he pushes off of me and onto his butt. We sit face-to-face, his bent legs over mine, and he lies back to stick his hand in his front pocket. When he sits up, he unravels a thin leather necklace, a white bone pendant hanging from the end. Holding it in his hand, he leans forward. “It’s the Maori Koru design inspired by those ferns we see everywhere. The way they unfurl. It represents peace, tranquility, personal growth, and positive change.” He fastens the leather around my neck, his hands coming to rest on my collarbones. “It’s how I feel when I’m with you. At peace. Better. And…” He brushes away the hair blowing across my face and tucks it behind my ear. “I hope it’s how you feel with me, too.”
There must be a screenwriter hidden in his car. Maybe in the trunk? Or on the roof? It’s the only explanation as to how Hot Guy has just rambled off the most romantic words since the writers from Jerry Maguire penned, “You had me at hello.” As far as I’m concerned, Sam had me at the terminal in Toronto.
I trace the smooth bone resting on my chest, the thick curves spiraling in a circle. “It’s beautiful, Sam, but you shouldn’t have.”
“Yeah, I should have.” He leans forward and cups my cheeks. “You have no idea the effect you have on me, and I want you to know. Really want you to understand.” His tone is different, desperate. Like he thinks he’s losing me. Is that what this is about? The perfect words? The necklace? Is he letting me down gently because he’s decided to stay with Lacey?
Panic sets in. I’m not ready for the “it’s not you, it’s me” talk. Not when I haven’t been given the chance to experience him fully. Us fully. The past couple of weeks have been too perfect. He’s too perfect. And I’m not good enough. I’m Pininfarina Gabri, disaster-magnet, and I don’t even have the courage to tell him my real name. His hands are still on my face, and I think he wants to kiss me. One last hurrah. God, do I want to taste his lips again. Then he leans closer. The smell of salt is pungent, seagulls riding the air currents above us, and I almost give in. Almost.
Quick as I can, I scurry backward through the sand like an injured crab. “Sorry. Gotta go. I promised my mom we’d Skype tonight. In, like, ten minutes. So, yeah, thanks for the necklace and, uh, I’ll see you in a bit. Just gonna go to the Internet café. Down the street. For some privacy.” I nod a bunch and scramble to my feet. “Sorry,” I say again.
Damn Polite Tourette’s.
“Nina, wait,” he calls as I hurry toward the path.
I stop and hunch forward, breathing hard, trying to figure out what the heck I’m doing. Sam goes out and gets me a necklace to show me how much I mean to him, and I crawl through the sand to get away. My haywire brain could only compute one reason for such a meaningful gesture—he’s dumping me, which in itself is ridiculous. We’re not even a couple, so, technically speaking, I can’t be dumped.
And if we’re getting technical, I think I just proved Newton’s third law of motion: When one body exerts a force on a second body, the second body simultaneously exerts a force equal in magnitude and opposite in direction on the first body.
Sam’s force: Make a grand gesture to prove his affection toward me.
My equal and opposite force: Run away, making him think I’m not interested.
Frickin’ perfect.
I straighten up as I wait for him to make it over. He was trying to tell me something, and there’s a possibility he was about to tell me he wants us to be together. Like really together. He’s opened up to me over the past couple of weeks, sharing stories about his mom, smiling at the memories. That takes trust. Not the kind you give away when getting in a cab. The kind of trust people offer to show their faith in you. And I crab-walked away. I trust Sam more than any person I’ve ever met, outside of my family, and he needs to know that.
When he makes it to my side, I hunch and whisper my trademark, “I’m sorry.”
He runs a hand down my arm. “The only one here who needs to apologize is me.” A deep, shuddering breath moves through his chest.