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“You aren’t dressing me!” she balks. “Give it to me. I’ll watch a YouTube video.”
“But—”
“No. Back up, buddy. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to follow a few rules.” She sets her hands on her hips. And I picture well-behaved kindergarteners all over the world.
“I think you like rules,” I tell her.
She doesn’t dispute. She doesn’t say anything with my accusation.
I cross my arms over my chest, wishing I were in shorts and no shirt at all—let alone this monkey suit. “Fine. Lay them on me.”
“Number one: no touching. I don’t know you. You aren’t allowed to touch me.” She nods, the blue in her eyes sparkling. “You don’t get to dress me!”
My eyes fall to her lips, and I just can’t help myself. “Wait. I’m confused. No touching? Because that’s not what you said last night.”
Meg’s cheeks flood a brighter pink than the plumeria growing in Mom’s yard. This girl is going to be fun. “I was drunk last night!”
“Drunk? I saw two cans of lemonade. That isn’t drunk.”
She swallows. “Two cans that drugged me into insanity. This leads me to rule number two: no drinking while we’re together. Zero alcohol. Got it?”
“You’re pretty afraid of yourself, aren’t you? I wouldn’t judge you for making a pass at me again. I’m pretty charming.”
“Charmingly stupid!”
I snicker, yep, it’s gonna be a fun night. “What’s rule number three? I’m assuming there’s a number three.”
“Rule number three: one night. Don’t ask me for more.”
“Is that it, then? No touching, no drinking, and refrain from begging you to spend the rest of your life in a double hammock on the beach with me. Got it. I think I can handle that.” I hold out the gold-and-cream swirled cloth. “You’re sure you don’t want my help?”
“That would be breaking rule number one,” she says, yanking the lavalava from my hands.
I check my watch. At this rate, we’re going to be late. That’s all right. I kind of like making an entrance.
14
Meg
I find a simple YouTube video and drape the soft, elegant cloth over one shoulder and down my back. I tie a knot at my waist, situating the robe so the skirt hits just above my knee. I’m too tall—I can’t make it any longer. It takes me three tries to get it right, but I do, and somehow this simple rectangular cloth transforms into the most beautiful dress I’ve ever owned.
I don’t have any heels with me—I’m 5’9, and only own one pair. A pair that Kyle complained about whenever I wore them and stood the same height as him. So, sandals will have to do. But then, I think this reception might be on the beach. So my sandals will probably work.
I pull my hair from the bun on top of my head, and it falls in waves, hitting me at my shoulders. I run my fingers through the fine strands, combing them out easily. My hair has always been easy—which is good since I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to anything cosmetic.
I don’t need to look good for Kal. The man is a stranger. But I don’t like going out unpresentable. I peer into the mirror. And I look…decent. The dress is nice. And I’ve always felt all right about my legs and hair. I brush on an extra stroke of mascara and call it good.
This will work.
I step outside, where Kal waits for me on the back porch. He lifts his head to meet my eyes. The man is stupidly attractive. Too much for his own good. Russet-brown hair, trimmed beard, square jaw, brown eyes that resemble melted dark chocolate.
I swallow.
Why am I contemplating eyes that I don’t even know, comparing them to my very favorite indulgence? Eyes that I will never see again after tonight. I don’t even want to see them again.
Kal smiles, small and sweet, his head tilting as he takes me in. “You look nice,” he says, and my body reacts as if he dumped a warm bucket of water over my back. “Although, you’re missing just one little thing.”
“I am?” I peer down at myself. “My shoes? This is all I—”
