Page 9 of What Matters Most

“Perhaps.” Carla hadn’t been in any mood to reason. “But you saved us both a lot of trouble.” Carla was just beginning to realize how miserable she was feeling. Disappointed in herself and disappointed in Philip. He might as well have admitted to being married; he was as off-limits as he would be if he had a wife and ten children.

“Nice-looking brunette to your left,” Philip pointed out, breaking her train of thought.

“It doesn’t look like she’s sporting a jealous husband, either,” Carla said jokingly.

Philip’s laugh was good-natured. “I’ll use my practiced routine on her. Care to watch me in action?”

“I’d love it,” Carla answered with open delight. “At least with you out of the picture, some handsome tourist can make a play for me.”

“Good luck,” he called as he stood and loped lazily down the beach.

Handsome tourist. Carla almost laughed. At the rate things were going, the only men she’d be fighting off would be persistent vendors.

Carla watched with growing interest as Philip carelessly tossed his towel on the beach close to the girl and ran into the rolling surf. She’d remember to ask him later about swimming in the ocean. Last night he’d told her the tide was too dangerous, yet he was diving headlong into it without a second’s hesitation.

After a few minutes in the surf, which he apparently thought suitable for a favorable impression, he stood, wiped the water from his face, and walked out of the ocean. He squinted and rubbed his eyes, giving the impression that the water was stinging. The way he groped for his towel made Carla laugh outright. Again by an apparent accident, he flicked sand on the tanning beauty. The woman sat up and brushed the offending particles from her well-oiled body. Philip fell to his knees, and although Carla couldn’t hear what he was saying, she was sure it was some practiced apology. Soon the two of them were talking and laughing. Spreading out his long body, he lay beside the brown-haired beauty. His technique, tried-and-true, had worked well. Rolling his head, Philip caught Carla’s gaze and winked when she gestured with two fingers, giving the okay sign.

For the first time in recent memory, Carla wished that she were as good at acting as Philip was. For a moment she toyed with the idea of following his lead and blatantly approaching a man. Carla’s devil-may-care system should work as well on the beach as it had in the cocktail lounge. But a quick survey of the area didn’t turn up a single male she cared to flirt with. There wasn’t anyone she particularly wanted to meet. Maybe Nancy was right, maybe she had become much too picky lately.

Ten minutes later, Carla stood, brushed the sand from her skin, and picked up her things. After lunch she’d do some shopping.

Philip gave her a brief wave, which she returned. At least one of them had been successful. At least one of them was having a good time.

—

The oppressive afternoon heat eventually brought Carla back into the air-conditioned cocktail lounge. Sipping a piña colada, she surveyed the growing crowd of tourists. A couple times men had asked if they could buy her a drink, but she’d declined. Men who used tanning beds, wore gold chains around their necks, and left their shirts open to their navels didn’t interest Carla. Her spirits were low, and she hated to think she’d be fighting this depression the entire week. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get locked in a state of self-pity.

The room was filling up rapidly, and when Philip entered, Carla pretended to be inordinately interested in her drink.

“Hi.” He sauntered to her side. “Do you mind if I join you, or will I be distracting any potential margarita drinkers?”

“By all means join me,” she said with a poor attempt at a smile. “I don’t exactly seem to be drawing a crowd. How about you? I expected you to stroll in here with Miss September.”

He cleared his throat and took the plush seat beside her. “That didn’t work out.”

“Was there a Mr. September?”

“No.” Philip cleared his throat a second time. “Things didn’t work out, that’s all.”

“Philip,” she said and moaned impatiently, “come on, tell me what happened. You can’t leave me in suspense like this.” Something perverse inside her wanted to know about Philip’s latest rejection. Maybe she needed to salve her pride at his expense, which was childish, Carla thought, but shared misery beats the solo kind.

He ignored her while he raised his hand to attract the waitress’s attention. “What’s that you’re drinking?”

“Piña colada,” Carla answered quickly. “Out with it, Garrison. Details, I want details.”

The waitress came to take his order. Carla had lost the desire to impress him with her vast knowledge of the Spanish language. As it was, the waitress eyed her warily, as if she were afraid Carla was going loco.

“No margarita tonight?” His eyes mocked hers as a smile touched the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I’ll tell you over dinner.” He raised both of his thick brows suggestively.

“Do you think bribing me is going to work?”

He smiled faintly, rather tenderly, at her. “I was hoping it would.”

This was the best offer she’d had all day. And she wasn’t about to refuse. “All right, as long as we understand one another.”

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