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“Don’t tell me you moonlight as a catering expert, too?” I ask, teasing, as we stroll the stalls. “I have no idea how much food I’d need to feed ten people, let alone two hundred.”
She laughs. “I’ve wrangled a lot of cookouts, for my kid’s class,” she explains. “It’s just math, in the end.”
“Well, that’s my first problem, I’m terrible with numbers,” I reply, my mind racing to absorb this new piece of info.
She has a kid?
I look over. “How old is…?”
“Lottie. She’s fourteen,” Hazel says, pausing to sample some fresh dragonfruit. “No, her father hasn’t been in the picture. And yes, before you do the math, I really was that young when I had her.”
“I thought I told you, math isn’t my strong point,” I say playfully. “But, wow. That’s really impressive.”
“Getting knocked up in college?” Hazel quips lightly. “I think so, but my parents didn’t agree. At least, not at first.”
“No, I mean… my dad wasn’t in the picture either, and mom raised me alone,” I find myself sharing. “So, I know, it’s not easy. In fact, the older I get, the more I realize how much work it took for me not to realize just how much work it really was. If that makes any sense,” I add, wry.
“It does.” Hazel gives me a quiet smile. “And thanks. It was a pretty steep learning curve for me, at first,” she admits. “But I had a lot of help from my folks, and Reeve. And I like to think, Lottie turned out pretty good. She’s an amazing kid. Oh, crap,” she says suddenly, wide-eyed. “I’ve just jinxed it, haven’t I? She’s going to come home and tell me she’s quitting school to stream video games all day, or follow some Kpop band around on tour.”
I laugh, and sample some mango that a vendor offers us. “Back when I was a kid, we just threatened to run off and join the circus.”
“Simpler times,” she agrees. “Although, I think for me it was going to do the cancan at the Moulin Rouge. I watched the movie at an impressionable age,” she adds with a grin.
“I haven’t seen it.”
“Oh, it’s gorgeous!” she exclaims, her face lighting up. “The production designer, Catherine Martin, she’s the whole reason I fell in love with movies. Everyone always talks about the director– the two of them are married, and it’s a whole creative partnership,” she explains, paused by the fruit stand with mango juice dripping down her hand and her face glowing with enthusiasm. “But it’s her vision that makes all his movies so special. ‘Strictly Ballroom’, ‘Romeo and Juliet’… You have to watch them,” she insists. “The way she creates artifice that still feels more real than most ordinary sets?—”
Hazel stops suddenly, looking bashful. “Sorry. I can ramble about this stuff all day.”
I shake my head. “Keep rambling,” I insist, my voice coming out low and throaty. Because the way her eyes sparkle with excitement; the way she barely pauses for breath trying to share whatever wild visions are dancing in her mind…
I could watch this woman talk all day.
More than talk…
My gaze falls to her mouth. I can’t help it. Her lips are parted, that tempting red lipstick glistening with the mango juices, smudged just a little at the edges.
God, how would she taste?
“You have… a little…” I reach towards her, my hand moving of its own accord. My thumb brushes the corner of her mouth, and Hazel’s breath hitches. Her eyes meet mine, wide and luminous. She sways closer, her lips parting, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to lean in, and dip my head?—
“Coming through!”
The fish guy hustles past us, hauling a crate of something stinky, and Hazel’s breathless expression twists. “Oh my god, whatisthat?” she exclaims, reeling back in disgust.
The ultimate cockblock, that’s what. Christ, the smell of fish guts is overpowering, and from the smirk that old guy is sending my way, it’s no accident.
Thanks, buddy. Way to break the mood.
I take a breath of frustration – and then try not to gag. “Let’s get back to the resort.” I grab Hazel’s arm and steer the both of us towards fresh air.
Because I don’t know about her, but I need to cool the hell down.
6
HAZEL
Back at the hotel,I make sure those deliveries go directly where they’re meant to be – and that nobody is going to steal away into the night with the produce. Again.
