Page 29 of Shy Girl
“I don’t think she’s seen me yet.”
“W-what if you j-just got this over w-with?” I asked. “Talk to her. M-maybe she’ll ignore y-you after that.”
Jayson frowned. “Maybe.” But I could tell that my suggestion was as likely as rain in this pristine night sky. Stars popped out overhead. A waiter slipped by, then stopped and held a tray in my direction.
“Wine?”
Not wanting to dull my brain, or make my thoughts less clear so my stutter grew worse, I waved it off with a warm smile. “N-no. Th-thank you.”
We lingered at the table for a few moments while Jayson seemed to pull himself back together. Then a call came from a few steps away, and Jayson looked over. A grin spread across his face seconds before a meaty male tackled him into a hug. They collapsed into the sand, laughing.
Meanwhile, a pair of eyes met mine through the flickering light of the tiki torches.
Victoria stared hard at me, her expression more curious than hostile. Still, it sent a cold feeling through my veins like an ice bath. I met her gaze, too startled to look away. Beneath layers of curiosity in that stare, I sensed something big.
She tilted her head and motioned out toward the waves, where the light stopped behind the torches and the waves hissed. A quiet invitation. I glanced around to confirm that I didn’t imagine her asking me, but no one else stood at my back. Jayson spoke with his football-player sized friend a few tables away, laughing uproariously at something the other one said.
Victoria lifted an eyebrow in question. Or was it a challenge?
I nodded.
Then followed her out into the sandy darkness.
“I’m Victoria.”
We met several yards away from the dinner party, beyond where the light of the torches reached, near the surf. Wedding guests trapped in the glowing overhead lights, tiki torches, and fast, staccatos of laughter lingered at our backs. She held out a hand and I accepted it. Her handshake was firm, quick, and she released me a second later.
“Dagny.”
The word flowed without a stutter by sheer luck. Water hissed around my feet where we stopped at the surf.
Victoria smiled. “It’s good to meet you.”
Is it? I wanted to ask, but kept the question at bay. Beneath her smile, she did seem curious. Maybe even sincere. But who was I to Jayson except a friend? The same thing that she should be, except I wasn't sure anymore. His reaction to her had been suspiciously strong. Did he still have feelings for her? My gut clenched just thinking about it.
Besides, why would my presence with Jayson prompt her to want a conversation with me? Lingering emotions, probably. She wasn’t over Jayson either? Maybe they’d rekindle whatever they had before and come back together. Wouldn’t that be the worst trip ever?
Then again, she might be jealous of competition. Although the thought ofmebeing competition almost made me laugh.
There was no tension in Victoria’s perfectly sculpted shoulders, no annoyance in her words. Maybe she’d moved on and forgotten him. For all I knew, a new man waited on the other side of the dinner table with a plate for each of them, but I doubted it. No one beckoned another woman away from a guy like Jayson just to be friends.
She turned her face to the gentle breeze off the ocean and closed her eyes in the exact same pose that captured me an hour before.
“It’s perfect here, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, but my voice was a quiet singsong. Turning words into subtle, quiet melodies removed the stutter. It could be an awkward way to speak, requiring more attention to my words than ever, but it got me through the most important conversations without stumbling all over myself. For some reason, this conversation seemed to merit such work more than any others I could recall.
“Helene has always had wonderful taste,” Victoria said. “An island getaway wedding just . . . fits her. So does Grady.” She laughed quietly to herself. “He’s good for her. She needs him and his . . . grounding influence.”
I laughed incredulously and she turned to me with a questioning smile.
“Is Grady not grounding?” she asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe. He was a very wild teenager. That’s why I laughed.”
She tilted her head to the side, then smiled. “Yes, that makes sense.”
“To think of him asgroundingis . . . a-amusing.” The stutter that slipped didn’t seem to catch her attention yet, but my throat tightened at the thought. In some ways, the singsong and hope of sounding normal felt ingenuine. Would I always have to speak this way in front of her? Was the stutter something to hide?
