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The laugh that escapes me is way bigger than I expected, but it’s natural. It’s good. It’s like we’re releasing some of the demons that have been hanging between us, but in a context we’re ready for. I never thought I’d laugh with him like this again.
It’s reminding me of what I liked about him in the first place. And now I’m torn between trying to beat down those feelings, or deciding if it wouldn’t be so awful to marry him after all.
That’s a decision for later.
Soon, the dusty hotel path turns into the main road that winds down into the oasis village. It’s a place that oozes character. All the houses have brightly colored front doors, and the people smile at us as we walk by. To them, we probably do look like a couple. For the first time all weekend, I don’t think I hate the idea of that as much as I could.
“Where do you suppose June thinks we are?” I ask as we hit the lakeside strip of shops and restaurants. It’s nothing compared to the variety you get in the city, but there’s a steady flow of people coming and going and a constant sound of laughter coming from within the lunch bistro. I don’t think I could hack this small-scale living, but I bet if it’s the kind of lifestyle that suits you, this is an awesome place to live.
“Who cares?” says Aiden, half-shrugging. I roll my eyes at him, that old fondness creeping closer to me with every second.
“Do you think they’ll send someone after us?”
“Candice, we’re not at school or in prison. We can do what we want.”
Not exactly appreciating his tone, I spot a cute-looking gift shop and grab his wrist to drag him over to it without warning. He stumbles on the first step, his legs still expecting to be heading in a straight line as I try to change his trajectory. But he doesn’t resist or complain as he wiggles his wrist from my grip to hold my hand properly.
I have to confess, his large, warm hand is comforting. I try to tell myself that this is one of the last things I want, but the fact I don’t make the slightest effort to pull away begs to differ.
We wander into the shop, Aiden having to duck under the low doorframe. The shelves are packed with trinkets — everything you could ever think of slapping the words “Desert Cove” on, from mugs to magnets to snow globes that hold a little scene of palm trees next to the lake being rained on by gold confetti.
The bell announces our entrance, and the shopkeeper greets us with a warm smile. “If you need anything, just ask,” he says, his rosy cheeks taking up most of the space on his face.
“Thanks,” says Aiden before ducking behind a row of festive palm tree ornaments coated in a fine layer of glitter that has shed into a sparkling layer on the carpet.
As we pretend to examine the glitter-encrusted trees and shells, I whisper, “Why are we hiding?”
“I don’t want things to get awkward if I’m recognized.”
I stand up straight at that, looking down at where he’s crouching, my eyebrow raised. “You are so full of yourself, you know.”
“It’s a real concern!” He tries to defend himself, but his floppy hair in his face makes him look like a child protesting at having a toy taken away.
“There’s no way people actually stop you like you’re a celebrity.” His nose wrinkles as he pulls a dubious frown and I scoff in disbelief. “Tell me you haven’t been stopped for autographs.”
“I thought we weren’t lying to each other anymore,” he says smugly.
“No way.”
“Hey, you’ve got my autograph too.”
I drop back down into a crouch, pushing him gently so he rocks back and forwards again like a spinning top. “That’s different and you know it.”
“It’s forever, though, if you want it to be.”
What do I say to that? My head is spinning way too much to think of something sincere, so I reach behind him to grab one of the ornaments. It’s a mermaid whose bra has been painted slightly off, meaning it barely covers her nipple-less breasts.
“Imagine hanging this up in your house,” I say, looping the string over my finger to let her spin freely, her glitter-encrusted hair and hand-held sign welcoming us to Desert Cove catching the light.
“You don’t think she’s pretty?” he asks, pouting like I’m making a mean comment on a real girl and not an unfortunate mermaid whose molding hasn’t been kind to her.
“I think her plastic surgery went really wrong,” I say, holding her closer to his face so he can look properly.
Even though he laughs at the comment, he still takes her gently in his hand and cups her there like she’s a baby bird. “I feel sorry for her,” he says.
“You’re buying it?” I say in surprise as he stands back up, still holding her.
“Support the local economy,” he shrugs, rolling her over in his palm.
