “Well, then I guess I have your almost-ex-husband to thank for pissing you off royally, don’t I?” He lifts one eyebrow at her and then turns and picks up his run along the shoreline like nothing has happened.
Sunday doesn’t even pretend not to stare at his muscled back and strong calves as he disappears down the beach.
Sunday
There’s no way that Sunday can sleep and dream and not conjure images of Banks on the beach, half-naked himself in her mind’s eye as she emerges from the water, slick and wet and sun-dappled like a mermaid. Each time she dreams about it the outcome is slightly different, but always he gives her looks of longing, appreciation, and lust, and she wakes up feeling short of breath.
Can anyone blame a woman so starved for romantic feeling? Is it possible to hold it against a woman in her sexual prime, a woman inhabiting a body that might not be exactly what it once was, but one that is so familiar to her that she knows exactly what to do with it should she ever get the opportunity? Certainly no one could misunderstand her need to take an interaction like the one Sunday and Banks had on the beach and try it on over and over again, breaking it in like a favorite pair of jeans.
Ruby catches Sunday doing exactly this as they stroll down Seadog Lane together one afternoon.
“You look like the cat that got the canary,” Ruby says, watching her curiously.
“Not yet. But the canary is perched on my windowsill every morning, so sooner or later I’ll catch him.”
“Spill.” Ruby pulls open the door to Doubloons and Full Moons, the tiny shop sandwiched between The Scuttlebutt and Chips Ahoy, where everyone gets their coffee and their fish and chips, respectively.
The bell over the door tinkles lightly and they walk into the dim, air-conditioned shop. Ella, the owner of Doubloons and Full Moons, gives them a little wave from the corner of the store, where she’s showing someone a deck of tarot cards. Doubloons and Full Moons is full of fabulous beaded and handmade jewelry sourced from all over the world, but it’s also the island’s own metaphysical shop, and Ella does a brisk business in tarot card, palm, tea leaf, and psychic readings. Ruby waves back and leads Sunday over to a rack of long, beaded necklaces from Africa.
“There’s nothing to spill,” Sunday says, trying to sound casual as she selects a long, turquoise and coral beaded necklace from a rack and holds it up to her collarbone. She looks into the mirror that Ella has hanging on one wall. “Do you like this?”
“I think you look amazing in anything, Sun. You pull off every color and every style you try, and I’m not just saying that.”
Sunday puts the necklace back. “I think you’re just buttering me up so I’ll dish some dirt.”
Ruby picks up a silver bracelet with a square opal inlaid on its wide band. “I speak the truth, but I definitely want to hear what’s up.”
“Okay, I guess I can’t keep it from you forever anyway, and I also can’t wait to see your face.”
Ruby sets down the bracelet and turns to Sunday. “I’m intrigued.”
“Well…last week I finally called Peter.”
“Ugh. You should have told me, Sun! I would have brought over a bottle of wine afterwards so we could slog through all the feelings—I’m sure that call brought up plenty.”
“I actually slogged through those feelings by stripping off my clothes in the middle of the day and running into the water naked.”
Ruby’s eyes go wide with disbelief. She cackles and then catches herself, putting a hand over her mouth and glancing over at Ella and her customer. “Sunday Bellows Bond!” she says in a loud whisper. “You ran your bare, white bum out into the water where anyone could see?”
“I absolutely did, and it wasn’t ‘anyone’ who saw me…it was Banks.” Sunday cringes as she waits for Ruby’s response, which turns out to be another cackle—only this time she doesn’t stifle it.
“I’m beside myself here,” Ruby says, laughing even harder. “But I’m also kind of curious what happened next.”
