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“No, it’s okay. I’m supposed to be going to the café with—”
“Sawyer!” Gram swings the door open, and Nancy and Sawyer filter in. “We were just talking about you,” Gram says.
“Is that so?” Nancy smiles, turning and winking at Sawyer, not discreetly.
“Just about breakfast,” I clarify, lest Sawyer (or Nancy) get any ideas.
Sawyer avoids his grandmother’s gaze. “I figured I’d come up and see if you were ready. We never planned a time or meeting place last night.”
“Last call for the buffet,” Gram announces. “Have you two changed your mind?”
“No,” Sawyer and I reply together. He flashes me a smile before turning back to Gram. “Thanks, though. Have a great breakfast.”
Our grandmas leave, and it’s just us. Sawyer ambles around the room while I finish packing for our beach day.
“Do you mind passing me that book on the coffee table?” I ask, adding my tie-dye beach towel to the tote.
Sawyer shuffles around me and passes the book my way, then surveys the rest of the suite and the giant picture window that frames a stunning Bermuda as we approach. “You’ve got quite the room here,” he says, and I can’t tell if there’s judgment in his voice.
“We thought it would be nicer than two separate rooms.” My voice is judgment free, but my words might seem like a dig, if someone wanted to take them that way. “For us, I mean,” I add.
“Mm.” Sawyer clasps his hands behind his back, and it makes his shoulders seem broader. If he were in all black, he’d look like a Secret Service agent, standing there massive and stiff. But he’s in tan shorts and an open button-down over a white T-shirt, so he just looks pensive as he gazes out at the sea.
“You ready to head to the café?”
He turns and nods. “Sure.”
Once we get our order—a vanilla iced coffee and a muffin for me, black coffee and an egg sandwich for him—Sawyer checks his watch and suggests a walk. Which is how we find ourselves on Deck Fourteen, the sun warm on our skin and bright in our eyes.
A jogger passes us on her lap around the track that’s painted on the deck. It seems dangerous to run—the deck is so slippery from its early-morning cleaning that I’ve slipped a few times already, thankfully without making too much of a spectacle of myself.
“Do you ever just sit around and watch people?” He glances over and down at me while he takes a sip of his coffee. “Not in, like, a creepy way. Just observing.”
“Are you kidding? It’s a huge part of my job.”
He looks over my head, his eyes sweeping the perimeter of the deck. “Here,” he says, grabbing my arm, pulling me off the track and past a row of chaises to the railing. His hands are warm and gently firm, and I’m annoyed that I’m not annoyed that he just manhandled me. Again.
“What are we doing?”
He shrugs, and it looks like some pink is creeping into his tanned skin. “I thought it would be fun. To people watch.” He rests his coffee on the floor and picks at his sandwich.
I prop my forearms on the railing and scan the deck, seeking out a good subject. “Over there,” I say, gesturing my head to the left. “That couple.”
Sawyer glances up and looks in the same direction. “Matching jackets?”
I shake my head. “Not that one. She’s in the pink bikini, he’s in the—”
“Speedo? Ugh. Gross.”
“What do you think their story is?”
Sawyer turns his body toward me so he can more naturally watch the couple in question. “Story? I’m not sure.”
“Oh, come on.” I angle toward him, looking up into his big brown eyes. “When you people watch, don’t you wonder about their stories? Or make them up, at least?”
He shakes his head and a half-smile forms, and for the first time in twenty-four hours I feel like Day One Sawyer is peeking through. “I’m a logic and facts kind of guy. I just observe. I’ll leave the story-telling to the professionals.” He nods toward the couple. “What’s their story, Gwendolyn?”
When I look back, the Speedo man is bent over, applying a generous amount of goopy white sunblock to the woman’s shoulders. The woman sweeps her hair to the side, twisting it, fiddling. “They do this often… at least a half-dozen cruises a year. Mostly for the duty-free shopping, I’d imagine. They don’t need to explore the world, just see it from their lounge chairs. They’ll spend the day in the sun, looking out at Bermuda, but they’re not getting off the ship. They don’t do excursions. They apply sunscreen once in the morning and never again and marvel at how their skin is always perfectly tanned.”
