sighs.
“What?”
“What do you do for a living?”
And there it is.
I hold her gaze for a moment, pondering. But it ’ s too soon and I am enjoying having her here,
unaffected and unguarded. I ’ m not ready to
give that up, yet.
“ Well? ” She raises her eyebrows.
“I have plans to open a surf shop. If everything goes well, we will open
by mid March.”
Her face lights up. “Really? Where?”
I tilt my head and she blushes. Why does she blush when I tilt my head?
“San Diego.”
“You ’ re kidding.” Her eyes widen and
she ’ s watching me as if she ’ s waiting for me to tell her it ’ s a joke.
“Nope. Cardiff, actually. I have friends there that I visit every summer.
I ’ ve been toying with the idea of having my own
shop for a while and I ’ ve always
been kind of obsessed with surfboards. So it ’ s finally happening.”
“That ’ s… great. I mean…” She shakes
her head.
“What? What did you think I was going to say?”
She looks up and suddenly seems embarrassed. “ I don’ t know. I figured you were one of those guys that
play golf and live a work-free life. I don ’ t know what pro athletes do when they retire.”
I laugh. “My career was not as long as I wished, and water polo athletes
are not like football players.”
“Why did you stop playing?”
“Shoulder injury,” I mutter. “I pushed it too hard during the Olympics. I
was young and thought my body could take anything. That was my last trip.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “You played in the Olympics ?”
I nod. “ Gold medal. ”
“No way.”
I shrug in response. She looks at me for a long moment with a puzzled
look of admiration. It ’ s better than
being pinned as some has-been living on the products of his glory days.
Our dinner comes and I am relieved with the change of subject. I smile
when she tells me she ’ s starving,
and appraises the food on her plate. She grins as she takes a bite and the way
her mouth wraps around her fork sends an instant shot to my groin. It makes me
shift on my seat. I smile again because I love that she loves food.
“So what do you do now?” she says, reaching for her glass. “I mean, how
do you make a living if you are… retired?”
Ah.
“That ’ s a lot of questions.” I smile,
because I am still not ready to answer that. Not until I find out what I want
to know about her. “I ’ m kind of
shy.” I tilt my head and she stops chewing, then reaches for her wine again. Yes.
I need to tilt my head more.
She takes a sip and smiles. “You are not shy, Jake.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “You ’ re right.
Maybe shy is not the right word. I ’ m a very
private person, though.”
She pouts and I have to look away. “ Well, ” she says. “You know a lot more about me. I feel
at a disadvantage. So you have to tell me.”
I laugh. “Very persistent. But seriously, enough about me.”
She shakes her head and I am safe for the moment. We ease into safer
territory as she tells me about working at the lodge. It sounds like a fun deal
and she says she makes a lot in tips. I have no doubt. After watching her play
poker, I am sure she does very well for herself.
When we are done with our meal I order a lemon mousse to share. She
smiles. I don ’ t really want dessert, but
watching her lips wrap around the spoon as she eats has become my new favorite
show. Out of the corner of my eye I see a small dance floor by a wall of
windows and inspiration hits me. The window is now a black screen peppered with
the glinting lights of the surrounding homes. In a corner next to the dance
floor, a guy sitting on a barstool strums the chords of an acoustic guitar as
he hums a slow melody.
“Want to dance?” I say, appraising her reaction. She looks up and her
eyes widen. She ’ s conflicted.
“Um, I ’ m not a great dancer.”
Good save. I smile. “ Doesn ’ t matter. I am. I ’ ll guide you. Besides, this is a very slow song.”
She looks down at her hands before
“What?”
“What do you do for a living?”
And there it is.
I hold her gaze for a moment, pondering. But it ’ s too soon and I am enjoying having her here,
unaffected and unguarded. I ’ m not ready to
give that up, yet.
“ Well? ” She raises her eyebrows.
“I have plans to open a surf shop. If everything goes well, we will open
by mid March.”
Her face lights up. “Really? Where?”
I tilt my head and she blushes. Why does she blush when I tilt my head?
“San Diego.”
“You ’ re kidding.” Her eyes widen and
she ’ s watching me as if she ’ s waiting for me to tell her it ’ s a joke.
“Nope. Cardiff, actually. I have friends there that I visit every summer.
I ’ ve been toying with the idea of having my own
shop for a while and I ’ ve always
been kind of obsessed with surfboards. So it ’ s finally happening.”
“That ’ s… great. I mean…” She shakes
her head.
“What? What did you think I was going to say?”
She looks up and suddenly seems embarrassed. “ I don’ t know. I figured you were one of those guys that
play golf and live a work-free life. I don ’ t know what pro athletes do when they retire.”
I laugh. “My career was not as long as I wished, and water polo athletes
are not like football players.”
“Why did you stop playing?”
“Shoulder injury,” I mutter. “I pushed it too hard during the Olympics. I
was young and thought my body could take anything. That was my last trip.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “You played in the Olympics ?”
I nod. “ Gold medal. ”
“No way.”
I shrug in response. She looks at me for a long moment with a puzzled
look of admiration. It ’ s better than
being pinned as some has-been living on the products of his glory days.
Our dinner comes and I am relieved with the change of subject. I smile
when she tells me she ’ s starving,
and appraises the food on her plate. She grins as she takes a bite and the way
her mouth wraps around her fork sends an instant shot to my groin. It makes me
shift on my seat. I smile again because I love that she loves food.
“So what do you do now?” she says, reaching for her glass. “I mean, how
do you make a living if you are… retired?”
Ah.
“That ’ s a lot of questions.” I smile,
because I am still not ready to answer that. Not until I find out what I want
to know about her. “I ’ m kind of
shy.” I tilt my head and she stops chewing, then reaches for her wine again. Yes.
I need to tilt my head more.
She takes a sip and smiles. “You are not shy, Jake.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “You ’ re right.
Maybe shy is not the right word. I ’ m a very
private person, though.”
She pouts and I have to look away. “ Well, ” she says. “You know a lot more about me. I feel
at a disadvantage. So you have to tell me.”
I laugh. “Very persistent. But seriously, enough about me.”
She shakes her head and I am safe for the moment. We ease into safer
territory as she tells me about working at the lodge. It sounds like a fun deal
and she says she makes a lot in tips. I have no doubt. After watching her play
poker, I am sure she does very well for herself.
When we are done with our meal I order a lemon mousse to share. She
smiles. I don ’ t really want dessert, but
watching her lips wrap around the spoon as she eats has become my new favorite
show. Out of the corner of my eye I see a small dance floor by a wall of
windows and inspiration hits me. The window is now a black screen peppered with
the glinting lights of the surrounding homes. In a corner next to the dance
floor, a guy sitting on a barstool strums the chords of an acoustic guitar as
he hums a slow melody.
“Want to dance?” I say, appraising her reaction. She looks up and her
eyes widen. She ’ s conflicted.
“Um, I ’ m not a great dancer.”
Good save. I smile. “ Doesn ’ t matter. I am. I ’ ll guide you. Besides, this is a very slow song.”
She looks down at her hands before
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