Page 92 of Resorting to Romance

I cover my face with my hands. Kai gently pries my arms downso I’ll peek up at him. Then he pulls me into a hug. Him holding me does the opposite of what it should do. Usually his hugs calm me. Right now every nerve ending is shouting, “Do it again! Kiss him! Kiss him!”

I pull back so I don’t accidentally grip his face and actually kiss him for a second embarrassing time in a row.

“Sorry, I panicked …” I try to make sense of my actions to Kai, but honestly, I can’t even make sense of them to myself yet.

“You … panicked?” Amusement fills Kai’s features.

I nod.

“And when you panic, you kiss people in public?”

He’s having far too much fun with this. Also, why is he so calm? Shouldn’t we both be freaking out? My kiss didn’t affect him like his did me. That’s the only explanation for him being this serene and subdued after we kissed likethat. I felt more sparks than the barge on the bay during our Fourth of July celebration, and Kai, apparently, felt nothing.

TWENTY-SIX

Mila

Life brings tears, smiles, and memories.

The tears dry, the smiles fade,

but the memories last forever.

~ Malik Faisal

It’s been a few days since Brad moved onto the island. I haven’t seen him since I subjected him to witnessing me attack Kai for that kiss. Every time I think of how that must have felt from Brad’s perspective, I cover my face, even if I’m alone.

What was I thinking?

Kai.That’s what I was thinking. The allure of my gorgeous friend made me cross all my lines and act totally out of character.

Three new guests checked in earlier today. The infamous sixty-four-year-old Scotsman checked out. Everyone, including Noah, is down for the night. Everyone but me. I’m restless. So I make my way through the house to the upstairs hallway where I pull down the retracting ladder that’s built into the ceiling. I climb up slowly and quietly, careful not to rouse anyone.

I make my way over to the familiar chest under the window inthe alcove, and pull open the lid. Then I extract a shoebox and an album. Once I’m nestled into the beanbag in the corner, I open the lid and pull out memorabilia one item at a time, touching each one as if they hold some essence of the people who owned them.

Mom’s favorite teacup. Her locket. A bundle of love letters she wrote to my dad when he served overseas. Dad’s dog tags. His medal. A postcard from somewhere they stayed in Europe. Movie stubs. An invitation to their wedding. My birth announcement. A souvenir pin that saysQuebecon it. The air is still around me as I move through the box, touching the last vestiges of my parents’ lives—proof they were here, that they lived and loved well.

I carefully return the contents to the box and lift the album onto my lap.What would Mom think of Kai?I wonder as I study a photo of her bending over me while I blew out the four candles on my birthday cake.Would Dad approve?They knew Brad. Of course, they never knew we married, never watched him walk away. But they knew Brad as a little boy. Island schools are small. Brad and I started dating in high school, but our lives overlapped long before then.

My parents never met Kai. And he never met them. I wish they could all meet one another.

I lift my hand to my cheek where the first tear is rolling down like that first drop of rain in a summer storm. As if it was the scout, testing if the coast is clear, more follow close behind.

I know in my right mind that these tears have been building like water against the wall of a dam. They’ve been in a reservoir since the day Brad showed up. I cry for every moment Kai and I have had to pretend as if we’re something we can never be, for each time I had to wonder what will happen between Brad and Noah, for all the lost years between them, all the dreams I hoped for and never lived. A new wave of tears swells as I release the pressure of keeping life in motion while so much is unraveling at the edges.

Everything.

Every little and big thing.

It’s all in these tears.

I close the album to protect the photos from the downpour. Like rain, these tears feel cleansing. Long-awaited moisture to my parched, confused, and privately-weary heart. When I feel the deluge lessen to a sob, and then an occasional sniffle, I pull out my cell phone.

“Hello?” Aunt Phyllis answers on the first ring.

“Hi.”

“Oh, sweetie, are you okay?”

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