I’ll have to work harder.
The sun hangs low in the sky by the time our plates are cleared and the wine is gone. “I’ll order another,” I say as I empty the last of the bottle into her glass.
“No, no.” She holds up her hand. “I’m good. Another bottle and I’ll break into song. Might even try to dance on the table.”
“I’d like to see that.”
“No. Trust me. You don’t.” She rolls her eyes. “Tipsy Rae is cute. Drunk Rae breaks things.”
“Can’t have that. This is one of my favorite restaurants, after all.”
“You come here a lot.” Not a question.
“I do, but it’s been awhile.”
“Oh?” Her smile boarders on flirtatious. “That’s surprising.”
“How so?”
She twirls a finger in the air and her cheeks appear flush. “Your date the other night would probably love this place.” Her tone teases, but do I detect a hint of jealously? I can only hope. Then my interest wouldn’t be one-sided.
I scrunch my nose. “Jenese? She’s an . . . acquaintance. I don’t take her to dinner. And I’d never bring her here.”
“Ah, that’s how it is.” She leans back in her chair.
A rueful chuckle reverberates in my chest. “Oh, no you don’t.” I shake my head.
Her brows lift. “What?” The innocent act doesn’t fool me, though.
“I answer one question and you suddenly have my number?” I point at her in mock accusation. “I don’t think so. I’m more complicated than that.”
She purses her lips, her eyes narrowing slightly before they dance with . . . something, and for about the thousandth time I wish I could read her mind. “You don’t do relationships.” She hums, holding my gaze as if she sees right through me. “They’re complicated and full of feelings that you don’t have the time or interest to be bothered by. Of course, you’re—” she sweeps my body with her eyes. “Well, you, so you have your hookups to get yourself off, and that’s that.” She picks up her glass in triumph.
Damn. Maybe I’m not as complicated as I imagine. “And what about you, Miss Independent and All-Knowing? Care to share how it is with you?”
“Not particularly.” She lifts her glass to her lips, smiling around the rim.
A chuckle escapes my lips. “That’s not fair.”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that’s life?”
Oh, I’m well aware. I’m also aware she doesn’t want to talk about herself right now. Why is that? What’s she hiding? I’ve already seen her apartment, and met her roommates. It’s not her job. Something from her past? I want her to tell me, but I don’t want to pry it out of her. I need to earn her trust.
Rachel’s gaze drifts to the ocean. “This really is a beautiful view.”
“Come on.” I scoot my chair back and Walter jumps to attention. “I’ll do you one better.”
“Jude, you don’t need—” She stops when I cut her a look. “Don’t feel as if you need to entertain me. I’m sure you have things to do. Work. I promise I’m perfectly content back in the condo. Besides, I can’t possibly eat or drink anything else.”
Her excuses only make me want to prove her otherwise. “Good. Because we aren’t doing either.” I hold out my hand, waiting for her to take it. She’s not wrong. Usually, I’d work until much later than this. Probably should. But the instant I picked her up from work, I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything other than her.
She bites her lower lip as if weighing her answer. I think she wants to say yes.
“Come on, Rachel.” I glance down. “Don’t disappoint Walter.”
Walter spins with excitement at the sound of his name, his body wiggling in a dance. He’s a creature of habit, and I guess I am too, because he knows what’s coming next.
“Oh, fine.” She stands and rolls her eyes again. “But only because Walter’s coming.”
Maybe someday she’ll say yes without the influence of my dog. Until then, I’ll employ any means necessary and hope this night never ends.
“Sure you aren’t cold?” I ask as a cool breeze lifts from the ocean. Shoes in hand, and Walter off his leash, we walk along the beach as the sun descends over the horizon.
“A little, but I’m fine.” She wiggles her toes in the sand, a relaxed smile on her lips and tendrils of hair dancing around her face. “This is worth it.”
I shrug off my suit jacket. “Here.”
“Oh, you don’t—” She stops when she catches my glare. “Fine.” She draws out the word, pretending to be put off, but as soon as the fabric wraps around her shoulders, she grins. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I loosen my tie and roll up my sleeves. Spotting a discarded plastic water bottle cap a few steps ahead, I scoop it up and drop it into my pocket with the dozen or so others. Chance wasn’t joking. The number of disposable bottles and containers I’ve seen washed up or left behind on the beach in the last week is staggering. I never noticed until I started looking. Maybe the sculpture Chance is creating will help shed light on the issue. Maybe it’ll inspire advocacy or volunteerism in the hotel guests who are moved by it.
“What are you doing?”
“Mmm?” I turn to meet Rachel’s gaze.
“What do you have in your pocket?”
“Oh, right.” I pull a few out to show her. “I collect trash. Stash it. You didn’t peek inside the last bedroom of my condo, did you? Piles and piles of junk.”
“Really?” Her brows shoot up, but she doesn’t appear to be mortified.
“No. I have a friend who’s an artist. Everything he creates is from repurposed materials. Trash, basically. And his current installment needs to be made entirely of disposable drink waste.”
“Now that I believe.”
“What? You don’t see me as a hoarder?”
She scrunches
