Page 6 of Rowan's Renewal
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After exploring the resort and making a mental list of all the things I want to try over the next few days, I head back up to the suite. I almost swallow my tongue when I walk in to find Rowan dressed in loose-cut jeans, and a tight black t-shirt which hugs his biceps and pecs like a second skin.
“Whoa,” I breathe, and he arches an eyebrow at me.
I gesture at his outfit, wishing the jeans were just as flattering as the shirt. “You look fantastic.”
His cheeks turn pink, and he shakes his head. “Hardly, but thank you.”
I want to push the issue, but that might make things weird, so I just roll my eyes. “Give me twenty to grab a quick shower, and I’ll be good to go, too.”
I dress more casually in beige shorts and a white t-shirt, sliding my bare feet into brown boat shoes. I enjoy the way Rowan’s gaze travels over me when I emerge from the bathroom, a glint of appreciation and hunger in his eyes before he blinks it away.
“So,” I cock my head, “want to eat here at the resort, or would you like to venture out and explore a bit? I heard some of the guys saying that there are some nice places to eat on Hastings Street. That’s, like, the main tourist strip here, I think.”
“It could be nice to leave the grounds and see what else is out there. Now that the sun is going down, I don’t feel like I’m as likely to melt.”
I want to tell him that wearing jeans probably isn’t helping with the heat, but he would know that. He’s a grown man, and he’s not my Boy, so I don’t have the right to dress him or even offer suggestions on his clothing. I guess I got too used to picking Jerry’s outfits for him.
I pocket my room key, phone, and wallet, and watch as he does the same before we head out of the room together.
We get an Uber from the resort to the main tourist strip, which is a long street of clothing stores, hotels, and restaurants with the main beach on one side and a river running along the other side. It’s bustling with people, with a number still flocking to the beach, despite the waning sunlight. Even in summer here, the sun sets around 6:30pm, which is kind of different to back home. It makes the days feel shorter, even though the heat carries on during the night.
Meanwhile, other people are stumbling their way off the sand and onto the sidewalk, their skin damp with salty seawater, granules of sand clinging to them. Some carry surfboards, some have towels draped over their shoulders. Then there are those dressed like me and Rowan, ambling towards the bars and restaurants.
The atmosphere here is somehow both vibrant and relaxed. Most people are smiling, clearly enjoying a vacation themselves, and everything looks bright and airy.
“Want to wander a bit and see if anything calls to us, or have you already Googled and you know exactly what you’d like to eat?” I ask, guessing that my companion is probably the latter kind of traveler.
He smiles sheepishly. “Usually, I would do that. But this is a thank you meal for you, so…let’s see what’s out there and then decide?”
Once again, I’m struck by the firm belief that he’s quite submissive, and I wonder if he wants me to make the decision because he finds it stressful to make any himself.
“That sounds good to me.”
We stroll along the beachfront side of the street first, reading the menus encased behind glass on fancy stands outside each of the restaurants we pass. Seafood seems to be a common theme, which isn’t really a surprise, given the location. There’s also a little Italian restaurant, and a Mexican one as well, but as we turn around at the end of the street and make our way back on the opposite side, it seems like Rowan and I are on the same page when it comes to our options.
“I like the sound of this place,” I say, pointing at the menu of a restaurant midway on our journey back up the street, “or the first one we saw.”
“Mmm,” he hums agreeably, “me too.”
“Do you have a preference between the two?”
He chews his bottom lip, then glances over his shoulder in the direction of the first restaurant we looked at. “The one over there has oceanfront tables…and they had a miso salmon thing on the menu which sounded amazing.”
“That did sound good,” I agree. “Let’s check these last few places while we make our way back to that first one.”
There are a bevy of options, but we still find our way back to the first restaurant with its dining room more an open deck jutting out towards the sand and the rolling waves. Despite not having a reservation, we’re lucky enough to land ourselves a table for two with uninhibited views, and the salty breeze ruffles our hair as we take our seats.
“Wow,” Rowan says, looking out at the darkening ocean instead of at his menu, “this is gorgeous.”
The overhead fairy lights have lit up, strung in a zigzag pattern over the large deck, and they glint gold in his wide blue eyes. “Yeah,” I agree, “it is.”
Rowan smiles and looks down at the menu before he abruptly shifts in his seat. He glances over his shoulder, eyes searching the interior room of the restaurant for something before relief flickers over his face.
Setting the menu down over his plate, he apologizes, “Excuse me for a moment,” then pushes away from the table.
I watch as he weaves his way past other diners and disappears inside. At first, I think he’s heading towards the bar, but he bypasses it for the bathrooms.
