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“Sawyer sends his apologies—he wanted to pick you up himself but had an errand to run first. Want to walk down with us?”
“Sure,” I answer, and that funny feeling fills my chest again. “I just need one more second.” I rummage through my bag for my go-to nude lip gloss, but I can’t find it. When I turn to my makeup scattered on the desk, I see one tube standing up, reach for it, and smile.
Sawyer
At 5:15 everything’s in place: red rose petals scattered on the bed, Gwen’s favorite wine chilling on ice, and now, thanks to Frisma from the room service team, a tiny little snack smorgasbord with bite-size cookies and chocolate-covered strawberries and gummy bears and mini-cheesecakes will be waiting for us here in two hours.
It’s too much and, somehow, not enough.
I open my wallet to tip Frisma and realize as he walks away that it is not enough, because there is one very important thing I’ve forgotten.
Which is why I send Nancy to pick up Gwen and Maggie for dinner instead of going myself, and which is why I find myself checking my watch (it’s 5:24) while I stand in line at the ship’s gift shop, red-faced because the two-year-old peeking over his mother’s shoulder in front of me keeps pointing at the box in my hand, saying “Was-sat? Was-sat?”, and because his dad has answered him back, “That’s a sure sign of a good night now and a good night’s sleep nine months from now, buddy.”
Post-purchase, I pop into the restroom next door and fill my wallet with the foil pouches. This looks ridiculous. I should just keep two and throw the other half dozen away, but there’s a finite number of these on board, and I don’t want to be wasteful. A few get shoved into my jacket’s inner pocket out of necessity before I throw the empty box away.
At 5:30 I’m in position, waiting near the entrance to the main dining room. I’m winded, which is only slightly attributable to the mad dash from stateroom to gift shop to bathroom to here. Mostly, it’s because Gwen is descending the grand center staircase, and she’s easily the most beautiful woman on this ship. It’s one of those occasions where correlation does equal causation: she’s breathtaking.
The fabric of her dress clings to each curve from her chest through her hips. Her skin peeks out on the side, and with her hair brushed in soft waves over one shoulder, all I can picture is brushing my fingertips over the skin of her neck and following the same path with my lips. I can’t take my eyes off of her, and I swallow, trying to get my breathing under control. There have been a few times on this trip—last night being one of them—when we’ve been starved and hungry. Tonight, though, I want to savor every moment of her.
I make my way through the crowd that’s gathered for photo ops along the main thoroughfare. When she spots me, her cherry-red lips part, then curl into a smile. She takes my hand for the last few stairs, and I take her in, head to toe.
“Gwen—” my voice catches in my throat.
“Hi!” She practically yells because it’s so loud in here. I’d tuned out the crowd. As far as I’m concerned, it’s just her and me.
I press a hand to her back and pull closer to her, leaning in to speak more privately. “You’re stunning.”
“Yes, we know, she’s far prettier than we’ll ever be,” a familiar voice says. Gwen pulls back laughing, and Nan and Maggie appear at her side. Nan’s waving her smartphone in my face. “So do we have time for a picture or not?”
We take a group photo, a photo of Gwen and Maggie, a photo of Nan and me, one of Maggie and Nan, and then they dictate a series of poses for Gwen and me.
“I hate to cut this short,” I say, obviously lying, “but we need to be getting to dinner.”
Nan and Maggie reluctantly agree, but their smiles are wide.
Gwen weaves her fingers into mine and starts following them to the main dining room, but I stay rooted in my spot. “Actually,” I say, giving her arm a gentle tug. “We’ve got our own reservation.”
“Sawyer.”
The booth is small, tucked into a corner. The sunlight ricochets off the water and half blinds us, but it’s something. It’s private and special and has a distinctly ‘date’ feeling to it.
She slides into her seat and I take my place across from her. “This is beautiful,” she whispers.
The words “you’re beautiful” escape my lips before I can stop myself from sounding like a cheesy made-for-TV movie.
Gwen grins. “You look pretty good yourself.” Then she folds her forearms on the table and leans toward me. “Can I tell you something?”
I gulp and nod, afraid to open my mouth in case any other proclamations are waiting just inside.
“I’m a little nervous,” she says. Then, “Is that weird?”
“I am too,” I answer. “So I’m inclined to say no.”
“Why do you think that is? Especially after the last few days, when we’ve…” she pauses like she’s unsure how to wrap the words in something that can be said in public, “spent time together.”
I shrug, grateful for the carafe of water in front of me. I fill our glasses, thinking. “Because it’s different, I guess. Hooking up is easy. This is harder.”
Somehow her lipstick stays perfect even after she sips her water, and I push some off-topic thoughts from my head. “What is this, Sawyer?” she asks, using air-quotes.
