Page 26 of The Moment of Letting Go

“I’m a backseat driver.”

“Really?” she says. “Backseat drivers drive me nuts.”

“Yep, that’s me.” I smile with a shrug. “I don’t trust anyone’s driving but my own.”

“So you’re a control freak,” she says, grinning under that sun-kissed skin.

“Nah—it’s just a trust thing is all.”

“So then you have trust issues.”

I blink back the surprise and grin at her.

“I guess another one of your flaws is that you’re quick to judge,” I say in jest.

Her face falls.

“No, no, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Just when I think I’ve offended her, a grin sneaks up at one corner of her mouth.

“Ah, I see.” I start to walk into the water and she follows. “So we’re the Overthinking Manipulator and the Control Freak with trust issues.”

“I guess so,” she agrees without argument.

“Well, I hope we can stand to be around each other for three whole hours,” I say. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

Neither of us comments on the likelihood of that, I guess because we both already know that, well, three hours together isn’t going to be enough.

“What else?” she asks, and I get the sense that maybe she’s looking for something a little more serious. “I mean, surely there’s something about you that you, or someone you know, might consider a real flaw?”

Now I’m the one chewing on the inside of my mouth.

Sienna tilts her head to one side thoughtfully, waiting.

“Well, sure there is,” I say, though I find myself trying to word it right. “I’ve known a few … people … in my lifetime who think I’m too much of a risk-taker.” When I say people, I mean girls, but at the last second I thought it might be better not to bring up my past girlfriends and failed relationships.

Her ears perk up and she looks at me contemplatively. “Oh? A risk-taker, huh? In what way?”

I take a deep, but unnoticeable, breath.

Then I point out at the waves and say, “Like with my surfing, for example.” I laugh lightly. “Even you seemed a little anxious when I brought up the whole surfing in stormy weather.”

She smiles, drawing her petite shoulders up around her. Then she shrugs.

“OK, yeah, I guess I didn’t hide that too well,” she admits. “But what else do you do that people consider risky?”

Hmm, did she catch onto the hidden meaning behind that, or was she just reiterating?

I shrug, too. “A few things: rock-climbing, cliff-diving, hang gliding, skydiving—I love the thrill, the sense of freedom.” Quietly I search her face and her eyes and her posture for any signs of retreating, but all I see is interest and maybe a bit of confusion. But so far, she doesn’t seem put off by the things I do.

Of course, that never means anything right away—my ex hung around for nearly six months before she decided the stuff I was into was just too much for her.

Maybe that’s why I’m not telling Sienna everything yet. Then again, she’s only here for a short while, so why worry about even getting into it?

“What about you?” I ask. “Anything worse than overthinking, and manipulating poor unsuspecting guys?”

She reaches out and gently hits me on the arm; the playful gesture and red in her face give me the urge to grab her around the waist—this holding back shit for the sake of being a gentleman is excruciating work.

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