Page 81 of Reel Love

“And leave you at the front door,” he adds with a wink. “No use having a driver come out when I can take you myself.”

“Where do you live?” I ask. “You’ve been inside my home. It’s only fair I know where you live.”

“Want to see it?” he offers.

“Your house?”

“It’s not much to speak of, but it’s only a few blocks from here.”

“Actually, yes. I’d love to see your house.”

He smiles at me. And with the fluidity and tenderness of a man with far more prowess than he claims to possess, he reaches down and captures my hand in his. He intertwines our fingers and begins walking down the street, past the row of shops next to Cucina.

“Let’s take the sand,” he suggests, looking down into my eyes. “Can you? In those?”

He points down toward my sandals. I’m wearing heels.

“I can take these off and carry them,” I say. “I’d love to walk on the beach.”

Stevens surprises me when we’ve reached the small strip of sidewalk running right along the sand. He drops to one knee.

“You’re proposing?” I smile down at him. “It’s a little early for that. Don’t ya think?”

“I’m taking your heels off for you.”

“Oh.” My teasing tone is blown away on an ocean breeze. “Okay.”

Stevens taps the back of my ankle, coaxing me to lift my foot onto his thigh. I don’t know how I don’t wobble and fall over. He’s focused and gentle, sweetly caring for me in a way I’d never imagined a man could or should.

I’ve been dated, pursued, stalked … yes, even stalked. I don’t think a man has ever done anything so thoughtful and romantic before.

Stevens carefully puckers the strap of the sandal so it pops from the clasp. His fingers graze my ankle. His eyes look up to mine, but then back to his self-appointed task. He slips my sandal off my foot and hands it up to me. Then he wordlessly removes my other shoe with the same tender reverence before he stands and intertwines our fingers again. I loop the sandals over my finger on the opposite hand and we step onto the beach together.

The night is cool but not chilly. The light of the stars and moon reflect off the water. Couples dot the sand in loosely scattered silhouettes.

“Want to walk along the shore pound?” Stevens asks me.

“Won’t your legs turn into a tail if you touch the water?”

“I guess you’ll have to just wait and see.”

TWENTY-TWO

Stevens

You should be kissed and often,

and by someone who knows how.

~ Gone With the Wind

Alana Graves.

I’m holding hands with Alana Graves. Only, not really. She’s not Alana Graves right now. She’s just Alana, my SaturdayIslandGirl. I can’t allow my mind to think of her image when her face is the size of four men standing on one another’s shoulders, shown on big screens across the nation to paying crowds of moviegoers. I can’t drift into thoughts of anything but this moment. She can’t be a famous celebrity when it’s just the two of us.

I give her hand a gentle squeeze. Everything between us is simultaneously new and familiar. I know her. And yet I’m only just meeting her. I’ve touched her, but only to help her on or off a boat. We’ve flirted, but only from the safety we found behind our screens. And yet, not holding her hand right now would feel unnatural.

We walk to the water’s edge, I toe off my shoes and we wade in, ankle deep. Alana cuffs her pants and rolls them high enough so that she can go deeper. I follow suit. I’d go under, fully clothed, just to be with her wherever she’s leading right now.

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