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“Of course. I’m glad it was good.” I don’t pry any further. I couldn’t possibly. Perhaps she’ll open up further to me as we become closer (at least, as I hope we become closer). “You’re feeling alright?”
Jude tilts her head back, red curls whipping around. Her lips are curled into a smile of satisfaction. “Wonderful.”
I get lost in her eyes a moment too long, brought back to reality by the blaring of a car horn as I drift into the nearby lane. “Sorry, sorry!” I yell as I correct the car, waving at the irate driver who speeds ahead.
“Am I distracting you?”
I don’t dare look at her again becauseyes, obviously. Fiery green-eyed vixen with pale calves poking out under her skirt. She’s the only Georgian I know who can’t seem to manage a tan. “Perhaps.”
“’Perhaps,’ he says with a stiff upper lip, trying to hide that he was indeed distracted,” she says as if she’s in some Masterpiece Theatre show.
“I think this might be the perfect landscape,” Jude says, using her fingers as a framing device.
I take the second to last chocolate-covered strawberry and pop it in my mouth. I’m watching a master at work. I must be silent.
“The view from the cottage would be even better. I could paint the railing and everything.”
I’m reclined to the side, watching Jude on her knees as her artistic mind works overtime. We’ve devoured the picnic basket Nicole made up for us, sitting on a gingham blanket and enjoying the sea breeze.
We had easy conversation the rest of the drive. I’d even say flirtatious if I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. Jude remarked that we ought to start planning again what kind of art I wanted her to do for the mural in my front hall. I’d all but forgotten about it. There’s been so much else going on.
Whatever keeps Jude happy, though, is what I’m committed to.
We arrived at Tybee Island which would be overwhelming and congested if not for the fact that my family owns a private cottage with its very own beach far out of the fray. I led Jude past the cottage and out to the beach, yellow sands spread out to the impossibly blue Atlantic, peppered with dune grass.
Jude picked out a spot, just close enough to the water that the sand is harder, but far enough away that the tide won’t sweep us out to sea.
And now here we are. Sated. Done with our meal. Perhaps done with our date if Jude decides. It won’t be me that wants to leave first, I can tell you that. Because being in Jude’s presence makes me feel lighter. It distracts me from all the stress of the lies we’re telling. Seems counterintuitive that all the dishonesty in my family surrounds Jude. We’ve made up a relationship, made up a love.
Yet when I’m with her, I feel like all that guilt goes away. Because inside the lie I’ve found a kernel of truth.
I adore Jude Parry.
“What do you think?” she says and, before I can answer, she leaps to her feet, her skirt blowing in the wind as she backs away, one eye pinched shut, hands on her hips. “Maybe at sunrise. Give something to focus on in the sky.”
“Or how about dolphins flying through the air?”
Jude snorts in laughter. She only does that kind of laugh when she’s had a bit to drink, and here we are, most of a bottle of wine into this date. “There aren’t dolphins at Tybee Island.”
I gape. “Of course there are!”
“Well, I’ve never seen them.”
“Sometimes you can see them jumping. But it’s better to get on a boat, go out and see them in person. Or even at the end of the pier if the weather is right,” I explain.
Jude tilts her body to the side, mouth pressed to the side.
“You don’t believe me.”
“Not until I see it, Chase Gladstone.”
The sunlight plays upon her brilliantly. She looks like she’s in a movie and I’m getting to watch right up close and personal.
“What?”
My eyebrows jump.
“You’re staring at me.”
