Page 19 of All I Desire

“Met any nice guys lately?”

I look up from the necklace I’m stringing, into the face of Mrs. Meyer. It’s Wednesday, which means I’m leading Bead and B*tch, my weekly class at the Paradise Beach Community Center.

I shrug and thread an eight-millimeter, round gemstone onto the wire. “Y’all following along here? Take the wire between your thumb and forefinger like this.”

The six women at the table are all absorbed in their work. Well, all except Mrs. Meyer.

And Ma. She’s here, too. Occasionally, she does the crafts along with the class. Sometimes she helps out. Mostly, she’s here to socialize.

Ma beams at Mrs. Meyer. Oh God. I brace myself for an in-depth discussion of my love life. This happens all-too-frequently during this class. Especially since Remy paired up with Leilani. Apparently, there was some sort of island-wide consensus that Remy would be the last Hastings kid to find a mate, and now I’m the spinster of the family.

“Ooh, do tell,” Mrs. Meyer says, looking over the reading glasses perched on her nose.

I inhale, trying to ignore her probe.

“You take the amethyst, round bead, this one.” I hold up the purple bead, almost as round as a marble. I like to work with larger beads for this class because some of the women are older and have a touch of arthritis. The bigger beads are easier for them to handle. “It looks nice paired with this silver, geometric bead here, but you’re free to create any pattern you want. Just slide it down the wire like this.”

The satisfying, soft clack of bead against bead echoes in the air as the women string their necklaces. My phone pings and I glance over. It’s Matthew.

Hey you. How’s your class?

We’ve texted every day since we met. He’s surprisingly witty in his messages, and uses proper grammar and punctuation. After wading through the online dating pool for years, that in itself is a turn-on. For the last two days, we’ve been sending silly billboards and signs to each other. I’d seen one on the checkout stand keypad that was meant to say PEN IS BROKEN, USE FINGER, only there wasn’t a space between PEN and IS, so it looked like PENIS. He loved that.

Awesome. We’re making necklaces.I snap a photo of my half-finished creation and send it to him.

Can’t wait to see it on you.

I grin and feel heat rising in my cheeks. When I lift my eyes from the phone, my gaze lands on Ma. She quirks an eyebrow.

“To answer your question, Mrs. Meyer, I have a few prospects on the horizon,” I say firmly. Hopefully that will quell the curiosity.

She sets her necklace down and pushes her zebra-print readers up the bridge of her nose. “Playing the field. Wish I’d done that more before I got married. Don’t you, Ginger?”

Ma smiles that little secret grin of hers. “Who says I didn’t? Natalia, before I met your father, I traveled the world and met lots of men. I sowed my wild oats, but when I met your father on that plane, I knew he was the one.”

I snicker. “I thought you were annoyed by him when you first met because he was a jerk.”

Ma waves her hand, a bead between her fingers. “Well, yes. But still. It was a sexual tension kind of annoyance.”

I grimace. Discussing my parents’ sexual tension during a craft class isn’t my idea of a fun time.

“What about your date tonight, dear?” Ma asks.

Everyone around the table looks up from their beads and stares at me.

“Ma,” I protest.

“Just curious,” she says sweetly.

“We already know about the guy at the photo shoot. It’s all over the island. Buster and Maria Coleman saw the two of you kissing on the beach. Is that who she’s seeing tonight?” Mrs. Meyer turns to Ma, as if I’m not even in the room.

“No, different guy,” she answers.

“Ma!” I pause. “Nothing is ever private here on Paradise Beach, I swear to Christ.”

A couple of the women talk about how they dated several men at once, back in the seventies. One of them tells a tale of Studio 54 and Mick Jagger. I slide the beads on my necklace, half-listening, wondering what it would be like to kiss Mick. Probably sloppy. Nothing like kissing Matthew.

My shoulders slump as I hover over my necklace. An edgy, gnawing feeling settles in my stomach, all because of my date tonight. I’m no longer interested in meeting the guy I’ve talked with online.

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