Page 24 of Love, Morgan

She puffed up proudly, almost automatically from the looks of things. It seemed natural for her, and it fit my earlier assessment of her. She might not be a celebrity, but she was important. She held herself like she belonged in the world, like praise was given to her freely and frequently, and like she knew she deserved it.

I wondered what it must be like to exist like that.

I smiled softly at her. “You really didn’t need to—”

“No. I really did.” She looked around again, glancing down the walkway that connected our bungalows to the island. “I was hoping to leave it for you to find, but this works too. I know how to face my errors, infrequent though they are.”

I breathed a laugh. She might just be the most confident person I’d ever met—I hadn’t seen anything to suggest she shouldn’t be—and the idea that I was capable of making her nervous felt ridiculous.

She took a deep breath, looked back at me, and let it out. “I have been unconscionably rude since we met—which is a strong word for what we’ve done, but it will suffice—and, for that, I am truly sorry. I was startled to see you here, and did not handle it particularly well.” She paused, rolling her eyes at what seemed to be herself. “I handled it even less well this morning.”

“It’s really okay,” I insisted. All I wanted was for her not to hate me. She didn’t have to do all this.

She shook her head. “It’s really not. And, besides, Ripley would never let me live it down if I screamed in your face again.”

I wondered who Ripley was. I wondered at the casual familiarity of dropping someone’s name like that in conversation. Perhaps it was simply nerves, but I couldn’t help but admire it. The freedom to speak of her life and not hide things away, the belief that she could say whatever she wanted and the person listening would just go with it. She seemed so free, even when she was uncomfortable.

She gestured to the box in my hands. “I got that to say sorry. You aren’t required to accept the apology, you don’t have to use it, you don’t owe me anything. It’s just a small token of my sincere regret, and a hope for you to have a better vacation from here on out.” She winced. “I promise not to appear, hammering on your door and telling you to stop working anymore.”

“It really wasn’t all that bad,” I said, a small giggle slipping from me.

I liked who she seemed to be, even if I didn’t know her, but I also liked who I seemed to be around her. I didn’t know this person—I wasn’t The Pretty Gift, but I wasn’t isolated, shutdown Iona either. That scared me, but in a good way.

She looked at me in surprise, her face almost naturally slipping into something of a smirk. I liked that on her too. “Well, okay.”

And then it was my turn to blush.

I ducked my head, looking at the gift. “Do you want me to…?”

“Absolutely not. That’s for you. Open it when I’m gone. And have a lovely day.” She nodded as she whirled on the ball of her foot again, and strode purposefully away from me.

Without thinking, I stepped after her, calling, “Hey, wait.”

As she froze, turning back, I felt my face burn brighter. I hadn’t meant to stop her. I hadn’t even known I was going to. I didn’t even know what I wanted.

But apparently, my mouth did. Disengaged from my brain though it was.

“So, you are a fan then?” I asked, waving the gift in her direction.

Her breath caught right at the moment I was certain I stopped breathing. Why on earth had I chased after her to point that out? How self-absorbed and awkward could I be?

She made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a choke. She obviously hadn’t been expecting me to bring it up, but I didn’t think she disliked that I had. There was a mischievous light dancing in her eyes that I wanted to spend the rest of time chasing.

“That’s one word for it,” she said, her shoulders relaxing, but her hands still clenched tight.

“What’s another?” I asked immediately, completely baffled about where I was pulling this energy from.

“I don’t do things by halves,” she said, her eyes darkening in a way that could have been a threat or a promise.

I narrowed my eyes, watching her in the bright afternoon light. “What does that mean?”

She laughed. “It means I’m Morgan Franklin. I’m neverjusta fan. I’m either number one fan or nothing at all.”

Her name was Morgan. I finally knew it. It suited her well.

“So, you’re telling me I just met my number one fan?”

“I think you can figure that out.” She grinned, turning away again.

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