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“I saw you dancing,” he says.
My warm cheeks are suddenly scorching. I turn an inch away from him, my temple brushing the bristle of his beard again. But he doesn’t loosen his hold on me.
His lips are warm at my ear. He whispers, only for me, “And I knew that deep down inside of you, and despite what you say, you are a dancer. You have Hawaii in you, it just needed to find a way out.”
I swallow. I don’t know what to say. My rules are smashed beneath my feet. My comfort zone has left the state. I am a jumble of nerves and tension.
“If you could use one word to describe yourself, what would it be?” Kal’s low, gravelly whisper finds its way into my ears once more.
This sounds a whole lot like a classroom icebreaker, and I am so not in the mood. Not with Kal. Not here.
“Come on,” he says before I can protest. “Humor me.”
I clear my throat, unsure I’ll be able to find my voice. “Fine,” I finally say. “One word.” I lick my lips. My instinct says invisible. But I feel quite seen today. So I go with my second best. It’s not a very romantic word—but then, I’m not the most romantic person. “Sensible.”
He breathes out through his nose and pinpricks rise over my bare neck and shoulder. “Honorable. But,” he says, his voice low and raspy in my ear. “What if for one week, instead of Sensible Meg, you became Spontaneous Meg?”
“But I’m not spontaneous.” I turn to look at his face, not caring how close he is. Is he laughing at me, or is he somehow serious?
“You are. I saw Spontaneous Meg dancing at sunset. And even if you aren’t, you could be, for one little week.”
One week…
“You came here,” he says. “Not just to this reception with a new acquaintance, but to Hawaii. You came. You danced.”
“No one thought I would come,” I confess to him.
“But you did.”
I nod. “I did.”
“You can do this too, Meg.”
“One week?” I say, my mouth dry.
“I believe in you, Spontaneous Meg.”
17
Meg
I’m drunk. There’s no other conclusion. What was in that one glass of champagne? Because it did me in. It’s lowered all my inhibitions, and I am considering agreeing to things I’d never normally agree to.
But then…every single time Kal calls me Spontaneous Meg, my heart flutters. As if that particular organ likes the sound of that name. It’s weird and strange and oddly wonderful. It’s like that single word gives my heart wings that lift me right off the ground.
I’ve let Kal hold me and woo me three dances in a row. Rule number one is a goner.
But then, Kal says, “Spontaneous Meg probably wouldn’t have rules, at least not while on vacation.”
“I like rules,” I tell him.
He peers down at me, his firm chest snug next to mine. His nearness makes me woozy. “Rules are great. But would you agree that there’s a time and place for everything? Math isn’t for the playground, and swinging from the monkey bars isn’t for the classroom.”
He has me there. He is speaking my language. He knows it. I’m growing tipsy off of playground and math class talk.
“Rules may be for school, even everyday life. But vacation…”
“No?” I say, peering up at him like he might be Yoda in the flesh, ready to guide and teach me in all things Hawaii.
