Page 63 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess

“Don’t judge me,” she says defensively, and I laugh.

“I’m not judging. I was just curious.” I hesitate, debating with myself, and then I move, scooting behind her and sitting with my legs stretched out on either side of her. I clear my throat. “Is this okay?”

She hesitates, but when she speaks, her voice is normal. “Of course,” she says lightly. “What’s the point of having a fake boyfriend if he’s not going to keep you warm on the beach?”

I smile, relieved that I didn’t make things weird. “My thoughts exactly.” I swallow and then move my hands to hover over her hips, saying, “Do you want me to put my arms around you? Or is that too much?”

I’m just being polite, I tell myself. I’m thinking of her and her comfort. She’s cold, and I can help her. That’s why I want to put my arms around her, not because I’m once again wondering what her lips taste like or how her hair would feel threaded between my fingers.

“That’s fine,” she says, scooting closer until her back is against my chest. There’s a hint of vulnerability to her voice as she adds, “As long as you understand that I’m not a perfectly toned human specimen like Valencia or whatever. I had a baby two months ago. I have a mom bod.”

I blink, stunned. “Do you really worry about that?”

She wiggles closer still, and my breath hitches at the feeling of her body so close. When she reaches back and takes my hands, sliding them around her front and bringing them to her stomach, she says, “Surely you can feel that tummy.” Her words are joking, teasing, but her tone is still just as unsure as it was a second ago.

“Maya, you’reperfect,” I say, my voice hoarse. I lean in, pressing my face into her hair, her ear, the side of her neck. I don’t know what I’m doing, only that I need to do it, that I need to make sure she knows this. I inhale deeply, catching some of that vanilla scent, feeling the silk of her hair against my skin, against my lips. “You’re gorgeous. You have a ‘mom bod’ because…well, you’re a mom. Your arms rock Archer to sleep. Your legs carry you through the world so that you can be everywhere he needs you to be. Your softness, your curves—” I swallow. “They just show that your body sustained a life for nine months.” I shake my head, pressing a kiss in her hair. “You’re perfect,” I repeat. Then, more hesitantly, “I thought that from the second you burst into my office—and I’m just your fake boyfriend. If you decide to date someone else in the future, date them forreal—” I break off, because that thought turns my words to lead on my tongue. Still, I force them out anyway. “He’ll think so too.”

For a second I think I’ve said too much, revealed too much—of what, I don’t even know. But then Maya shifts sideways so that even though she’s still in my arms, she can look over at me.

“That was a really great speech. Did you practice in the mirror?” she says, smiling. It’s not a big smile, but it’s warm, genuine, and I can tell she’s trying to deflect the seriousness of the moment.

So I roll with it. “Thank you,” I say. “I didn’t practice, but it felt good when I said it.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” she says quietly. Then, without saying anything else, she faces forward again.

We wait. And we watch.

I can’t tell if I’m more invested in watching the sunrise or in watchingMayawatch the sunrise. There’s no doubt about it: this woman loves the ocean. Just like when we came here yesterday, she’s looking at all of this as though she’s never seen it before. And, I guess, she hasn’t seen the sun coming up this way.

I’ll admit, itisbeautiful. The reds and oranges and deep purples all bleeding together in the sky, mirrored in the wild ocean—they’re beautiful. But the way Maya’s smiling, the way she laughs with delight every few minutes, it’s like she’s seeing something I’m not. The same way she was with the seashells yesterday; to me they were ordinary seashells, but to her they were something special. And when I was there with her…I don’t know. Things started to look special to me, too. And then somehow I wanted nothing more than to find seashells for her, just to watch the look in her eyes when she saw something beautiful. It was a strange, unfamiliar feeling.

Now I let myself study her while she’s so captivated, painted in fiery golden light, wind tangling her hair, beautiful fire in her eyes. Every one of her thoughts plays openly on her face—her awe and her joy and her love for the world. She’s soreal, so beautiful, and even more beautiful for how genuine she is.

And a strange mix of feelings comes over me—a deep, surprising affection for Maya, and disappointment in myself. When did I lose the ability to marvel at the sunrise? When did I become a person who thinks his pants are more important than reallyliving, than experiencing first-hand the world around him? And how arrogant must I be to look at the sea—the freakingocean,miles deep and infinitely wide and completely unknowable—and deem it unworthy of my attention?

My eyes turn back to the woman in my arms. She’s at ease, relaxed, sprawling against me like this is where she belongs. And as I look at her, I’m forced to face an uncomfortable truth: I’m developing feelings for her. Complicated feelings, perhaps, but still more than friendly or neighborly. More, even, than physical desire. That’s been in place long before today. But this? This is different. And it’s a stupid situation to have wound up in, but I’m not sure I can talk myself out of this warmth growing in my chest as I watch her.

And unfortunately, it’s not just Maya herself I’m having a change of heart about. I’m starting to question the need to make her move, too. I wondered about it when she mentioned all the reasons she likes living in Sunset Horizons—the larger shower, the shuttle, the stairlift—and as I get to know her, it becomes clearer and clearer that this isn’t a girl who just wants to take advantage of a nice system. She doesn’t want to stay in her apartment because it makes her life cushier. She wants to stay there because it makes her lifedoable.And there’s a difference between those two things. I can’t blame her for struggling to carry Archer in his carseat up a flight of stairs, or for wanting to keep him close while she’s in the shower. And Icertainlycan’t blame her for not wanting to get behind the wheel when she’s dead on her feet from feeding him at all hours of the night.

Realizing I might be wrong has always been uncomfortable for me, partly because…well, I’m not usually wrong. It sounds arrogant to say that, but I don’t mean it to be—it’s just that I go out of my way to makesurethat I’m doing things correctly, that I’m acting with all the information. I don’t do things on a whim, and I don’t do things by halves. If I’m going to do something, I take my time, and I do it right.

My gaze skates over the parts of Maya I can see—her hair, the side of her face, the smooth skin of her neck. I guess what I have to figure out now is what I’m going to do about her—about her apartment, about her potential identity as Hanan, and—most importantly—about my growing feelings for her.

* * *

We’requiet as we return to our hotel room, and we’re quiet for much of the day, too. She seems to be lost in her own thoughts just as much as I am, though she does light up when she video chats with Archer and her uncle in the late morning. I stick around just long enough to play peekaboo with Archer, something I never envisioned myself doing. But I basically had no choice; when a baby as cute as Archer stares at you with his big, dark eyes, you pretty muchhaveto play with him. I’m sure I looked like an idiot, but that’s par for the course when a grown man makes silly faces at a baby.

We do talk for a few moments after her chat with Frank, when she tells me that Bowie Buford has taken a turn for the worse after he was initially thought to be okay. Apparently Frank took Archer on a walk up to the community center, and someone there told him. It leaves me feeling helpless, because there’s just not a whole lot I can do about the Viagra situation from two hours away. So I try my best to think of something else, just to stop myself from spiraling into panic.

Around midday I get roped into helping my mother and Aunt Sylvie with last minute wedding details, and it’s a good distraction. Guests have been arriving all day, dropping in to say hello before doing their own things until later in the afternoon, when the ceremony will be held. Staff from the resort bustle around us, adding the floral decor and the strings of lights and whatnot, while my mother, Sylvie, and I are busy making sure all the other details are in place. My phone pings a few times with notifications from the Sunset Horizons app, but I don’t want to read Hanan’s messages until I’m in private, so I wait, trying to focus on helping instead.

The event room looks nice. It’s not to my taste, necessarily, but then again, I’ve never given much thought to what my wedding would look like. I suppose it’s just more gaudy than I’m interested in. Flowersandlightsanddraped fabricandan arch. It’s a lot. Still, everything comes together well, and I’m finally relieved from my duties when Sylvie and my mother deem it time to go help the bride get ready.

With two hours to spare until the ceremony, I head back to the room. I’m surprised to find it empty, but I’m also relieved to have some space to myself. My insides are jittery as I pull up Hanan’s messages, because what am I going to do if it turns out she’s Maya? Am I going to say anything? Do I tell her? Do I keep it to myself?

Taking a deep breath, I begin to read.

Me:What are you up to this weekend?

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