Chapter 2
. . . Then her right hand dropped limp into her lap and her left slipped gently from his neck to his shoulder. She reluctantly allowed his lips to leave hers. He dropped back against the seat cushion, took a deep breath and stared across the crowded cafe.
Dazzled, she thought, he’s dazzled! And he was, no mistake at all about that. Anyone could see it!
“Hi, Darla,” he said finally. “How was your day?”
“Much better now, kind sir,” she replied. “And you?”
“What can I say? I put in a full day’s work with nothing but you on my mind! It was torture! Dark and gray and seemingly endless torment! But now I’m here with you and the sun has returned to my sky. ”
His right hand reached for hers. She felt the horny, work-hardened calluses on his stone mason’s hand, and the fire within her banked to a warm, comfortable glow. He turned his smiling, sun-bronzed, outdoorsy face to hers and their eyes met. He had violet eyes, just like Elizabeth Taylor. Stunning, mesmerizing eyes. When they’d first met at the shopping plaza across the road (was that really only a week ago?) she’d assumed he wore tinted contacts. The foolish affectation of a flyweight; not manly at all. But, as it turned out, his eyes were the real deal.
But what about the rest of him? His name was Luke, she knew that. She also knew there was a powerful, animal attraction between them. It was mind-blowing, really. A moth to his flame, that’s how she felt. And that’s why she hesitated, why she held back. She’d been badly burned once before, and she was now determined to be responsible and sensible. Determined to make her choices wisely.
It’s like buying a car, she thought in her less romantic moments. You have to look beyond the flash and glamour, beneath the red paint and the soft, deep bucket seats. You must resist the satisfying rumble and throb of the engine, transmitted through a cherry-red nail-polished hand grasping the shifter. Not give in to the breathtaking rush of speed and danger on an open road.
Because that, she thought primly, was the road to ruin.
She was not at all confident that things would pan out with Luke. For one thing, he was a stone mason, a tradesman. And she was a freshly minted doctor, an MD bound for glory in her father’s footsteps. They were worlds apart.
Last week he’d been repairing the low rock wall in the parking lot in front of Stalk’s Supermarket when her bag of groceries had split wide open onto the pavement. He’d helped her gather it all up, and he’d laughed at her obvious discomfiture. Then he’d offered to buy her lunch to make up for it, and against her better judgement she’d accepted. Since that day they’d met for coffee after work five days straight, and they’d talked about things: about him, about her, about the state of the world, the usual stuff. He seemed well-informed and articulate. But, she thought, anyone can stay current. The news is everywhere. All you need is an IPad and you can sound like Anderson Cooper, for gosh sakes.
But at this time yesterday, here at the corner booth at Nick’s Cafe, there was an event, a game changer. An older man with grey hair and a tweed jacket had stopped by their table.
“Excuse me dear lady, terribly sorry to intrude,” he’d said to her in a clipped British accent. “I need a word with your tablemate.” He’d looked like one of the professors from the nearby university. Which, of course, he was! She’d nodded, and the polite stranger had turned to Luke.
“Hello young Mister Sims, “he’d said. “I’ve your doctoral dissertation in the trunk of my car and it will save me a trip if I return it to you here, as long as that’s not a bother.”
“Not at all, Professor MacDougall, I’ll come out and grab it from you . And may I introduce my friend Darla Ellington?”
The older man turned to Darla. “I’m charmed, Miss Ellington.” In the European manner, he waited for her to extend her hand before offering his.
“I’m pleased to meet you, sir,” she’d said. And as the two men left the cafe she’d thought: This is an interesting turn of events. . . .
On The Beach 