He disappears inside and comes back a few seconds later, tucking his cell phone in his pocket as he pulls the front door closed. He turns around and grabs my hand, swiftly bringing it to his lips and planting a soft kiss on my knuckles.
“I will try not to feel bad that you don’t trust my cooking.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust it. I’ve just had an upset stomach for a couple of days. Just getting use to the island and all.”
He casts a suspicious sideways glance in my direction. “I’ll pretend to believe that.” He begins walking faster until we’re jogging. “Come on. The restaurant I want to take you to is always busy for lunch. We have to hurry if we want to get a table.”
I laugh as he pulls me to the left at the crossroad and we jog up the incline to a small restaurant with a patio overlooking the harbor. He seems a bit out of breath when we get there, but I could probably go up and down that hill a half dozen times before I’d show signs of fatigue. If Daimon comes back, Nick will be no match for him.
Nick speaks to the waitress, who seems reluctant to seat us. He seems to be laying on the charm pretty thick, though I don’t understand a word they’re saying. Finally, her shoulders slump and she nods as she grabs a couple of menus and takes us through the restaurant to the patio.
“What did you have to tell her?” I whisper as she leads us to a perfect location in the corner of the patio where the view is spectacular. From here, we can see the waves crashing against the black ocean rocks below.
“I told her you were dying of cancer and this is your last wish. And…”
“And what?”
He waits until the hostess is gone, then he chuckles. “I told her you are the daughter of a famous Spanish actor. She believed it.”
I swallow hard when I think of the words Daimon said to me last week: You are a princess, Alex! It’s time you start acting like one….
“I’m sorry. Did I upset you?”
I look up and Nick looks worried. “No, no. I’m just thinking about home. Sometimes I get a little homesick.”
Homesick isn’t exactly the word for what I’m feeling. More like just plain sick of feeling haunted. Sick of feeling anything at all for Daimon.
Nick stares at me through squinted eyes for a moment, as if he’s hatching a plan. “I think I can help you with that.”
“How? I can’t go home — I mean, I can’t go home yet. My rent is paid through the month. I need to try to find some inspiration while I’m here.”
He smiles and I get a fluttering in my belly. “I think I can help you feel less homesick and help you feel more inspired, at the same time. But I’ll have to tell you about it later. I have to talk to—” His cell phone rings and he’s almost frantic as he slides it out of his pocket and checks the screen. “I have to take this. I’ll be just a minute.” He practically leaps out of his chair and answers the phone just as he enters the interior dining area.
That was odd.
The waiter comes by and asks me a question in Spanish, but I ignore him as I rise from the table and head inside to follow Nick. I see him just as he disappears into a corridor marked with a restroom sign. I hurry over, but I don’t enter. I stand off to the side and attempt to listen in, but all I hear is Nick whispering urgently in Spanish.
A woman wearing a straw sunhat looks at me curiously from a few tables away. I must look strange, a half-albino trying to eavesdrop on her date’s conversation. I smile at the woman then I flip her the bird and she looks stunned.
“Al—Alyssa?”
Shit.
I turn to my right and Nick has one eyebrow cocked as he waits for me to explain what I’m doing here.
I smile and flip the woman off one more time for good measure. “Sorry, I didn’t see you. I was coming to use the restroom and this rude woman was staring at me because I look different. Excuse me.”
I push past him and head for the ladies’ restroom. Once inside, I take a deep breath of stale bathroom air and head for a stall. I force myself to piss then I head back to the patio.
Nick looks a bit serious as I take a seat across from him. “I ordered you a glass of wine.”
“Thank you,” I say, trying to squash the paranoia telling me not to drink it.
We sit in silence for a moment, just watching the waves as they crash against the rocks repeatedly. Finally, the waiter returns to take our order and Nick translates the specials for me. But when none of them sound interesting, he orders something he’s certain I’ll enjoy then sends the waiter on his way.
“You haven’t touched your wine.”
“I’m just still feeling a little queasy.”
“Queasy?”
“Queasy means sick, to my stomach.”
“Oh.”
He nods and turns back toward the ocean view. He doesn’t believe me. And why should he. He just caught me spying on him.
“Nick?”
He turns to me and raises his eyebrows.
“There’s something I have to tell you. I … I left the U.S. to get away from some things … someone. I thought he was—”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“No, I want to explain. I want you to know why I did that.” I nod toward the dining area inside the restaurant. “I was burned … badly. In the worst way imaginable. And I’m … I’m scared.”
“It’s okay. You—”
“I feel like I don’t know what the truth is anymore,” I continue, not wanting to stop while I’m on a roll. “I used to have a routine. I knew how every day would go from the time I woke up until I lay down to sleep, but now I don’t know anything. I don’t know who to trust. I don’t know if I’ll ever trust anyone again.” I grab his hand and look him in the eye. “But I want to. I want to let go of the past. I want to trust… someone.”
He leans forward in his chair and lays his hand over mine. “I just want you to give me a chance.” He reaches up and cradles one side of my face in his large hand. “Can you give me a chance to show you that I’m not like this person who hurt you?”
A surge of emotion overcomes me and I blink repeatedly to stop the tears from spilling over. The waiter arrives with our food, providing me with a bit of cover to dab the corners of my eyes with my napkin. Once the waiter’s gone, I flash Nick a huge smile.
“Let’s hurry up. I want to take you back to my place and show you something.”
***
We arrive at my cottage, our hunger sated with outrageously succulent seafood. Our thirst slaked with equally phenomenal wine. I feel much better than I did last night after those sangritos. In fact, as I close the front door behind me and follow Nick into the living room, admiring his backside view, I’m feeling positively fabulous.
He turns around where the living room and kitchen meet. “This home has a very warm feeling. Is it just me?”
“No, it’s not just you. It’s the air conditioner. It doesn’t work.” I chuckle as I head for the living room window to open it. “This house is 114 years old. Sometimes the water heater doesn’t even work and I have to take a cold shower.” I unlatch the lock on the window and slide it open. “But at least it has new storm doors and windows.”
I flinch as Nick sneaks up behind me and slides his hands over my hips, moving forward until they rest on my abdomen. I can smell his soft cologne as he nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck.
“I’ve been wanting to touch you ever since I woke up with you in my bed this morning.” I close my eyes, trying to ignore that familiar pulsating sensation between my legs as he takes my earlobe between his teeth and gently scrapes them over my skin. “But you left in such a hurry.”
A stiff breeze sweeps through the window, lifting the hairs around my nape and carrying with it that familiar scent I’ve come to associate with Daimon. His smell must be embedded in this dress from being inside my closet. I glance down and notice my nipples have hardened beneath the thin fabric of my dress.