Page 20 of That Birthday in Barbados
“What’s that?” I ask, the words coming out as if someone else is in control of them.
“Laugh. It transforms you.”
We hold each other’s gaze for a couple of moments before I finally admit, “It’s not something I’ve been doing a lot of for a while now.”
“Come on then. I’m going to make it my one goal today to make you laugh. Get you back in practice.”
This is a bad idea. I know it, and yet, here I go, standing, sliding the life vest on, zipping it. Like a marionette whose strings are being pulled by an unknown force.
He pats the seat behind him, and I slide on, something low and warm igniting in my mid-section at the realization that he is mere inches from me. His back is smooth and sun-brown, shoulder muscles bulging. And he smells good. Like he took a shower at the spa after class.
He shows me where to hold on, both of us obviously ignoring the option of me holding onto him. I follow his instructions and slip my fingers through the strap on the seat. “Ready?” he asks.
“Ready.”
He guns it, and we’re off, blasting across the water, a scream freeing itself from my throat. He heads farther from the beach, falling in behind a very large yacht making its way up the Barbados coast. The name emblazoned across the side isHappy Ending. Its waves are enormous, and Anders weaves in and out of them, the Sea-Doo complying like a playfuldolphin. As we bob along, Anders gets more daring, seeking out the larger waves.
“You good?” he calls back.
“I think so,” I say, smiling even as I realize I shouldn’t encourage him.
“Hold on!”
I see the wave coming, and it is huge. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around his waist and press my cheek to the back of his jacket, closing my eyes.
We go airborne, and it seems like we hang there for a full minute before we land on the water, and he guns it again, rocketing us forward.
I hear cheering and glance at the back of the yacht to see some teenagers standing by the rail, clapping and whooping.
Anders laughs, and I can’t help it, I do too, feeling a euphoria that is like a high of its own. He turns and heads farther from the beach, not stopping until the water is a much deeper blue, more ambitious waves tossing us up and down.
“You’re crazy,” I say when he turns to look at me.
“Crazy can be fun,” he says, smiling.
I can’t deny it, but shake my head, slidingfarther back on the seat since we’ve been jostled closer together. He stands, pivots toward me.
We face one another as the Sea-Doo bobs gently, bow to stern on the undulating waves. I resist the urge to slide back on the seat, his closeness igniting my skin so that I feel as if heat emanates from me in a visible cloud of steam. I force myself to stay still, as if to move is to give away the attraction.
“So what makes a beautiful woman like you fly two thousand miles to celebrate her birthday alone?”
There are many ways to answer the question. Flip?So I’d have a chance of meeting a guy like you.Depressed?I don’t really have anyone close enough to justify inviting them.The truth? “I wasn’t up to the surprise fortieth being thrown for me.”
“Ah. You don’t like parties.”
“Sometimes. Just not this one.”
“Nothing wrong with a solo vacation birthday present from you toyou.”
I smile, surprising myself. “It was probably selfish. The people in theoffice had gone to a lot of trouble.”
“But was it whatyouwanted?”
I glance out at the horizon where the ocean meets the sky and shake myhead, slowly, and admitting, “No.”
“I guess that’s the flaw in the surprise party ointment. The givers don’t ask the guest of honor if it’s what she wants.”
“I could have pretended.”
