Harley looks at Dove like she’s bonkers. “No way. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not actively out to get your boyfriend.” Harley’s thick hair sweeps against her shoulders, making her look dramatic and beautiful. “Besides, I heard you drone on and on about him back at the chalet. I hardly think he’d be my type.”
Dove grins, ogling Harley’s hair and wishing yet again that she hadn’t chopped hers off in a fit of illogical emotions. “You’re right. And I’m sorry for even thinking it.” She pauses, fiddling with her bracelet. It’s a thin piece of string worn down to nearly nothing that she’d found on a hike with William way back in the summer. He’d tied it on her wrist as they sat watching the birds swoop over the green grass and she never thought she’d keep it on so long, but now it was like a talisman and she couldn’t get rid of it. “So … what’s his name?”
Harley opens her mouth to speak but then bolts. Looking back over her shoulder, her dress billowing in a gust of wind, she explains, “I can see my guy—and my food. Catch you later!”
Dove stands on her tiptoes to see Harley’s friend but can’t see anyone. Maybe she’s making him up. No, that’s mean of me. Why would she do that? I’m sure she snagged some hot college guy on break or something. But what’s his name? She waits for William to return to the stone patio where couples dance and talk, and a rowdy conga line takes shape, then disperses as people laugh and play games. Yeah, Harley probably wooed some college boy who couldn’t stop staring at her legs.
College. The word sends shivers down Dove’s bare back. What if I never go? Will it matter? She thinks about her talks with Max and his Oxford teacher, Professor Hartman, who encouraged Dove’s intellect. Talking to Max about going to Oxford had been easy, but Dove knows if she brought up the subject with William, they’d have to deal with more than just what was right for Dove. They’d have to deal with their future as a couple.
“So … I got you something,” William says, creeping up to Dove from behind.
Dove shivers again, this time from the proximity to William. Their kiss by the ocean only reminded her of other kisses and how great they could feel. William snakes his hands around Dove’s waist, then puts something on her neck.
“When we were grounded on St. Kitts, I picked this up.” He clasps a tube-shaped sterling-silver pendant around her neck.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, beaming. The music from the party blares on, but she feels oblivious to the noise, to the crowds.
“It’s filled with something,” William explains.
“Should I open it?” Dove asks, her fingers poised to do so.
“No!” William stops her. “There’s … it’s an old island legend. You buy two of these and in one you write your feelings and in the other you collect this famous sand.”
“Sand can be famous?” Dove makes him laugh.
“I guess. Anyway, at Dieppe Bay there’s all this pure black sand.”
“So, true love in one container, black sand in the other?” Dove looks confused.
“Yeah. Exactly. And you’re supposed to keep one and give the other one away.” He kisses the back of Dove’s neck and spins her around to the music. They sway close together for a minute. “And, as legend goes, when the time is right, you open the thing up and if it’s black sand, it’s over.” He casually swats at the air. Then he pulls her in very tightly. “And if you have true love, the note will appear and …”
“The rest is history?” Dove dances with him, so happy to be in his arms.
“Right.” The music ends. “You thirsty?” Dove nods. “I’ll get us some drinks—they’ve got a major daiquiri bar going.”
“No alcohol in mine,” she reminds him. “I have early call at five a.m.”
Dove stands there, touching her new necklace and waiting for William to come back. If I opened it, what would I find? True love or black sand? She lets the pendant grace her neck but does not open it to find out.
“Again, thanks so much for having me,” Melissa says. The burnished brass clock on her bedside table reads two o’clock. She yawns, thoroughly exhausted after pulling not only a double shift and a grueling stint at the smoothie bar, but—to further ingratiate herself with Olivia and the others—a massive cleanup of the stockroom, cold storage, and freezer. Her hands are still slightly blue from the cold. “I know we’re not exactly friends, but again, I do appreciate the help.”
Max goes to the closet and hands Melissa two fluffy towels, a brand-new toothbrush, and shampoo. “Believe me, no one will notice you’re here—the place is way too big for anyone’s good.” He watches her look around. The room has a king-sized bed, sitting area, en suite bathroom with whirlpool and steam shower, and glass windows overlooking the water.
“It’s amazing is what it is.” Melissa sighs. “If I weren’t so tired, I’d be jumping around.”
Max nods. “It’s lovely. It’s fine.”
Melissa notes that Max’s usual charm, the wit and snarky behavior, seem to be lacking. “Are you okay, Max? You seem …”
Max doesn’t wait for a more probing question. He launches into a tirade, lounging on the chaise in the sitting area while Melissa perches on the bed.
“It’s just—she’s so frustrating! Or maybe I’m stupid and to blame for the entire mess to begin with. It depends how far back you go.”
“Sorry?” Melissa waits for Max to explain. I can’t believe how exhausted I am. Too tired to remove my shoes. Too tired to have to get up in a few hours to meet Harley and hear about her recent exploits with her nameless beau. And just what is his name, anyway? Melissa makes a mental note to demand that Harley reveal his name. The anvil-heavy weight of her body makes Melissa sink further into the bed. I’m too tired for anything.
Max doesn’t notice the circles under Melissa’s eyes, the droop of her mouth. He lies down as though talking to a therapist, his hands gesturing, his mind whirring. “Here’s the thing, okay?” He blushes for one second, then regains a businesslike composure. “I’m in love with Dove. Totally and completely. And—before you can say it—her old friend Claire, who showed up at Les Trois, had nothing to do with me. Or rather, I had nothing to do with her. I haven’t had anything to do with anyone, romantically speaking, since I realized I love Dove.”
Melissa lies down on her stomach on the bed, feeling that this conversation might take a while. She frees her hair from its restaurant-tight elastic. “And when was that, exactly?”
Max turns his head to face her. “Since last spring.”
“Last spring? Jeez—that was before Dove even came to Les Trois. Before she …” Melissa stops herself. God, this guy has it bad. Why is it I have no guys falling at my feet and Dove has too many to deal with?
“I know, I know. Before she met the guy whose name shall not be mentioned.”
“William?”
Max groans. “Ugh—you mentioned his name. But yeah, that’s what I keep annoying myself with—I mean, if I’d only spoken up then, gone to see her in London right after we graduated but before she left for the summer …”
Melissa shakes her head, her curls springing. “You can’t change what’s in the past, Max.”
“I know, I know. I just wish that she’d see the light.”
Melissa longs so much for bed but she can’t cut Max off—he did offer her a place to stay, after all. “What light is that, exactly?”
“Me,” Max says. “I’m the light.”
Maybe Dove’s got it wrong, Melissa thinks. If she could only hear Max’s plea, or if Max didn’t suddenly get all dramatic in front of her. But no, she’s got William and that’s who she wants …
Melissa stares at the clock, willing it to be earlier so she can get more sleep before meeting Harley at the beach. “Wait,” she says, remembering something.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Melissa says, counting on her fingers, her mind playing mental calendar. “It’s just easy to lose track of the days and dates here.”
“I know what you m
ean.” Max nods, his gorgeous face registering only signs of defeat. “My hopes were so far up coming here, and now every day just sort of slides into the next.”
Melissa yawns. She’d like nothing more than to slide under the sheets and forget about her long day, leave behind her romantic woes and the pining for people like the guy in the orange shorts or Gabe way off in some Nordic country. “I’m so tired,” Melissa says aloud, hoping Max will get the hint. I just want to go to bed and forget. Forget about my aching hands and feet and heart and forget about the as-yet-untold significance of tomorrow.
“I’m tired, too,” Max says but he doesn’t budge. “Tired of liking and liking and having my feelings hit a wall.”
Melissa nods. At least I can relate, she thinks and settles in for what she’s sure will be hours of listening to Max.
14
“HOW COME YOU SEEM blah today?” Harley asks, her head throbbing from too much sun and spiked punch the night before. “And hey, remind me later on, just in case I’m tempted, not to drink anything with alcohol. Last night, consuming too much, not good.” She holds her head in her hands.
“Sure. Whatever you say,” Melissa agrees. She puts her fingers to her nose, smelling yet again the sharpness of twenty pounds of sliced onions. Having been up almost the whole night, she went in to help with early-morning prep before meeting Harley. Using the mandoline food grater was no help in terms of stench. “Just call me Onion Girl.” Melissa’s eyes drift away from the conversation and out toward the water’s edge.
Harley turns to lie on her stomach, untying her magenta bikini top as she goes, but lying flat quickly to avoid exposing too much. “Really, Mel, you seem weird today.”
Melissa shrugs. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing meaning really nada or nothing meaning you’re pissed at me and not telling me or upset about work and not expressing it or …”
Melissa stares out at the familiar blue of the water. How peaceful to be floating on my back out there. “I remember swimming when I was a kid, how nothing mattered in the world on land. Just being in the water was fun enough.” She closes her eyes, feeling the sun’s harsh rays on her face, illuminating behind her eyelids so she feels as though she’s seeing peach-colored air. “Now it’s like everything on land is what’s most important.”
Harley motions for Melissa to tie her top for her and Melissa obliges. Harley then sits up abruptly, studying Melissa’s face. “Are you having a massive existential crisis?”
Melissa cracks a smile. She sits next to Harley and trails her fingers in the hot sand, sprinkling some on her legs. “Sometimes it’s like I watch you and Dove and I feel like I’m never going to have that.”
“That what?” Harley’s chestnut hair swings over her shoulders, her lips the color of ripe plums.
“That!” Melissa points to a couple of guys walking by who have their eyes pinned to Harley’s visage.
Harley hardly gives them a glance as she adjusts her top. When her hands reach her neck, she pauses. “Oh, no! Crap.”
“What?” Melissa asks.
Harley continues to feel her neck and then looks on the sand. “I lost something. I think.” She waits, thinking. “Or maybe I left it somewhere, which isn’t really the same thing as losing it. Never mind. Crisis averted.”
Melissa sighs. “Okay …”
Harley goes back to Melissa. “Don’t get down on yourself…. You have plenty of appeal.” She pauses. “Remember Gabe? And James? I seem to recall they preferred your je ne sais quoi to …” She laughs, and adds jokingly, “To my fine figure. Granted, they never saw this bathing suit.” She laughs at herself.
Melissa winces upon hearing Gabe’s name. Days and distance haven’t dulled the feeling of missing him. But then, how can you miss what you never really had? she wonders, touching the apples of her cheeks. “I’m going to burn if I don’t get inside or in the shade soon. Besides, I have about fifteen pounds of guava to chop.”
“Making daiquiris?” Harley asks, frowning.
“No—and no drinking for you, remember? I have to make salsa—tropical salsa. Thus the onions. Olivia’s in charge of the pineapples.”
“Sounds like you’re on Matty Chase’s good side. A great place to be. Most people when they start out have to haul trash or fish heads.”
“I guess I’d choose guava,” Melissa says. Then she remembers her mental note from the previous night. “Hey, you know what? You have to tell me his name.”
“Whose name?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Harley. Just get out with it.” Melissa mimes looking at her watch, tapping her foot in the sand as though she’s in a hurry. I could be in a hurry, she thinks, if I wanted to get to the restaurant early and get in some good face time with Matty Chase. I’m on his good side, sure, but it couldn’t hurt to be even better. Melissa doesn’t let herself think about what she really hopes: that Matthew Chase—the Matthew Chase—might offer her a job at one of his other restaurants. I could travel the world if I got accepted into his enterprise. “While I’m waiting for your answer, can I tell you what I read on the plane? That in-flight magazine had photos of Matty Chase’s dining establishments, the new spa he’s opening up in California…. Anyway, so many of the people who’ve worked with him end up doing cool stuff. Writing cookbooks, starting their own restaurants …”
“Getting television shows—like his son …” Harley adds. She reaches into her bag and grabs a tube of sunblock. After she slides cream onto her arms and shoulders, she tilts her head. “So … you really want to know?”
“The name of your latest crush?”
“He’s not a crush. He’s it,” Harley says definitively.
“Yes, please.” Melissa takes the sunblock and dabs some on her face, neglecting to rub it in on her nose.
“His name is …” A huge grin spreads over Harley’s chiseled face. “Bug.”
“Bug?” Melissa stands with her eyebrows raised, still not rubbing in the sunblock.
“I know, I know. You thought it’d be something cool like Drake or Dylan or whatever. But Bug’s his name.”
“His nickname, you mean?”
Harley shrugs. “I sort of assumed he was like one of those models or singers—the ones with only a first name.” She strikes a pose and pretends that she’s being photographed. “Doesn’t bother me.”
Melissa returns Harley’s grin. “Sounds—fun.”
Harley gets so distracted by thoughts of her love’s name that she doesn’t tell Melissa about the blob of white cream on her nose, either.
“He is fun. Fun and fantastic!” Harley nods and stands up, stretching her bikinied self and causing more than a little commotion from nearby groups of guys. “Just tell me one thing before you leave me beached by myself.”
Not for long, I bet, Melissa thinks but doesn’t say. Bug will show up with some entourage of cool people, all in couples. It’s not like I’m bitter—more like I’m feeling sorry for myself. “Well, I look forward to meeting this insect of yours.”
“Bug.”
“Spider, insect, bug, animal, vegetable, mineral.”
“Hot mineral,” Harley chides.
Melissa prepares to leave, readying herself for hours with pounds of guava as her only companion. Far off by the covered beach bar, she sees a pair of bright orange shorts. She squints, trying to see if they belong to the guy she saw at the docks, the same one who appeared at the hot springs. The same one she couldn’t shake off from her dreams.
I need to give him a name. But what to call him? Beach Boy? Hot Springs Hottie? No—Orange Shorts. And oh man, it is him! I could swear he sees me, Melissa thinks, blushing and burning. If I weren’t so worried about being humiliated, I’d ask him right now. But what if he doesn’t even remember being with me at the hot springs? Or worse, remembers it and wishes he didn’t.
“I have to go, Harl.” Melissa watches Orange Shorts walk closer. He’s definitely seen me staring at him. Great. Now I’ll be Onion Girl and Stalker Girl. �
�Seriously, I’ll see you after work. I’m only on prep and since I went in early to …”
“Kiss ass …” Harley fills in.
“No … okay, sort of … anyway, I have salsa and then I’m done. Around six.”
“Well, let me check with Bug and figure out a plan for later. We’ll get you out of this fog.”
Melissa starts off down the beach, lifting her feet as she goes so they won’t sting on the hot sand.
“Wait!” Melissa halts in her tracks. “You never answered me!” Harley yells to her.
“You never really asked me anything!” Melissa laughs, her curls bobbing as she giggles. Harley might be a beach goddess but at least she has a good head on her shoulders.
“What, in fact, is the giant chip on your shoulder because of?”
“Nice grammar!” Melissa yells.
Harley runs over, pouting. “Fine. Make fun of my lack of schooling. I might not have Dove’s elocution or your worldly ways, but who else has been so invested in your woes?”
“True.” Melissa sighs, wondering whether to spill the proverbial beans or not. This day was bound to be weird.
“Is this boy related?”
Melissa checks over her shoulder for Orange Shorts and feels both relieved and saddened when she can’t see him anymore. “No. Not really.”
Harley kicks sand at her friend. “Out with it, then.”
“Okay.” Melissa takes a deep breath. “If you want to know the real reason for my blahs today …” She pauses. Suddenly, as close as a few beach-spread towels away, Orange Shorts is there. And not only there, but giving her a look that tells her he does know who she is. But does he want to know? Melissa feels her blood zooming around her veins and senses the need to vacate the scene as soon as possible. “I, uh, ummm …”
Harley rolls her eyes. “Are you a spy or something?” she asks too loud.
Orange Shorts and a couple of other people hear and laugh. Melissa feels her face for further signs of burning or blushing and then realizes she has the sunblock blob attached to her nose. Nice work. No wonder Orange Shorts is laughing. “No. I’m not secret service or MI5 … I’m … it’s …”
Off the Trails Page 8
