My cab dropped me off outside The Wreck at five minutes to eight. By the time I stepped out of the car, my nerves had started to sink in. My stomach was swirling with butterflies and my fingertips were tingling.
I hadn’t felt nervous like this in a long time, not since I first met the author W. Parker, who came to stay at the El Cartana for writing retreats on a regular basis. Apparently, it was a good place for productivity and minimizing distractions.
“It’s just drinks with a guy,” I told myself as I walked up to the front doors of the restaurant. “Nothing to get your panties in a twist about.”
The Wreck was a popular spot for locals just outside of the downtown hub of Cruz Bay. Tourists came often, but they didn’t make up the majority of the customers like the other restaurants in town did. It had a calm, peaceful vibe, with ukulele music, a ceiling strung with patio lights, and plenty of tropical plants in corners, on shelves, and hanging off the patio railings.
When I checked in with the hostess, she told me my companion had already arrived, and she led me through the maze of tables out to the back patio that overlooked the ocean and beach down below.
I spied Peter sitting at a table in the corner. His back was to me, so he didn’t see me coming. The butterflies in my stomach took flight.
His back was broad and strong. He sat with his elbows on the table and his head slightly turned to the side so he could gaze out at the ocean as the sun shone bright orange as it dipped nearly behind the horizon. His profile was painted in amber light and his hair was styled back off his face. He’d put in effort for this evening, too.
His back muscles pulled at the fabric of his shirt, and as I got closer, I spied the veins on the inside of his arms all the way down to his wrists. He wore a bracelet I hadn’t noticed when we met in the market, and I wondered if he’d had it on then. It was a simple black leather band fitted with volcanic beads and one turquoise one.
I arrived at the table and he looked up at me.
A smile stretched his cheeks. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
He stood. His thighs bumped the table. It rocked forward and the two iced waters promptly spilled over, scattering ice all over the patio and soaking the napkins, my bare legs, and my feet.
Peter turned red.
I covered my mouth with my hand and tried not to laugh.
It was impossible.
Chapter 9
Peter
Fuck me.
I scrambled to undo the only remaining dry napkin from its binding around a fork and knife. Katie was giggling with a hand over her mouth as I stared in horror at how much water I’d managed to cover her in.
Both of her legs were soaked.
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling like a damn fool as I reached out and wiped her bare thigh with the napkin. Only after I’d rubbed her leg up and down three times did I realize that this was even more horrifying than actually spilling the water.
Katie was still giggling.
I held the napkin out to her. “Sorry. That’s inappropriate, isn’t it? Shit. I’m such a klutz. Here. I’ll try and get you another napkin. Just hang tight.”
“Peter,” she managed between breathless laughs. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a bit of water. Sit. A server will come wipe it up.”
I watched her wipe her legs down.
Was it possible that she was this beautiful and this chill? I’d had women freak out on me over a hell of a lot less than some spilled water.
She took the seat across from me but didn’t pull it up close to the table. Water was still running off the edge. A waiter went past and she flagged him down. In less than a minute, he returned with several towels and took care of the mess. A second server appeared to refill our water glasses.
Finally, Katie and I tucked into the table.
We’d missed the sunset in all the frantic cleaning.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “Not the right foot to start the evening off on, huh?”
She shrugged. “I thought it was the perfect ice breaker.”
“At your expense.”
She smiled at me. “You’re overthinking it. A little bit of water won’t stop me from having a good night. What will stop me from