Page 65 of Reel Love

I point to the microwave-convection oven and smile. “I’ll do the honors.”

I pour each of us a glass of sparkling water, and when both meals are warmed, I lead Stevens out to the deck.

“I’m assuming you’re fine with eating outside,” I say.

“This is great. I usually eat in my kitchen at a small table.Once a week I have a meal with my parents, and then one other night I try to bring business to my sister by popping in on her.”

I take a seat in one of the oversized wicker chairs in front of the outdoor coffee table at the end of my porch where we’ll have the best views of the ocean. Stevens takes the seat next to mine. Our backs are to the wall, treetops, rooftops and the wide expanse of the ocean spread out in front of us.

“Your sister?” I ask, trying to reconcile the idea of Stevens having a family.

He seems so self-contained—so content in his own skin. I don’t know what I imagined about him before. My thoughts were usually spiraling around getting to LA or unwinding from being there. But now, I see him as a whole person, with a life apart from substituting as my water taxi pilot. Maybe I saw pieces of him in that light before, but not like I am right now.

“My sister owns Mitzi’s Tacos. Her name is Mitzi … of course … which would be why her place is called Mitzi’s Tacos. You don’t meet a lot of Mexicans named Mitzi, I don’t think. I never have, anyway. But she loves tacos and food in general, so she went to culinary school in LA and worked at taquerias there while she was taking courses. She’s always known she wanted a restaurant.”

I hide my smile at the awkwardness that made Stevens rattle on more than usual. These bouts of nerves seem to surge occasionally, like he remembers my life outside the boat or this house and has to work his way back to being at ease around me. I’d do anything to alleviate that for him, but I think I’d only make matters worse, so I let him work it out.

“So, are her tacos any good? Or do you just eat there to support her?”

“They are excellent. Local Mexicans eat there and tell her they think her food is authentic. She always comes to family dinner bragging about anytime someone Hispanic compliments her food.”

“I’d love to try her tacos sometime.”

“I think I know a guy who could make that happen.”

I smile over at him. “You’d have to bring them here.”

“Or you could wear those huge sunglasses and maybe a wig and a trenchcoat,” he suggests.

I can’t tell if he’s teasing or being serious.

“Yeah. That getup wouldn’t stand out at all,” I joke.

“Not a bit. People come to Mitzi’s in trench coats and shades all the time. She’s got a realSinging in the Rainvibe going on.”

I snort-laugh and then immediately bring the back of my hand up to my nose as if I can suck back the fact that I just sounded like a pig learning how to breathe.

“Classy.” He smirks at me.

“I can’t believe you made me snort.”

“Oh, I made you? I think you managed that on your own.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

He nods. I try to remember the last time I had this much fun or truly relaxed with someone. Brigitte. But with a man? Maybe never.

The next day, I’m sitting on my porch in the same chair I sat in for my unexpected dinner with Stevens last night. I’m reading Sally Field’s memoir,In Pieces,when the phone rings. I set my book aside and answer Phyllis’ call.

Phyllis doesn’t even say hello. She starts in with, “The guests just checked out at Mila’s Place an hour ago and she doesn’t have any reservations tonight. I’m joining Mila for lunch and you are too.”

Despite her warm and humorous demeanor, Phyllis can be as commanding as my mother. When she summons you to lunch, you clean up and go.

“What if I’m busy?”

“Cancel. You’re on the island. You answered your phone. That means you’re free. Don’t play games with me, Alana. We are overdue for lunch together.”

“I’ll be there in a half hour.”

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