“We are talking about a science book, aren’t we?”
“Passion can be taken too far.” He gets a faraway look, and it feels as if I’ve lost him.
I shift in my seat. “You promised me dessert,” I say to change the subject.
“And you shall have it. Sugar seems to be something you haven’t lost your passion for.”
I could give him the stats on how sugar lights up the frontal lobe and the reward centers of the brain, but something tells me he’s well aware of my so-called addictive nature.
Sam’s eyes don’t seem filled with thoughts of my addictive nature. He takes my hand and leads me outside to his expansive deck, where a love seat chaise lounge is placed. A single ottoman is in front of it, and my heart begins to race at the thought of sitting beside him in such a cozy position. I’m far too weak for this right now. Sam says all the right things, does all the right things, and worst of all, looks like a Greek statue. I need this kind of temptation like I need another month of movie marathons.
I break free of him and race to the railing. It’s formed in a V like the glass wall in his bedroom. I’m drawn to the curved edge of the V and feel the need to re-create Titanic’s “top of the world” scene. I glance back toward Sam.
He smiles with his dark brown eyes and offers that cocky grin of his. “Go ahead, I won’t laugh.” Once again, he’s reading my mind. “My sister had to do it the minute she saw it.”
“I can’t do it alone!” I reach the end of the railing where it meets the edge of the ship. Since the suite is on the top level of the ship, I imagine only the captain’s chair has a better bird’s-eye view. He follows me and grasps my waist at both sides while I step onto the first rail. I glance over my shoulder, and his face is so close I feel the intimacy intensely. His magnetic energy shoots through me and settles in my stomach like the biggest, most exhilarating roller-coaster drop.
His deep voice tickles my ear. “You’re on top of the world.”
My heart is thumping in my chest, more so than when I was perched on the zip line in a princess skirt. I worry it’s audible over the low hum of the ship cutting through the gulf. I can’t let him know he’s affected me, so I have to follow through. I step forward and lift myself onto the concrete lip of the ship and raise my arms. His grip gets tighter around my waist, and my whole body feels light and high on adrenaline at his touch. His hands send shock waves through my entire system, and I lose all will to launch into my Leonardo DiCaprio impression. I can’t even remember what he said, but I don’t want to turn around and stare into the depth of those dark eyes. I’m breathless at the very thought and it’s obvious I’ve lost my mind. I step off the rail and lean back against Sam’s broad chest. His arms clasp around my waist and I lean my head onto his shoulder.
Haley. I close my eyes against the breeze. He belongs to Haley. She’d laid claim to him, and even if he didn’t belong to her, one anchoring gaze from her and he’d be secured for good. Did I really need something that precarious in my life? Even for a week? I can get rejection at home. It was time to have some fun.
But try as I might, I fail to pry my head from the crook of his neck. He smells so good, so earthy and fresh, and I fit into the curve of him perfectly. As if I was designed to be there. I rest into him and feel the desire to be nowhere else. My anxiety lifts and I relax. It’s such a foreign feeling that I startle myself.
“Why is your sister here with her husband on a singles’ cruise?” I shout into the wind without turning to face him. I can’t bear to notice again how his well-defined abs show through his fitted, blue-collared shirt. I can’t bear to see those deep eyes, full of life and depth, drill through me again.
He leans forward and speaks directly into my ear. “To support her biggest author.” The vibration of his voice against my body is almost more than I can bear. I need to get out of here. I clench my fist and dig my nails into my palm. Don’t trust your feelings. Feelings got you into this mess. Think, Maggie, think.
“Your iced teas, sir.” Arvin announces the cozy, colorful scene behind us. On the table are two tall iced teas overflowing with ice, with lemon and a sprig of mint, beside a luscious slice of cake with frothy, pink whipped frosting. My head begins to shake back and forth. The seduction of Dr. Maggie Maguire is far too easy when cake is involved. Add one handsome man with brains and I’m done for.
I still don’t understand why Sam is choosing to pursue me rather than Haley, or what his motive could possibly be. He had to have been given the task of handler. There is no other excuse. But the truth is, it doesn’t matter. He’d said his truth when we met, and I need to heed that warning. What kind of person have I become? Do I simply do whatever I please now, without thought to the collateral damage? How am I any different from Jake at this point?
I unravel myself from Sam’s embrace. “Thank you, Sam. This is really an incredible place to write, but I need to get back to my suite. I prefer to be alone when I write, and I’m sure there are better things for you to do on this ship than babysit me.”
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No, no. I’m thinking of Haley. She’ll assume I’m back in the room working, and I don’t want to let her down again. The truth is, I haven’t been myself since . . . well, that’s neither here nor there. I’ve been mercurial of late and that’s not my personality.”
“No?”
“No. I’m a scheduled person. I do the same things at the same time every day. This has been a fluke.”
“But you’re back now? The organized you.” His voice comes in waves and resonates when he speaks into my ear over the wind.
“I am.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll miss the soaring princess.”
“You’ll be the only one. There are people who were put on this planet to be the life of the party, and then there are those of us who were built to report on it.”
“I’d like to think you can have a touch of both.”
Sam’s expression seems disappointed, and I’m triggered. But this is how I know I’ve made progress—I let him be disappointed. It’s not my job to make him happy.
“Your friends have a big influence over you, don’t they?”
“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my friends. I owe them more effort.” I look at the cozy setting with cake and juicy orange slices alongside the iced teas. “I’ve blown it big-time at my job. I took a long sabbatical to get over the breakup. Not really the breakup. I didn’t want to explain to my boss what the new office structure would look like. I didn’t know how to handle it. It was unprofessional. It was unprofessional to get him a job in the first place.”
“From the sound of it, it might have been healthy. I think it could get depressing reporting on people’s happiness when you’re feeling miserable and having to face your ex every day. Nothing wrong with taking time to grieve.”
“Right?” The iced teas and their buckling ice are calling for my attention. It’s something that I would have done for Jake on a hot afternoon, and the thoughtfulness of it touches my heart—even if the butler did it. But then, he had to be told to do it.
“I wasn’t trying something,” Sam explains. “I sincerely thought this iced tea and dessert break would be relaxing for you, but no more pressure. I can see how badly you want to get out of here, so don’t let me stop you.”
The last thing I want to do is leave his side. Which is exactly why I have to get out of here quickly. I smile at him and he smiles back. There is so much in his eyes that I want to read as passion for me and not his sister’s business. I lift up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek but can only reach his jawline, so it comes off as more sensual than friendly. He looks at me awkwardly.
“Thank you, Sam. You’re a good man to look out for your sister. I’ll get the book done because I’m a professional and I’m a woman of faith. And a woman of faith sticks by her word.”
Sam rests his elbow on the railing. “I don’t think that mercurial girl who changes her mind like th
e wind is completely gone. I see a little light behind the hazel eyes. It’s in the gold flecks.” He brushes the backs of his fingers against my cheek.
Instinctively, I press my fingers underneath my eyes. Jake never noticed that my eyes had gold flecks in them. “I have more bad news for you.”
“From your book of facts?”
“No, just my personal assessment.”
“Hmm?” He juts his strong chin toward me. “What’s that?”
“You’ll never be happy with a woman who doesn’t challenge you intellectually, so whatever gave you that impression that smart women can’t be happy? You need to fix it.”
“That’s why I’m here.” He stares past me through the window. “That’s why you’re here.”
“You’re not like Jake, my ex. I thought you were at first, but you’re far more complicated. And by the way, Haley has her master’s degree. Besides being stunning, she’s actually brilliant.”
“Is she now?” He steps closer to me, and I feel my stomach starting to get tingly.
“Thanks for your hospitality, Sam. I’m just going to follow the butler out.” I step back and hit the wall of windows. “Ouch!” I rub the back of my head. “I think you secretly desire an intellectual woman. All of this airhead business is just an excuse to keep you single so you don’t have to commit.”
“Is it now?”
I follow Arvin back into the suite. “Arvin, I’ll get my computer myself.” He hands me back my suite card. “Thank you for being so helpful.”
“Would you like something other than cake, miss? I’ll be happy to get you anything you’d like that’s on board.”
“Maybe a lobotomy to figure out why I select unavailable men.”
“Miss?”
Once I’m out in the hallway, I lean against the wall to recover after the stifling air in Sam’s suite. I feel the back of my head, where a lump is forming. Sam wants a smart woman, and considering the show I’ve put on today, we can surmise that definitely isn’t me.
I avoid thinking about the fact that I wasn’t in a stifling room. I was out in the fresh, open air with the stretched-out blue of the gulf surrounding me as far as my eye could see. But nothing felt expansive with Sam near me. My world felt small and cozy and . . . safe. I shiver at my romantic notions getting the better of me again. The last two months have ruined me.
Sam probably felt nothing I felt, and for all his talk of passion, it was all about work. Sam’s a workaholic. I’m a workaholic. People like us don’t have storybook endings. People like us are the residual friends who give the lucky couple bad advice, but they ignore it and find their own romantic bliss.
“Did you need help finding something, miss?” a woman in uniform asks me.
“No, thank you.” But I don’t move from the spot. From the possibility.
Sam is nothing more than a handler sent to get me to behave and get back on track. All romantic similarities are works of fiction I created to swallow the pain of losing Jake and my credibility in a two-month span.
I have all these residual questions, and I press my knuckles to the door to knock softly, but I can’t bring myself to go chasing after someone’s attention. Never again.
I’ve been terribly self-absorbed for the last two months. There has to be a balance between being a complete doormat and being a raging narcissist who doesn’t bother to show up for work so she can watch romantic movies.
I do wish I’d asked about his wife. I have been so caught up in my own heartache, it never dawned on me that he probably suffered mightily losing a spouse. I wish I understood what he meant about too much passion and how it can harm a person.
My hand is still raised when Arvin opens the door. “Hi.”
“Miss. Can I help you? Did you forget something?”
My hand slowly floats to my side. “No, sorry. Wrong suite.” I jog down the hallway, suddenly feeling the urge to race around the track with Kathleen and escape in a healthy way with exercise and self-torture and not ice cream. I am making progress.
It has been a long time since I’ve been to church, where they taught me never to be alone with a man in his private quarters. Maybe that wasn’t such archaic advice after all.
18
Altruism, or giving back, is essential in creating sustainable happiness. Compassion toward others releases endorphins in our systems.
The Science of Bliss by Dr. Margaret K. Maguire
AS THE SUN SETS ON OUR SECOND NIGHT on the cruise, my friends and I head to our spa date, which Kathleen has booked to ease the tension and get this vacation away from the stresses that seem to come with me as a passenger. I’m basically the Jonah of this cruise ship. I’ll be lucky if they don’t toss me overboard in exchange for smooth sailing.
I should have warned my friends that lately I tend to be like a storm of chaos. I can literally do nothing—like sit on my sofa—and there will be a mess of drama surrounding me. I know it isn’t biblical, but it’s like God seems to test me at every turn to see if I’ll believe, even if nothing ever goes right for me. This Job lifestyle is getting old quickly.
Let’s recap the cataclysm that is my life currently:
I have nothing to write for a book that’s due in six months.
My “fun” partner for the week is far too adventurous for me and only reminds me how truly librarian-like I am.
My job is teetering on a precarious cliff, and I’m hanging by a dangling zip line.
The only man who has expressed an interest in me other than Jake feels as if I am holding the secret to happiness for him.
My current romantic attachments are going the way of my career—straight into the toilet—and I should be fine with that. I’m totally good on my own.
Maybe rather than a working vacation, my friends should have done a true intervention and written me nice letters and sent me off to a fat farm, where the biggest treat of the day was fresh carob juice with tree bark sprinkles.
Fresh purple and white orchids line the spa’s water feature, which bubbles and trickles gently into the entry. In the middle of the water is a perpetually blooming cherry blossom tree. The essence of essential oils—ylang-ylang, lavender, and citrus—scent the sea-blue room and ooze tranquility. The New Age music makes me feel like I’m in an aquarium watching fish glide through the sea—only I’m one of them. The water tumbling over the round, black spa rocks provides a soothing aesthetic that slows my heartbeat and calls for a nap. The cares of the day dissipate in a fog of olfactory heaven. It would be ideal if it weren’t for the silent tension between Haley and me.
“We’re here for our seven o’clock appointments,” Kathleen tells the young woman at the desk.
We are led into a wide, circular room that surrounds another pink cherry blossom tree, with bamboo stalks containing stuffed rattan lounge chairs. We’re handed a leather menu with the spa’s offerings and given a glass of water with cucumber and basil floating in it. It’s not nearly as inviting as the iced tea on Sam’s deck, but I force that comparison from my mind. Be content in all things, with whatever you have. I should be satisfied with the cucumber water, and I certainly shouldn’t be coveting anything Sam Wellington offers. I’ll never know his motive, and rather than unlocking some great mystery, I need to let this one go.
“Your aestheticians should be here shortly,” the receptionist says. “Anything on the menu is available during your service—just let your skin-care specialist know. She’ll be happy to make recommendations if you’re unsure of your needs.”
“Does she give career advice?” I ask.
“Pardon me?”
“Maggie!” Kathleen chastises. She turns back to the receptionist. “Nothing. Thank you. We’ll be fine in here.”
The receptionist leaves the room, and the uncomfortable silence continues. Generally Haley, Kathleen, and I can discuss anything, but Sam Wellington is another matter. He’s a subject that isn’t sailing away on the floating rose petals dropped in the bubbling waterfall behind us. It’s as if h
is enormous, brawny presence is standing beside us, willing us to acknowledge him.
“This has gone on long enough,” Kathleen says. “Haley, you need to forgive Maggie so we can move on. She isn’t after Sam Wellington, and she didn’t sabotage her speech on purpose. What is wrong with you lately?”
Haley’s face is contorted in pre-tantrum mode. “This isn’t about Sam! Or the speech.”
“Good, because I’ve already told you he wasn’t for you,” Kathleen says. “You ignored me at your own risk. It’s not like it takes any kind of discernment to see that he’s into Maggie.”
“He’s not into me!” I say too loudly as they both look at me.
“Shh!” a spa attendant says.
“Maggie’s not into him, so what’s the problem? She is still not over Jake,” Haley says. “And a man like Sam isn’t going to stay single for long.”
Now who’s prophetic?
“I am right here, Haley. If you have something to say, you can include me if you want my opinion.” My friends seem to have forgotten I can speak for myself about Sam. Not that I have anything to say. “We’re on a cruise. In less than a week, Sam Wellington will be gone and back to his own life, and we’ll most assuredly never speak of him again. So why is there this tension, Haley?”
“Because Sam is worried about you, and I’ve tried to tell him you’re not like his wife, but he won’t listen. He believes you’re in danger, and that’s why he’s practically stalking you.”
I knew there was something else going on! Men like Sam Wellington don’t suddenly fall for out-of-work librarians.
“Danger? Of what? Overdosing on gelato? Not fitting into my jeans? What exactly am I in danger of? Besides losing my job, that is.”
“He’s worried you might . . . you might hurt yourself.”
I slump into my chair, humiliated at my pride—that I’d mistaken Sam Wellington’s pity and his fear of the past repeating itself as his interest in me. “You’ve said enough, Haley. I get it, and don’t worry, Sam Wellington is all yours for the duration of this cruise. You won’t see me making a fool out of myself again.”
The Theory of Happily Ever After Page 19
