Page 27 of Home to Christmas Island
Her smile tells me everything she’s thinking before she says, Flora, you two could never be just friends. It’s not in a, you two are mortal enemies, kind of way. What she means is: you two could never be friends because there’s obviously something more here. Something settles in me at this, as if my body thinks it’s true, too.
Well, well, well, look who it is, Alistair’s voice is delighted as he surveys Alba and I sitting together. Trouble.
I feel this huge, stupid grin spread across my face, my cheeks feeling it from the cold. I don’t even try to tamp it down. I think I’m excited to see him. Alba’s right—what is happening here?
I resent that, Alba says before throwing me under the bus entirely, I was always the accomplice. I shove her shoulder, my laugh a little too loud and my eyes pleading, Come on Albs, don’t leave me to fend for myself here. Now that he’s here I feel almost panicked. Why did I wave him over to us?
Easy now, you two, he laughs, putting his hands up in supplication. Don’t need anyone finding themselves in a snowbank this evening.
Are you working tonight? I ask, motioning with my head towards his uniform, careful not to let my eyes rove over him the way they want to.
What, this? He pulls on his sleeve. Nah, I just like to wear this out, the lasses love it. He winks at me as he says this and oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, I blush. I bite the inside of my lip and try to stop the feeling of birthday sparklers lighting up inside my chest.
Alba is enjoying this way too much. You do look good, Al, she says to him, smirking. Love the necklace. He’s sporting a ring of flashing Christmas bulbs around his neck, the lights blinking every few seconds.
Alba looks over at me. Say something you moron, her eyes scream. But once again, I cannot think of a single thing to say.
Do you wear necklaces often? Oh my god, that is not what just came out of my mouth, please tell me that is not what just came out of my mouth. For work, I mean? What am I saying? Alba is looking at me with bewilderment. Her eyes, wide as saucers now, ask, Who the hell are you and what have you done with my cousin?
So much for my so-called charm.
But thankfully Alistair just laughs. No, I can’t say that I do. I’m more of a scarf man myself; I have to show off my family tartan whenever I can. The Campbell clan colours are, of course, the best. Who doesn’t love a dark, forest green?
The way he says it makes me blush again. How is this man making tartan and forest green sound sexy? I can imagine those colours on him would make his eyes seem even more green. I noticed in the cemetery the other day that his right eye has a tiny freckle. I hated that I noticed this and hated even more that I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
It’s like several things in my brain are clicking into place at once. This man is so good looking I feel struck dumb. Here he is, in his uniform, once again being a model citizen, walking around making kids laugh and looking jacked as hell and—I think he’s flirting with me? Is he flirting with me? Do I want him to flirt with me? Why do I feel like I’m sixteen years old?
Because you like him, the voice in my head says, and it sounds much more like Alba’s than my own. Do I like this guy? No. No? No, that can’t be right. No, no, no—
Oh, Fast Florence, I meant to tell you, Alistair says, grinning. Thankfully he’s interrupted the very, very bad train of thoughts barrelling through me. I can tell by his tone that this ought to be good. I finally have an answer for you.
An answer about what? I’m racking my brain trying to remember what I’ve asked him recently. He’s walking backwards now, away from us and towards the parade, a smirk plastered all over his face.
The last wild and crazy thing I did.
Oh yeah? I laugh, despite myself, feeling practically giddy. And what was that? I have a split second of panic: did he do something fun without me? I can’t deny that I feel a little put out at the thought.
He’s far enough away now that he calls back to me, pride radiating through his voice, Polar bear dip! I can’t quite name the feeling that surges through me, but the closest thing I can think of is delight. I laugh as he walks off, feeling a little dazed.
Alba and I watch him go and finally, she turns her head to me, deliberately slowly for dramatic effect.
That was… pathetic, Alba says, looking stunned. I mean, Flora, come on.
I don’t know what you’re talking about, I say, turning my nose in the air and avoiding eye contact with her.
You could barely even look at him! I mean, you talked to him the other day and you were fine? What was that?
That was fine. You’re being overly dramatic, I say, feigning the haughtiness in my voice. I hate that she witnessed that, and I know she’ll never let me hear the end of it.
She starts laughing, Oh my god, you’ve got it bad.
I will kill you, I promise her through clenched teeth, but this only makes her laugh harder.
And what was he talking about, the last wild and crazy thing he did? She raises an eyebrow at me, a move I’ve always been jealous of since my own eyebrows won’t do it.
I really can’t say, is all I manage to get out.
We’re interrupted by a loud screech of tires. Alba and I both whip our heads in the direction of the sound. Alistair is there in what seems like milliseconds, that worried look etched in the lines of his face.
