Page 31 of That Birthday in Barbados
I shake my head, smiling. “It’s what you said before. I own my choices. You own yours.”
“Touché.”
“What’s question number two?”
He glances at his phone screen. “What’s your favorite piece of clothing ever?”
“Favorite piece of clothing. Let’s see. Ah. A purple velvet hat I had in third grade. I was convinced it made me the next Drew Barrymore.”
“Purple velvet, huh? If that choice didn’t embarrass you-”
“Hand me that phone,” I say, reaching out to snatch it from him. “Question number three. What job would you be terrible at?”
“Sumo wrestler,” he says without hesitation. “The outfit would be the deal breaker. Thong. Me. No.”
I laugh, bending over and holding my stomach.
“You’re picturing it, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry. I-”
“Thought so. How would that go over in spin?”
I cover my mouth, trying to stop the laughter from spilling out. “What a wedgie that would-”
Now he’s laughing. “Next question,” he says, taking the phone back. “What’s something you like to do the old-fashioned way?”
I hesitate long enough that he raises an eyebrow and smiles that suggestive smile of his. My heart ka-thumps a beat, and with a straight face, I say, “Talking on the phone instead of texting.”
He’s still smiling when he says,“Good one. Me too. So I read this article that said people are using texting to argue about issues in their relationship. This UCLA professor found that body language makes up fifty-eightpercent of communication. Thirty-five percent is through body language and vocal tone. Seven percent was from the actual message.”
“How scary is that? People say things in texts they would never say face to face.”
“True that.” He taps something onto the keyboard.
My phone dings from inside my clutch purse. Keeping my gaze on his, I pull it out and read the message on the screen.You look incredibly hot tonight.
I draw in a deep breath and reach for my rum punch, this sip not exactly a sip.
He holds my gaze, smiling.
Fortunately, the waiter arrives with our dinner, and I’m saved from a response. Not that I would have one.
The food looks incredible, and I’m suddenly famished. We pick up our forks at the same time, eating in cautious silence. We both murmur polite comments about the excellence of the food but otherwise finish our meal in silence.
“That was so good,” I say, finally sitting back in defeat. “I can’t finish though. I hate to waste it, but I’m so full.”
He pushes his own plate back. “Think I’ll leave a little myself. We aren’t going to impress anyone with our dancing if we have huge bellies.”
“What?”
“Dancing. Step two in our celebration of your birthday.”
“You don’t have to do that. This is more than enough.”
“I want to do that.” He waves a hand at the waiter. “This was wonderful,” he says when the waiter arrives at the table. “But we’ve got a dance floor waiting on us.”
“By all means,” the waiter says. “I’ll get the check.”
