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A movie’s just started by the outdoor pool, but hardly anyone has gathered to watch it. It’s dark and chilly, and there’s a good number of indoor activities that might be more appealing than some decade-old family-friendly adventure flick.
I make a quick stop at the poolside bar and put in an order for a piña colada—the colder the drink, the better.
“The hermit reemerges, boring pizza in hand, searching for a libation to drown his shame from an unfortunate incident earlier that day.”
I don’t know how I missed her, but there’s Gwen, perched on a stool at the far end of the bar. She’s got a journal, a pen, and three empty glasses in front of her, and she looks comfortable in a pair of faded black leggings and an oversized sweater, her hair braided over one shoulder.
Half a smile forms on my lips, and I shake my head. “You don’t stop, do you?”
She shrugs and smirks. “Sorry. Writer.”
The bartender sets my drink on a napkin and Gwen eyes it suspiciously.
“Plot twist,” she says. Her words slur a little, and her eyes shine. “That was an unexpected drink choice, Dawson.”
I set down the box of pizza and her eyes move to it. She looks greedy for it, so I nudge it her way. She grabs a slice and takes a ravenous bite.
“Didn’t you like dinner tonight?”
“I didn’t go. I’ve been writing for hours.” She finishes chewing and takes a swig of her beer, her face twisting at the drink. “What about you? Why’d you skip?”
My mouth opens, but no words come out.
“Afraid they were serving chicken breast?” She launches into uproarious laughter and slaps her leg. “Too soon?”
I shake my head, unable to keep the smile from forming on my lips. God, I love the way she does that. The way she finds the humor, makes the punchline, and lets me off the hook while roasting me all at once.
“I didn’t take you for a shy one, Sawyer,” she says, once she’s calmed down. “That very first day, I thought you were such a douche. You’re a very interesting character.”
Desperate to change the subject from this afternoon’s Grab-gate incident and eager to hear more from her mind, I settle into the conversation. “Tell me more about myself, Gwen. I want the people-watching treatment.”
She thinks for a moment while chewing the last bite of her slice of pizza. “Grumpy goofball likes things just so. He’s shy, but his size doesn’t allow him to hide. He’s loyal. Fun. Kind. A little handsy sometimes.”
Gwen takes another sip of her beer and cringes again, so I wave for the bartender and motion toward my drink. He nods his understanding and slides her a piña colada just a few moments later.
“How am I doing so far?” she asks. She’s nibbling at the cherry from her drink, and so help me, if she ties that stem into a knot with her tongue.
I shrug. “Kinda basic, don’t you think?”
She takes the bait and drops the (thankfully) untied stem onto her napkin. “Okay, fine.” She looks me up and down and narrows her eyes at my shorts and hoodie. “You’re effortless. You don’t take yourself all that seriously. You have women lined up to hook up with you, but here you are, on a cruise with your grandma, because she wants you to settle down instead of sleeping your way through the single moms at your school. Am I close?”
“Not really.”
“None of it? Not the line of women so long it could wrap around a city block?”
“Especially not that part.”
Maybe it’s the drinks catching up to her, but when she scans me again it’s slower, her eyes lingering on all the places they probably shouldn’t. “Interesting,” she drawls, her eyes nowhere near meeting mine.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I start, and that gets her attention. “It’s not that women haven’t expressed interest.” They just haven’t expressed interest recently. Not since Chelsea. Not since everything happened. Regardless, I add, “I’m not typically a hook-up kind of guy. Maybe that’s why Nan planned this trip, so I could—”
“Don’t you even imply what I think you’re about to imply,” she says, and she’s suddenly sharp again. “I’m not easy, Sawyer.”
“Oh, I’m well aware, Gwen. You’re one of the most difficult women I’ve ever met.”
Her brows pinch, but she catches her reaction before revealing too much emotion. I settle my tab and try to pay for Gwen’s drinks, too, but of course she’s upgraded to the beverage package.
“I’m an independent woman, Sawyer.” She slides off her stool as I stand.
