Page 75 of Reel Love

“Fair enough. Well, do you want to wait together?”

She deliberates. Looks around again. “Um … maybe I should get a table? Or …”

“Yeah. That makes sense. We don’t want to start our dates with them walking in to see us with someone else. That would be …”

“Awkward,” she finishes for me. “Well, it was good seeing you.”

“You too. Have a nice dinner.”

“You too.”

Alana smiles and I remain standing until she’s halfway across the room. I watch as she approaches the hostess, who waves her arm toward the room and tells Alana to pick any open table or booth. Definitely not swanky.

My brow creases as I consider the facts. We’re both here to meet a friend at six p.m. for dinner. Those friends aren’t here. She’s here, on a part of the island that is not near her home. She’s out in public when she’d likely rather be sequestered and unseeable.

No. Nah.

Sometimes all the facts seem to line up, but the scientist has what we call bias. Wouldn’t it be amazing if my online crush were Alana Graves? I chuckle to myself. It’s odd enough that SaturdayIslandGirl lives on Marbella. The likelihood of that particular overlap already broke the statistical record books. There’s no chance my island woman is Alana Graves.

Dream on, Stevens. And, also, stop wishing it were Alana on a night you are about to meet SaturdayIslandGirl. That’s just wrong.

And since when do I have lengthy inner monologues?

Dating. It’s not for the faint of heart.

I glance over at Alana intermittently. Her date hasn’t shown yet either. She catches me looking over at her a few times and smiles an uncharacteristically shy smile. She’s still wearing thosesunglasses, as if the sun can hide from the rest of the solar system. Even in a booth near the kitchen, she shines like the star she is. Eyes drift in her direction regularly—not just my eyes.

At one point, a group of young women approach Alana in her booth.

It’s six twenty. I’m getting restless and toying with the idea of texting the woman I’m waiting for. I don’t want to appear needy. Maybe she changed her mind. Something could have come up. It’s only twenty minutes. I’ll wait. She’s got my number. If she needs to cancel or she’s got something to tell me, she’ll call or text.

I watch the scene unfold at Alana’s booth, feeling suddenly protective of her and her privacy. The group of women is being respectful. Alana takes a piece of paper and pen from one of them and signs it. She smiles up at them, says something. Then she removes her glasses and stands. The women flank her in a group and take selfies. There’s giggling and a round of thanks, and they leave her. Other customers watch, but they turn back to their meals after the group of women leave. Alana’s not the only celebrity or famous person on the island, though she’s definitely the biggest name by far. The resort draws a wealthy crowd. I’m grateful no one makes a scene.

I stand and walk over to Alana’s table.

“Are you okay?”

She smiles up at me, returning her glasses to her face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just got spotted.”

“They were fine. I love my fans. If I can make their night with an autograph and a selfie, I’m glad to do it.”

I smile down at her. “Mind if I sit? It’s getting a little …”

“Lonely?” she asks, tipping her head toward where I’ve been sitting alone for over a half hour.

“No. I’m good with solitude. It’s just getting a little weird. I guess something happened to my date … friend.”

“Date or friend?” she asks.

“That was going to be determined when she had finished eating with me.”

Alana slowly drags her sunglasses down her nose in that way she did on my boat. The way she did on the big screen that one time. She studies my face. Her mouth tips up in a half-smile.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

She’s silent for a few beats, and then with the perfect timing of a seasoned actress, she delivers the line that I will remember until the day I die.

---