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“Aw, but Sawyer just got here! I’d hate for him to miss this,” I say in mock protest, and he snaps his gaze to me. His horrified look convinces me that I can’t subject him to such torture. “Okay, fine. We can go.”
We sneak out of the bar during the applause for the bachelorette party and wander the deck. Gram and Nancy set the pace along the way, and Sawyer and I follow a few steps behind.
“So, you’re feeling better?”
He shrugs. “A little bit. Dinner helped. Thanks again.”
“Sure. Glad you’re out and about.”
He nods and shoves his hands into his pockets. “You were, uh, really good up there. Do you sing a lot?”
I’m confused by this version of him, which is so unlike the obnoxious guy at the pool yesterday and so much like the Shy Sawyer Nancy described at dinner that I’m half tempted to carry a bucket of water with me to throw on his face in case he passes out.
“I used to,” I answer. “I guess I still do, in my car, around the house, in the shower.”
He clears his throat. “Well, it’s good. You’re good.”
I feel heat flood my cheeks, knowing he was thinking about me in the shower. “Thanks.”
We follow our grandmas into an elevator, out onto the pool deck on fourteen, and to the ice cream machine for some soft serve.
It’s still chilly enough that the outdoor decks are near-deserted. Gram plops herself into a plush chaise and props her feet in front of her. I can tell her ankles are bothering her already. The rest of us lower onto the coordinating sectional across the coffee table from her and start planning out our day tomorrow between licks of ice cream and crunches of cone.
“We can get off the ship at nine o’clock,” Gram says. “So if we plan for breakfast at seven-thirty, maybe?”
“That sounds fine,” Nancy replies, biting off a piece of her cone, but I catch Sawyer slump in my periphery.
“Actually—” I’m sure it comes out ack-muh-ley because my mouth is full of soft serve and I’m desperate to keep it from touching my teeth. “Mind if I skip breakfast and am just ready to get off the ship at nine? Seven-thirty’s a bit early for me.” Then, so I don’t sound like I’m lazy, I add, “At least for vacation.”
Gram gives me her stern voice, the one I’ve heard since I was little, more parent than grandparent. “You’ll need breakfast. You’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
Sawyer chimes in from the opposite end of the sectional. “Maybe we could just grab something at the coffee shop. I bet they have a decent selection.”
Gram shifts her gaze to him, then back to me, like she’s wondering if it’s okay with me that Sawyer just inserted himself into my plan. She is certainly fine with it, of course.
He must realize what he’s said, because he adds, “If you want company, of course.”
“Sure,” I say, and we exchange a smile. I wonder if he can read in mine that I volunteered to sacrifice pancakes just to get him off the hook for an early breakfast. All because I saw him slump, make himself smaller, and I didn’t like it.
When Gram and Nancy agree that they need seconds of ice cream and a “good sit,” Sawyer invites me to walk with him. It’s late, and I’m shocked Gram’s not getting her rest in now, since she planned an early start to her day tomorrow.
We loop around the pool deck, past the spa and the fitness center.
“So, a marathon, huh?” I ask him, and his brow furrows in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash. Then a half-smile turns up the corners of his lips.
“Yeah. Race is in February.”
“How long have you been training?”
He shrugs. “About two months so far. I’m about halfway through my training plan.”
Writing requires a similar dedication: working toward the craft regularly, taking much-needed rest days, and spending hours on weekends ignoring everything else in your life.
“Won’t it be cold?”
He turns his head my way, not missing a beat as we approach the forward stairs. “The race?”
“Yeah. February. That’s got to be freezing for twenty-six miles.”
