Page 38 of Single-Minded
“Oh Daniel,” I say, covering my mouth with my hand in horror. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“We’ve got crabs!” he yells, holding the rope high in the air. “Right off the boat!” He looks so happy I can’t help but laugh. “Come on in, the water’s nice,” he says, trying to tempt me with a playful splash in my direction.
“Thanks, I’ll pass,” I say. “The water’s a little nippy for me this time of year.” The tourists never seem to mind when the water reaches the low sixties, but I’m a warm-weather girl and prefer it when the temperature of the Gulf and the bay are closer to bathwater. Or at the very least in the midseventies. It will be at least two months before that happens.
Daniel’s dark hair clings to his face, and he shakes the water off his head like a Labrador. Nice arms, I think, as I watch him tread water. Gay guys certainly keep themselves in fantastic shape. He swims easily to the side of the boat and pulls himself up on the ladder, water droplets clinging to his chest and abs. Still hanging on to the rope, he brings himself effortlessly over the side of the railing and onto the deck, and pulls the crab trap up out of the water behind him. His khaki shorts are completely soaked through, and they hang low and loosely on his hips. I have to force myself, consciously, not to ogle him. Seriously, I need to get ahold of myself and quit drooling over gay men.
“Look at that,” he grins adorably at me and gives a low whistle. “We’re having crab for dinner.”
“I’m so sorry about surprising you,” I say. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Don’t you worry, darlin’,” he says, his intensely blue eyes full of mischief. “I like surprises.”
I must be hallucinating, because it feels like he’s flirting with me. Darcy was right, I do need practice with regular straight men. Otherwise, I’m doomed to repeat history.
28
Daniel grabs his shirt with one hand and drapes it over the crab trap. “I’m just going to get changed, and put these on to boil. Are you hungry?”
I nod, glad I don’t have to pretend like I wasn’t hoping he’d cook for me again. He really seems to like it, and it’s been tough for me to eat dinners at home lately. Something about just me at the dining table. Which means I end up eating ice cream out of the container, or popcorn and a glass or two of wine. Like it’s less lonely somehow if I’m standing up. It’s funny because I’ve always eaten alone with no problems at all. Michael was on the road a lot, and there aren’t too many client dinners in my business, so I ate by myself. But there’s something different about it now; it’s more desolate, because unlike before when Michael was just traveling, now I know for certain there is no one coming home to eat with me. Ever again. It’s weird, the stuff that bothers you when you’re alone, even things that never bothered you before.
There’s a tiny spiral staircase in the back of Daniel’s kitchen, which apparently goes up to a small studio apartment above the dining area. I’m sitting at the table on the back deck near the railing, the same one where we’d sat last time, when I see him come through the kitchen door. Towel-dried hair, fresh shorts, and a clean green T-shirt that highlights the depths of blue in his eyes.
“I’ll put the pot on,cher.” The main doors of the dining room are open to the boat deck, and a lovely breeze flows through. Daniel bangs around in the kitchen and I feel all the stress leaving my body, gently kneaded away by the rocking of the boat. Daniel emerges with plates, napkins, and silverware balanced in one hand, and a couple of brown bottles in the other. “Nothing goes with fresh crabs better than beer,” he says. “That okay with you?”
“Fine by me,” I say. “Can I help you with anything?”
“Sweet of you to offer, darlin’, but I’ve got it covered.” He places the beers and the dishes down on the table, sets up the silverware and napkins in a few deft moves, and then disappears back into the kitchen. The smell is divine, spicy and delectable. He’s back in an instant with a tray laden with crabs, corn on the cob, and sautéed asparagus. My mouth is watering. It strikes me what an act of intimacy it is to cook for someone—to invite them into your space, feed them, make them to feel welcome. There’s something about how he moves and speaks that is so intriguing and charming, so welcoming.
He joins me at the table and lifts his beer to mine, “To fresh food and a fresh start.” I clink my bottle against his. I’ll definitely drink to that.
29
“So you had no idea that he was gay?” Daniel says. His deep blue eyes spark with interest.
“Not a clue,” I say, bringing my second bottle of beer to my lips. “You’d probably be able to spot it from across the room,” I say. Gaydar, and all that. I’m probably getting too familiar with him, but there’s something about him that makes me feel like I would tell him anything. He asks these incredibly direct questions, things that some of my closest friends have never even thought to ask, and I’m inexplicably compelled to share all these deeply personal thoughts. He’s like human Xanax or something. “Yeah, I didn’t notice anything and it was right in front of me all these years.”
He laughs. “Well, when I saw your husband for the first time he was wearing a sparkly pink princess crown and black leather pants, dirty dancing with a drag queen. So that might have tipped me off.”
“Just a little,” I say. “I feel so stupid.” Tears sting my eyes, and I am mortified.Get it together, Alex!Grabbing my napkin off my lap, I dab at my eyes and force myself to refocus. “I’m so sorry, I don’t usually cry in front of clients.”
“That’s okay,cher,you’ve earned a few tears,” he says in that soothing Southern drawl. He reaches over and delicately strokes my forearm. “I don’t usually swim in front of mine.” He grins. “I’m so embarrassed.”
I can’t help but laugh, his face is so open and kind, and I feel myself drawn to him once again. Oh my God, what the hell is wrong with me? I have to get out of here.
30
“Seriously,” I tell Darcy. “I’m lusting over my client. Mygayclient. I have completely lost my mind. I’m going to end up screwing up this amazing project that I’m superexcited to be doing because I can’t stop myself from fantasizing about him.”
“Which one?” she asks.
“Sterno Man.”
“Oh, he’s gorgeous,” she says. “How do you know he’s gay? It’s not like you have a great track record with these things.”
“He was Carter’s date to my divorce/coming-out party.”
“Okay, so he’s gay.”
