The Red Bikini (15 page)

G
iselle maneuvered down the sandy sidewalks onto the wooden slats of Sandy Cove Pier. Alone. The sun was beginning to set, and the light blue wooden rails of the pier stood out against the pink-orange sky.

She put her name in at the place Fin told her, The Captain’s Hull, the only restaurant on the pier. It sat teetering above the waves on wooden pylons that held it over the lapping foam of the ocean. Fin had offered several excuses for why he should drop her off to put their names in, but it was becoming clearer and clearer that he wanted to spend as little time with her as possible.

Giselle wandered down the uneven wooden pier to begin the wait, then drifted toward the right-side rail where she could lean over and see nine wet-suit-clad bodies bobbing in the ocean, waiting with hopeful expressions for evening waves. The wind picked up the farther down the pier she walked, whipping tendrils out of her chignon.

She leaned against the rail and twisted Fin’s turquoise ring around her finger as she tried to ignore the tightening in her chest. It was the same tightening she always felt when she knew she was letting someone down.

She’d had a wonderful time with Fin these two days—despite the bizarre circumstances. She’d loved every touch of his fingers against the small of her back, every glance he gave her from beneath his bangs, every flex of his muscles when she held his arm, and especially the way his eyes had lingered over her tonight. It had been such a thrill to have a man gaze at her that way for the first time in so long. And especially
this
man—this hunky, golden, chiseled man, who had youth and energy breathing through his fingertips. It was sad to have it end this way. She wasn’t sure whether she’d let him down, said something wrong, or if he was just cutting the attentive act he’d been pretending for forty-eight hours. Either way, it was clear he wanted to be rid of her now.

Which reminded her of Roy.

Why did she have this effect on men?

She took the ring off and pressed it into her palm as she gazed at the surf. Seagulls called overhead, and she could smell bonfires starting up in the sand. Her mouth felt like it was filled with cotton.

When Fin approached from behind, about fifteen minutes later, he stood well apart from her.

“You should take this back.” She held out the ring.

A few beats went by where Fin stared at it, almost as if he didn’t recognize it, but then a light dawned. “No, you keep it.”

“I can’t keep it, Fin. It’s yours.”

“No. Just . . . keep it.” Guilt or maybe some kind of sadness etched his features. “How long is our wait?”

“They said thirty minutes.” She reluctantly put the ring in her purse.

The surfers were lined up where the waves broke, and she tried to focus on the beauty of the rugged palm-tree-dotted coastline of Sandy Cove. The horizon was a distant line, separating the orange sky from the blue ocean, and the fiery sun was dropping steadily. Thin rows of clouds were colored like rainbow sherbet.

Ignoring the sunset, Fin watched the surfers, who continued to bob on their boards, waiting for waves that were barely rolling in.

“They’re not going to get much,” he mumbled, pushing up his sleeves. He still wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he took a deep breath and leaned into the rail, tugging at the black-corded bracelet that had been under his shirtsleeve.

“Listen, Giselle . . .” He licked his lips and studied the ocean. “I’m sorry for rushing you out of there tonight.”

He started to say more, but then closed his mouth and ran his hand over his jaw. Giselle stayed quiet with hope he’d continue. She hoped she hadn’t let him down. The wind rushed up again from beneath the pier, and she smoothed tendrils of hair away from her lips.

“I felt bad I was”—he shook his head—“making you pretend to be something you’re not. I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t be pretending
I’m
something I’m not, and I shouldn’t be dragging you to do the same.” He stared at the ocean, seemingly drained already from so many words.

Relief swept through her. Maybe Fin hadn’t been
angry
—maybe he’d simply felt guilty, the same way she had at her event.

“That’s how I felt when we were at the church,” she said. “I felt terrible for bringing you to the funeral, and making you lie.”

“I didn’t mind that, though.”

“I didn’t mind this. I felt bad for asking you to lie, and to be someone you weren’t.”

“The dude who drove the surf van?”

She laughed. “Right.”

“I didn’t mind that, though. But this—I was asking you to play a role you were uncomfortable with.”

“Honestly, Fin, it’s fine. I had fun. And I’d really like to go tomorrow, if you want me to. It might help with your contract, meeting your boss and—”

But he was already shaking his head and turning back toward the ocean. He rested his arms along the rail. “I can’t bring you, Giselle.”

She straightened. She tried not to think about why he didn’t want to bring her, and—more important—not to
care
. But she couldn’t. All of her insecurities rose like the ocean wind, and she felt frozen, her chest tightening, standing there watching the orange sun sink into the sea. Fin was saying the same thing Roy had:
You didn’t let me down, but I can’t be near you anymore.
She didn’t understand what was wrong with her. She wanted to slip through the pier slats.

The sherbet light threw shadows across his face as he glanced at her across his shoulder and then did a double take.
“Giselle.”
He squinted at her. “Whatever you’re thinking right now—that’s not the reason.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?”

“Based on your expression, I’ve got a pretty good guess.”

She tried to rearrange her face, but ended up just turning away because it was too exhausting.

“You’ve got that beaten-down look you have when your ex is around,” he mumbled.

Giselle’s spine stiffened.
Beaten down?
“Is that how I come across?” She could hear a note of anger rise in her voice.

“Only around him.”

Giselle was stunned into silence. No one had ever told her that before. She wondered whether this was what Lia saw, too. And Noelle. And their mother. She wondered, with horror, whether Coco saw it, too. . . .

“Look, Giselle, that’s the last thing I want you to be feeling at the end of our night—whatever it is your ex makes you feel. I think he’s an asshole for making you so insecure about yourself that you want to be someone else. So, to make sure I’m not doing the same thing, I’m going to admit a lot of stuff to you right now that I have no business saying out loud. I’m just going to blurt it out, like you said.”

He glanced at the ocean as if summoning some kind of strength. “I’m not sure what all to admit to, here.” He ran his hand down his face. “I guess, for starters, I’ll admit I’ve been picturing you out of that dress for the last four hours.”

Giselle’s breath hitched. She glanced up to make sure she’d heard him correctly.

“And I’ll admit that the first time we talked, at the party, I couldn’t stop staring at your lips. You’ve got an incredibly sexy mouth.”

Giselle’s hands began shaking.

“And I asked you not to dress too sexy for my event, not because I thought the board members might not like it, but because I was afraid I’d be staring at your body all night. And that kiss in the parking lot?” He turned and caught her gaze, holding it hostage. “As embarrassed as I am to admit it, I think I even dreamed about it last night.” His attention drifted to her lips. As the seagulls cawed overhead, though, he looked away. “So if you’re thinking I don’t want to bring you tomorrow night because you’re too ‘old’ or that I’m not attracted to you, or any such foolishness, just . . . stop. Nothing could be further from the truth. I don’t want to bring you because I’m doing way too much thinking about how to get you into bed. And I shouldn’t.”

“Why
not
?” The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. Belated, she brushed her fingertips over her lips.

Fin laughed and gave her an embarrassed glance from under his bangs. “I’m flattered, Ms. Underwood.”

An automated voice floated toward them—with words Giselle couldn’t quite understand through the pounding of her heart—and Fin turned toward the restaurant.

“That’s us. Think we can make it through this dinner?” He gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m going to have to stop picturing you out of that dress, and you’re going to have to try not to blush to death.”

Giselle gave a weak nod and followed Fin inside.

 • • • 

The sun fell into the water just as they were being seated, throwing its last burst of orange through the tiny dining room. The room was designed like a ship’s hull, with small dark-wood tables and brass handrails. Outside the tinted windows, a wraparound balcony hosted white tables and chairs underneath bright blue umbrellas that almost touched one another. As the sky shifted from orange to lavender, waiters in shorts and sweatshirts hustled to take down the umbrellas, and heat lamps began their low burn.

The waiter sat Giselle and Fin at an impossibly small table right next to the window. Giselle was able to face the sunset and see the silhouettes of couples who’d taken places along the pier rail, huddling close in romantic poses. She watched one couple kiss, then dropped her gaze and pulled in her chair.

Fin studied the menu in silence. She forced herself to focus on her own, and tried to tamp down her nervousness.
Had Fin just said he was picturing her naked?
She couldn’t quite connect the pounding of her heart with how much air she needed, or connect the words she’d just heard with her own reality. She tried to keep her menu from shaking.

“. . . drink?” she heard.

She snapped her head up.

“Um . . . iced tea,” she stammered to the waitress.

“Water for me,” Fin said.

When the sweatshirt-clad waitress left, Giselle wanted to go back to taking surreptitious glances at Fin, but he’d set his menu down. She couldn’t stop her hands from shaking as she tried to comprehend the menu selections.

“I don’t know what to get . . .” she said.

“Take your time.”

How can I read with you staring at me like that? And after you just told me you’re picturing me out of my dress?
She squirmed a bit in her chair, and had to rest her menu on the edge of the table to keep it from vibrating.

“What are
you
getting?” she finally asked.

“Fish tacos.”

“I’ll get that.” She set the menu down and searched desperately for her iced tea. . . . Or water . . . Water would do. . . .

“So have I made this unbearably uncomfortable for you?” Fin asked.

A waiter came by and thrust his arm between them to light the tiny candle on the table. They waited an excruciatingly long time until the young man moved out of the way; then Fin leaned closer, the flickering candle illuminating his jaw. “You said to blurt out what I was thinking, but I’m not sure you were really ready for that.”

“It’s okay. I thought . . . something different. So I’m glad you . . .” Her cheeks were on fire. “I’m glad you said those . . . nice things.”

“Did they sound nice?” He raised an eyebrow. “I must not have expressed myself correctly.”

“I just mean—”

“I know, Giselle.”

The candle illuminated the sharp planes of his cheekbones, the darkening edges of the bandage on his nose, and then a strange sadness in his eyes. . . .

The waitress brought their drinks on small cocktail napkins, and Giselle went about the business of sweetening her iced tea with exactly two tiny shakes of Splenda. She wasn’t used to Fin’s direct compliments, wasn’t used to the sultry stares he was shooting her way, and certainly wasn’t used to being within touching distance of a man who had just admitted he was picturing her naked. Especially a man who could make her heart pound like this. She folded her yellow packet into neat rows and tucked it under her bread plate.

“I’m not clear on why you haven’t mentioned any of these things, if they’re true,” she said.

“
If
they’re true? You still don’t believe me?” He shifted in his seat and seemed to be thinking over how to phrase the next thing he wanted to say. He gave up when the waitress came to take their order.

After she left, he leaned forward again. “The reason I keep my thoughts in check around you is because of Lia.”

Lia?
Giselle had to throw her train of thought into a U-turn. She couldn’t imagine how Lia had entered this scenario—this stunning scenario that had Giselle fast-forwarding to how she could get herself wrapped, naked, into those arms of his.

When her voice came back, she shook her head. “What does Lia have . . . ?” But then a thought hit her. “Oh Fin, you said you and Lia weren’t—”

“No.”
He held up his hand. “No, no, no. We are
not
seeing each other and never have. I’m just saying she wouldn’t approve of . . . of
me
, probably. And my thoughts. And what I want to do with you.”

Giselle took a long gulp of water. It took her a minute and a long, deep breath to ask the next question. “And what would that be?” she squeaked.

Fin shook his head. “Let’s keep those thoughts in check, okay?”

Giselle’s heart began pounding again in her chest. “Maybe Lia doesn’t know what I want,” she said in a voice that came out as a whisper.

Fin cocked an eyebrow.

She was on the verge of doing something she’d never done before: stating what she wanted and going after it.
She wanted Fin on her summer vacation.
That was what she wanted.

Despite what Lia wanted for her, or what her Indiana mom friends might think of her, or what her mother or Noelle might expect of her, or what Roy thought she should do—she wanted to go out, for the short time she was here, with this sexy twenty-eight-year-old. She wanted him to kiss her like he did in that parking lot, and have his gaze hang up at her breasts like it did earlier this evening, and wanted him to take her in with his dilated navy eyes, the way he was doing right now. Even if it was only for two weeks. Or maybe just a few days, since that was when Coco would be back.