Page 67 of Love What's Left
“So.”I rub my thumb over the pulse in her wrist and feel it kick in time with my own. “A new dress?”
“A sundress.”
I groan, and she laughs.
“And flirting is on the table?” I ask.
“What’s a date without it?”
My lips twitch. “With you? Agony.”
25
Sydney
One day later, we sit near the short wall in an open-air restaurant surrounded by hibiscus and lush greenery. Located across the street from a white-sand beach, the restaurant offers a spectacular view of turquoise waves rolling into shore and of cargo ships hulking in the distance. Somewhere, just out of eyeshot, children scream with glee. A gentle breeze caresses my newly tan skin, exposed by my yellow halter-top sundress. The temperature is hot, but not uncomfortable, and the smell . . . oh, my word. Delicious.
“This is officially the best idea I’ve ever had.” I close my mouth over another forkful of banana macadamia nut pancake.
“You agreed to marry me. That was your best idea. But this is close,” Gabriel says.
Each time I glance at my husband’s name tag, I attempt to commit it to memory. Gabriel’s purple and green bowling shirt isn’t exactly the floral design so many people wear here, but it doesn’t look out of place either. Not that he’d care if it was.
“And the coffee. Best coffee I’ve ever had. Thank you so much,” I say to the waitress.
She refills my cup, her dark eyes warm. “The beans are grown right here on the island. Maui Mokka is my favorite.”
I gesture with both hands. “There you go. That explains why.”
She chuckles. “Is this your first time visiting Maui?”
I twist my lips to the side. The answer is “probably not.” Gabriel says we’ve been coming to the islands at least once a year for the last seven years. I forgot to ask when he flew us in his helicopter if I’d been to this island before.
Flying from the big island of Hawai’i to Maui reminded me of another trip. Hovering over autumn color with this man smiling beside me. I’d accused him of “stealing” me, but I’d laughed when I said it.
The waitress lifts her eyebrows, and I clear my throat.Pay attention.It’s not the time to fantasize about my husband’s hands and forearms and hair-roughened muscular legs in cargo shorts and how ridiculously hot he looks in a Mets ball cap flying ahelicopter.
I fan my face with my napkin. “It’s not my first time visiting, but it feels brand new.”
The waitress looks both of us over and heaves a happy breath. “Everything is different when you’re seeing it with eyes full of love.”
I offer her a nervous smile, then focus on cutting and forking up my next bite of pancake, dragging it through the caramel sauce.
McRae murmurs his thanks as she refills his coffee cup. When she moves on to another table, he folds his hands over his flat belly and leans back in his chair. “When we’re done here, are you ready to head home, or do you want to keep going?”
I grimace. “I hate that sitting in a helicopter, driving to a restaurant, and eating breakfast for lunch have me exhausted already, but I think the caffeine andyour company are the only things keeping me awake.” Some days, I have to lie down after taking a shower, let alone this level of activity.
“This is more than enough. I’ll take you home and tuck you in bed for a little nap.”
“Worried I’m not tucking myself properly?”
He leans closer. “Your self-care technique is top tier. The question is—Why would you want to tuck yourself when you’ve got a talented, thoughtful, and enthusiastic tucker ready to service your every need?”
“Are you sure you’re talking about a nap?”
He grins and brings his coffee cup to his mouth. “What else could I be referring to?”
I lick a drop of caramel from my lip and smirk when he stares. “I have no idea. I’m not the one obsessed with tucking me.”
