Ride the Tide (Deep Six #3) - Julie Ann Walker Page 0,76

inside a plastic baseball display cube. They’re cheap and you can order ’em online.”

“Oh-kay…” She was confused about why one dirty baseball was such a big deal. It sounded like this Big Papi guy was special, but it wasn’t like he’d signed the ball or anything.

Maybe only baseball fans can appreciate its significance, she silently mused.

“Promise me,” Mason insisted, his eyebrows slammed into a V.

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” She used her finger to draw a cross over her chest before lifting her hand in pledge.

That seemed to satisfy him. He nodded and dug into the picnic basket for a brownie. After unwrapping it, he lay beside her and took a giant bite. The fresh smell of chocolate made her stomach rumble.

Or maybe it was the smell of him.

She wished she wasn’t so aware of him. Wished she didn’t notice every time he took a breath or made a sound.

Friends aren’t supposed to be so attuned to each other, she admonished herself. They’re not supposed to feel every move the other makes.

It was something she’d need to work on. Something she’d need to practice not doing in the weeks and months to come if she had any hope of keeping her love for him a secret.

Had she mentioned she hated secrets? Was complete crap at keeping them?

Above her, a cloud took on a recognizable shape. “Look.” She pointed. “It’s a baby elephant.”

He slid his head closer to hers so he could follow the direction of her finger. A lock of his hair tickled her cheek.

“Looks more like a baby rhino to me.” Hearing his voice so close had an unseen hand tugging at an invisible string attached to the bottom of her belly.

“Now it does.” Her voice was husky. Did he notice? “The wind cut off its trunk and shortened its ears. Fifteen seconds ago, it was definitely a baby elephant.”

“There’s a bunny.” He pointed and then licked his finger when he saw a speck of chocolate icing stuck to the tip.

The sucking sound had her heart thundering.

“It’s called pareidolia,” she said, trying to distract herself from the overwhelming urge to jump on top of him and taste the chocolate on his lips.

“What?”

She repeated the word slowly, and he pushed up on an elbow so he could frown down at her. The wind played with the wavy ends of his hair. The beard stubble on his cheeks and chin gave him a charmingly disheveled look.

Is this how he looks after sex? she wondered, then quickly reminded herself that friends didn’t contemplate how the other looked postcoitus.

“I mean what does pareidolia mean?” He absently wiped a grain of sand from her cheek, and that’s all it took for her to lose her breath. “Is it a name for the clouds? Or their shapes?”

“Both,” she said, or rather wheezed. “Pareidolia is the tendency to interpret known patterns from vague formations. Like when people see Jesus in a piece of burnt toast or human faces on the moon.”

One corner of his mouth curled. “You ever overwhelmed with all the stuff stored up there?” He tapped her temple. But given the way her heart leapt, he might as well have leaned down to kiss her.

“All the time.” She frowned. “But I’ve found ways to”—she searched for the right words—“quiet the noise, I guess would be the way to describe it.”

“How?” He seemed genuinely interested, so she gave him a genuine answer.

“Like you, I spend a lot of time alone. Away from outside stimulation. I like to sit on the dock. I like to read.” At his look of confusion, she conceded, “I know it sounds weird. But my brain is focused when it’s learning something new. It’s quiet. It’s concentrating. Also…there’s you.”

“Me?” A line appeared between his eyebrows.

“For whatever reason, when I’m around you, everything slows down.” She wasn’t able to meet his eyes for this next part. “I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because you always seem so calm, so deliberate. Everything about you screams Slow down. Take a breath. And so…I do.” She shrugged.

When she dared glance into his eyes, his expression was oddly intent. She thought she saw a flicker of indecision flash across his face, as if he was working his way around to telling her something or asking her something, but hadn’t quite figured out how to do it.

“With a brain like yours, you coulda been anything. A doctor, an engineer, a rocket scientist. Why’d you choose history?”

She screwed up her mouth. “Because history holds all the