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“Feel free to take some time to relax,” the hostess says. “Your massage therapists will be here in about twenty minutes to begin your treatment. When you hear this sound—” she pushes a button on the wall, and low chimes play over the spa music, “—we ask that you make your way to the tables and lie face down. Do you have any questions?”
I shake my head, and the hostess leaves.
“I have a question,” Gwen says, once we’re alone. She pulls the sweatshirt off over her head and twists her hair into a loose knot.
“What’s that?” I focus on my own undressing, because if I watch her striptease I’m pretty sure I’ll end up getting kicked out of the spa.
“Do I get to see the tattoo now?”
“What tattoo?”
“Sawyer. Come on. I just paid for these massages.”
I’m down to my boxers, and I pull the provided robe over my arms. I leave it open when I turn to her; she saw the same display last night anyway. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, Gwendolyn, but I am not going to let you objectify me just because you buy me fancy things.”
She recoils until she sees my face, then a smile forms on her lips. She’s in her robe, too, which she has tied loosely so it gaps across her chest when she moves. “Is that so?” she asks.
“It is,” I answer, brushing my thumb over her lips. “I’m going to let you do it for free.”
Gwendolyn
When the chimes sound, Sawyer’s eyes go wide and he dives onto his massage table, covering up quickly with the warmed white sheets. I’m glad we’re starting face down, because I felt the way he pressed against my thigh during that teasing kiss and he needs some time to get himself under control.
It feels good to laugh, even to hold back laughter, as the case may be. But within the first few minutes of our massages we’ve each busted up laughing numerous times, until the therapists ask if we’re ready to continue or if we would perhaps prefer the salon.
I stifle the laughter and try to think of something other than Sawyer. It’s hard to do, because so much of the last week has been spent with him at my side. Then his words from last night ring in my ear, and I begin to picture the gentle lapping of the Bermudian waters, the graceful gliding of the sea turtles swimming around us, the hammock, and the ocean breeze, and I’m calm. Sawyer must be calm, too, because from the massage table a few feet away I hear his gentle moaning.
I turn in the headrest to see him, and the therapist looks like she is about to die laughing. She mouths to my therapist, ‘I think he’s asleep,’ and honestly, good. So many people want to make sure they stay awake the whole way through their massages to really experience relaxation, but the ultimate relaxation might just be found in nodding off during their appointment while their muscles are still soothed and loosened.
She finds a way to massage him while he’s face down for the whole hour, and she makes a little extra noise when she’s wrapping up to wake him gently.
When we’re alone in the room, a sheepish grin curls up his lips. “Thanks for that,” he says. “I’ve actually never had a massage before.”
“Are you serious? Don’t you need them, with all your running and stuff?”
“I think we should have a serious conversation about the definition of the word ‘need,’ Gwen.”
I roll my eyes as I pull on my sweatshirt (yes, I’m calling it mine now) and let down my hair. “You know what I mean. I’m going to have to get you a gift card or something.”
“Or,” he says, “we could go together sometime. This was nice.”
“It was.” It seems unlikely that we’d actually meet up for a spa day, but the idea is sweet. I check his watch, and it’s already 2:30 p.m. “What time am I supposed to be ready for our date?”
“Five-thirty.” He says it like it’s obvious, and I guess it should be, because it’s our normal dinner time. “And don’t forget it’s formal night,” he offers.
“You’re kidding.” Finn has been reminding everyone via the PA system since six o’clock last night to ‘dress our best’ and that ‘formal is better than normal.’ But Sawyer doesn’t laugh. He almost looks nervous. I cup a hand around one side of his face and kiss the other. “Any plans from now till then?”
He kisses me so firmly it moves my whole body backward, and I find myself trapped between the massage table and his hips. Then he smooths my hair, which always looks terrible after a massage, and twists his lips into an unconvincing smile. “I think we should spend some time with our grandmothers.”
Gwendolyn
Gram loved her massage, and she’s telling Sawyer all about it. When we gave her and Nancy the option to do whatever they each wanted to do, getting coffee was at the top of both lists, and now we’re traversing the length of the ship to the café.
Nancy hangs a few paces back with me, and we laugh at the bits and pieces of the conversation we overhear in front of us. Then she looks up at me and straightens her smile. “He’s a good boy, Gwendolyn.”
I’m surprised she feels the need to tell me; it seems pretty obvious to the world that Sawyer Dawson is inherently good. “I can tell.”
“He’s been different this week.” I don’t know if this is a compliment or not, so I wait for her to reveal more. “You’re good for him.”
