My Billionaire Protector

by R. R. Banks

  "Well," I say, opening my arms to encompass our surroundings, "welcome to the real world."

  "It's Magnolia Falls," Grant points out. "I don't know if it really qualifies."

  "Fair enough," I say with a laugh.

  "Hey, how's Carina doing?"

  "She's doing well. She has a daughter now. Grace. She's almost a year old."

  "Oh," Grant says, looking surprised. "Wow.”

  “Yeah, she was married less than six months, but it didn’t work out. She’s much happier now without him."

  "That’s good, I’m glad she’s happy. Are you stuck working all day?" he asks.

  I shake my head.

  "No, thankfully," I tell him. "I get off at 12:30 when one of the other girls comes in for the rest of the day.”

  "Do you want to do something?" he asks.

  It takes me a few seconds to process what he just said.

  "Do something?" I ask.

  With my life?

  With my hair?

  He nods.

  "Yeah. It's been a long time since we've seen each other. We should get together and catch up.” Oh, my gosh. With him. “Maybe you can show me all the changes that have happened while I've been gone."

  I take a step back from the window and point down at the new pair of purple high tops I'm wearing.

  "You see these shoes?" I ask.

  Grant leans over the window to look down at my feet.

  "Yep," he says.

  "That concludes the list of changes that have happened around here since you've been away at school."

  Grant laughs.

  "That sounds about right," he says. "Alright. Well, that clears up our schedule, then. I'll meet you back here in about an hour."

  "Sure," I reply.

  At least, I hope I said it. I might have just grinned at him. But he smiles back and waves before backing up a few steps, then turning and walking away. It's not until he has disappeared that it really hits me. Grant Laurence just asked me out.

  My head is floating, and the next hour is the longest one I have ever worked at the stand. There aren't enough customers to keep me busy, but there are just enough to keep me from being able to just lean against the wall and idly daydream. Finally, I check the clock and see my shift ends in less than five minutes. I don't see anyone approaching the window, so I pull my apron off over my head and hang it on one of the hooks along the wall. Slipping the elastic band off my ponytail, I shake my hair down. Miss Paula at the I'll Cut You beauty shop told me a bob would make my hair look thicker. Instead, it just made it look short. In the year since then, it has grown back down to my shoulders, and I am coming to terms with the fact that it will never be lush and luxurious. Instead, the dark blonde strands would better be described as "sleek," but I can live with that.

  Grabbing my purse from the small locker under the counter, I take out my compact and do a quick touch-up of the makeup that melted from the heat coming through the service window. I'm in the middle of a debate with myself whether to dab on some lip gloss, or if it would make me look too eager, when I hear knocking on the back of the ice cream stand. I follow the sound and open the window I had been looking out of earlier. Grant waves at me.

  "Ready to go?" he asks.

  "Absolutely. Where are we going?"

  "I thought I'd bring you to one of my favorite places. I have a lot of good memories of it from when I was younger."

  Intrigued, I close the window, and walk over to the rear door. When I step out, Grant is waiting for me. I can't help but feel a shiver of anticipation ripple through my body, and part of me really wants to stop where I’m standing and just stare at him. The longer I stand here, the more I can enjoy the fact that he's waiting for me. Of course, if I take it too far, he'll probably realize I’m weird and wander away; I definitely don't want that. There needs to be a fine balance.

  "It's good to see you," I say as I walk up to him.

  "You, too." I wish I was wearing something other than my purple high tops, black shorts, and black tank top. Maybe something sparkly. "You sure have grown up."

  I'm not sure how to take that. I'm flattered for the present me, but still slightly offended for the freshman version.

  "You, too," I say.

  "Come on," he says, and I fall into step beside him.

  I expect us to head further down the dock, but instead, Grant turns around, and we end up at the service window for the ice cream stand. I laugh.

  "Perfect," I say.

  "Three scoops of Chocolate Chunk in a waffle bowl," he says.

  "Wow," I say. "You're really going for it, aren't you?"

  He slides his eyes over to me, then back to Sarah at the window.

  "With whipped cream and hot fudge," he says.

  "Whoa, there," I say. "You might want to slow down."

  "And sprinkles." He looks at me. "Or is that too far?"

  "I don't know what you mean. Nothing is manlier than sprinkles," I say, trying to look serious, but feeling the laugh coming through.

  "So... no sprinkles?" Sarah asks, simultaneously sounding bored and confused.

  "Oh, no," Grant says. "Sprinkles." Sarah continues to stare at him blankly, and some of the smile fades from Grant's face. He leans toward her. "Yes. Sprinkles, please," he says seriously.

  She nods and looks at me.

  "A scoop of mint chocolate chip in a waffle cone, please." Sarah stares at me for a few seconds. "That's it.”

  Without a word, she turns and makes her way toward the stand of freshly-made waffle bowls and cones. I look at Grant and find him watching me. We smile at each other, and I wonder what's going through his mind.

  "That seemed like quite the challenge for her," he says.

  I nod.

  "She's new," I say. "Ice cream is serious business, you know."

  We're both smiling when Sarah appears back at the window with Grant's bowl in one hand, and my cone in the other. She hands them to us, and I reach over the counter to snag the spoon she forgot to offer him as he pulls cash out of his pocket and hands it to her. I try not to notice that the chunk of bills he slips back into his pocket seems almost as thick as the savings I have squirreled away in my room.

  We eat in silence for a few moments as we walk away from the stand, and soon we're wandering along the edge of the water. There isn't a wide stretch of powdery sand here like I've seen in pictures of tropical beaches. Instead, we walk along coarser, pebble-strewn sand dotted with patches of thick seagrass. The water washes in softly rather than in large waves, and the bracing smell wafts over me.

  "I always thought you and Dean were going to end up together, you know," Grant says.

  I'm halfway through a lick around my melting ice cream cone, and I slide my eyes over to him. Swallowing what I've gathered with my tongue, I give him a questioning look.

  "Seriously?" I ask.

  He smiles through another bite of the massive concoction that is turning into sprinkle-speckled sludge despite his valiant efforts, and nods.

  "Absolutely," he says. "It was never a question. I saw the two of you together so much that year. You seemed so close."

  "We were," I say. "Close friends. I never looked at him as anything more than that."

  "Really?" he asks.

  "Really. Dean is great, though."

  "Wow."

  "What?" I ask.

  "'Dean is ‘great'?" he repeats. "That's exactly what every guy wants to hear."

  "Well, maybe not from someone he's interested in, but he was just as uninterested in me as I was in him. He was nice and fun to be around, and I enjoyed working with him on the plays, but I haven't even seen him since he left for college."

  "So, you never once thought about trying him out? Just to see if it would work?"

  "Try him out?" I ask. "You make it sound like I'd be test driving a new car."

  "Close enough."

  I laugh and take another bite of ice cream while shaking my head.

  "No," I say. "I never wanted to tes
t drive your brother." I stop short of saying it's because I was holding out for a slightly older model. "I'm surprised you even noticed me. "

  "I definitely noticed you."

  "You did?" I squeak.

  "I thought you were beautiful and cool. I never said anything because I thought the two of you would eventually figure out you were into each other. Then I graduated, and nothing ever happened."

  Is he serious?

  "Why don't I believe you?" I ask.

  "It's true," he says. "I ran a lot of extra laps that year because of all the ice cream I ate so I could come look at you in that cute little uniform you used to wear. Why aren't you wearing it?"

  I can feel my cheeks burning, and I try to eat more of my ice cream to cool me down.

  "We stopped wearing them a couple years ago," I explain.

  "Too bad."

  The way his eyes are sweeping over my body, I know he's envisioning me in the pink, yellow, and white-striped uniform. I suddenly wish I hadn't ceremoniously set fire to the short skirt, crinoline, and puff-sleeved top so I could wriggle back into it now. We stare at each other for a few seconds, and I pull my eyes away from him to look down into my ice cream.

  "Tell me about what you've been doing in college," I say.

  Part of me hates myself for breaking the tension building between us. I’ve wanted the attention Grant is suddenly giving me for so long, but I feel breathless – like I can't breathe. Grant is a professional at making my heart flutter, and my mind fog over. Just looking into his dark eyes is enough to make me fall under his spell, and I can't feel that way – not now. There's too much ahead of me. I've worked too hard. I swore off men and chose to focus on having the best senior year I could in preparation for starting at Duke in the fall. Now I feel it all flying out the window, and I'm going to try my best to reel it back in.

  Grant starts talking, and fills me in about everything he's seen and experienced in college. The world he describes sounds glamorous and unattainable, and I'm rapt with attention. We throw away the wrappers and napkins from our ice cream, and Grant keeps talking. I barely even notice the intensity of the sun or the sweltering temperatures as we roam around Magnolia Falls, visiting favorite spots from his past. Finally, he asks me about the plans I have for when I leave for school, and it's my turn to talk with the same enthusiasm and life he did. I don't have as much to say, and I'm fairly certain that even after my first few years at Duke, I still won't have experienced even half of what he has, but I can't hold back my excitement. Soon it seems we've talked ourselves so far into the future there's nowhere to go but back, and we end up in the past again. Hours slip by as we tell stories and share memories, and all the nervousness and insecurity I initially felt around Grant slips away with them.

  I can't believe how late it has gotten by the time he walks me up to my front door. Once we reach the welcome mat, I turn to smile at him. My heart pounds in my chest and I’m shaking slightly, but I can’t tell if it’s the cool breeze or the reality of having spent almost the entire day with Grant Laurence.

  Is he going to kiss me?

  I feel like he is. This is the moment I’ve envisioned countless times before. But he doesn’t. Instead, he traces the side of my face with his fingertips and smiles at me.

  “I had a good time today,” he says. “Thanks for hanging out with me, Emma.”

  I nod.

  “It was fun,” I reply.

  “Goodnight.”

  I watch Grant walk back down to the street and disappear around the corner as he makes his way back toward the main village. He’s going in the direction of his house, but I know he very well could be going to the main village for the rest of the night. Though there isn’t much happening in Magnolia Falls this late.

  I walk into the house, feeling like I’m floating. If this is the one perfect day I’m going to get this summer, I’ll take it.

  Turns out, it wasn’t.

  The next day, Grant shows up at the ice cream shop at the same time as the day before. I’m standing at the front window this time, and I wonder if he went around back first. He smiles at me and steps up to the window.

  “Hi,” I say. “Another ice cream craving?”

  “I can’t resist,” he says. “Just too sweet to pass up.”

  His eyes lock on mine, and I feel myself blush. I wonder how undignified it would be to wrap myself around one of the huge containers of ice cream to lower my body temperature back to normal.

  “What can I get for you?” I finally manage to ask.

  His eyes glance over me so briefly, I wonder if I imagined it.

  “One scoop of raspberry, one scoop of chocolate, and one scoop of vanilla bean, in a waffle bowl.”

  I grab one of the freshly-made waffle bowls and carry it over to the freezer, quickly filling it with the biggest scoops I can manage. I bring it back to the counter and set it down.

  “With whipped cream and sprinkles?” I ask.

  “And a cherry,” he says.

  The burn in my cheeks returns, and the heat creeps down the back of my neck and onto my chest. I get to work, trying to regain some control. Once the bowl has a dome of snow-white cream and an ample scattering of sprinkles, I bring it back to the front window. Plucking one of the maraschino cherries out of the clear plastic bucket in front of me, I set it on top of the cream like a jewel, and hand the concoction over to Grant.

  “Looks delicious,” he says.

  I offer him a plastic spoon.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  He digs the spoon down into the ice cream and plunges the bite into his mouth. I watch as he slowly draws it back out through his lips, savoring each drop. Honestly, I could watch him eat the entire bowl and be perfectly content.

  “When do you get off?” he asks.

  Forget wrapping myself around a container of ice cream. I’m going to have to jump inside of one.

  “An hour,” I say.

  Grant nods as he takes a step backward away from the shop.

  “I’ll be here,” he says.

  Unlike yesterday, today was fairly busy, and the constant flow of customers helps get me through. During the slow times, Sarah taps away on the counter and stares blankly at a magazine. Occasionally, something in one of stories or pictures inspires a little gasp or a muttered comment, but she rarely raises her head.

  Grant looks at her for a questioning moment as he approaches, then turns to me.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Are you finished?” he asks. “Ready to go?”

  “Sure,” I reply. I take a few steps toward the door, then pause and look at him again. “Are we coming here again, because I could just make our ice cream myself and carry it out to you.”

  Grant laughs.

  “No. I have something else in mind.”

  I nod and head for the door.

  “What do you have planned for today?” I ask when I step outside to meet him.

  “I thought we’d take a ride over to Sun Valley Ranch.”

  “The water park?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he says. “It’ll be a good way to cool off.”

  The day had ushered in even higher temperatures than yesterday, and after a few steps, I already feel like I’m going to melt. But Sun Valley Ranch?

  “On the mainland?” I ask.

  Grant looks at me strangely.

  “You act like it’s some distant mythical realm. You’ve been off the island before. You’re going to school much, much further away than the water park.”

  “That’s true.”

  “So?”

  “I don’t have a bathing suit with me.”

  “We’ll swing by your house.”

  The nervous feeling is still fluttering around in my belly, but I’ve run out of excuses. I nod.

  “Sure.”

  Grant grins, and we start in the direction of my house.

  I’m enjoying the walk with him so much, I’d be happy if this was all we had planned for the day, but soon we arriv
e at my house, and I remember he wants to go to the water park.

  “Do you want to come inside?” I ask. “It will only take a minute for me to grab everything.”

  Grant nods and I open the door, feeling relief as I step into the blast of air-conditioned living room. He looks around, and I feel a flicker of self-consciousness.

  What’s he thinking? Is he surprised?

  “It smells wonderful in here,” he says, and I melt a little.

  “My mother must have made bread this morning,” I say. “She says the heat and humidity makes the stuff at the store too gummy, and that homemade loaves stand up better.”

  Grant smiles.

  “I’ll take her word for it. I’ve never had homemade bread.”

  “Never?” I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “My mother isn’t exactly a baker, and the cook just orders in bread from the bakery.”

  His words bring me right back to the staircase in his house, and the afternoon I spied on him through the crack in his bedroom door.

  “You can wait here,” I say, gesturing toward the couch. “Make yourself at home. I’ll just go change and grab some towels.”

  I rush toward my bedroom and make sure the door is locked before digging through my dresser to find my bathing suit. Evaluating myself in the full-length mirror, I step into my simple black one-piece suit and wish I had gone for something more interesting at the mall. Something strappy. A two-piece. Anything. As it is, my bathing suit is a testament to my tendency to make logical, rational choices rather than ones with personality. I very rarely get near the water, but when I do, it’s because I’m sitting in a lounge chair reading, or doing slow, awkward laps. Neither of those warrant an interesting bathing suit.

  I walk over to my dresser and grab my brush. Sweeping my hair back, I brush it into a tight ponytail, then braid it and secure it with a second elastic band. The last thing I need is for some of the wispy strands to come loose while I’m on any of the attractions. Other girls can go into the water with hair to their waists and come up looking perfect, walking in natural slow motion as the lingering droplets sparkle on their skin, but I’m under for three seconds and come out looking like the Creature from the Black Lagoon with my hair stuck all over my face. Not an image I’m dying to share with Grant.