“So why are you avoiding me?” he asks suddenly.
My hand stills on his back.
“I’m not,” I insist.
Although I completely am. Running from the dining hall last night, not letting him into my room, sending him an email rather than opening the door and having a face-to-face conversation with him—it’s Avoidance 101.
But instead of admitting that, I deflect.
“You never replied to my email last night,” I point out, like this is all his fault.
He pauses from filling in an answer and looks out toward the ocean. “I didn’t think there was a reason to. You weren’t going to let me finish what I wanted to say in the dining hall.”
My heart starts to race and I toss out the first excuse I think of. “I hate arguing.”
“You? Hate arguing?” He pffts. “You could win debate team nationals. You missed your calling as a lawyer. You live for a battle of wits. What’d you write down here next to the clue for four across?”
“Will & Grace because I wasn’t sure. I was going to come back to it at the end.”
“Right. I’m stumped on this one under it. Six-letter word for scaredy-cat.”
Is he kidding?
“Coward.”
He hums and then writes.
“Oh, okay. What about this? Six-letter word for someone with their head buried in the sand. Starts with an A.”
“What? I have no idea. It starts with an A? You’re sure?”
“100% sure.”
I mull it over while I continue applying sunscreen. I’m doing his lower back now, near his swim trunks. I have to shift a little to get every spot. I’m really taking my job seriously. If I were being graded, I’d get an A++. There’s a chance I missed my calling as Noah’s Personal Sunscreen Applicator.
“Oh! Got it,” he says, scribbling in the answer and then pushing himself up to his feet. He drops the crossword book and pen onto my chair and takes back his tube of sunscreen. “Thanks.”
I wave him off and lean forward, curious about the answer. As an English teacher, I pride myself on my vocabulary. How could he have solved the clue before me? I mean, sure, I was a little distracted there. But then I see the word written in big bold caps across the top of the page: AUDREY.
It’s a clear message. Noah thinks I have my head buried in the sand. Oh, and look at that, scaredy-cat wasn’t a clue either. He also thinks I’m a coward.
I take my pen to my name and scratch it out until there’s a big chaotic swirl of black lines across the top of the page. There.
Better.
Chapter Fifteen
Noah calling me a coward is a tiny insidious seed that sprouts and grows roots while I sit under that umbrella the rest of the morning. I try to push it from my mind, telling myself it was nothing but a joke, but my brain won’t drop it.
Am I a coward?
Why? Because I don’t want to fight with Noah about what happened at the bar? I just want to drop it and move on even though he seems intent on hashing it out.
What does he want? An apology? Okay. Sorry I blew up on you after you kissed me, but guess what, we’re not really people who kiss. Call me crazy, but I thought you had it out for me. I’m lucky you didn’t stab me in the heart while our lips were locked à la Jon Snow and Daenerys.
I’m trying to get us back on track as playful enemies who want to do the other in. It’s fun! Spunky! Will we kill each other? Find out on next week’s episode!
Meanwhile, Noah’s trying to mess everything up.
What’s with this cryptic flirting bullshit?
Sigh.
Okay.
Here’s the truth…
Just to be crystal clear, right here, sitting on the beach, I know. Deep down, I KNOW. Noah’s making his intentions pretty clear.
But I’m not ready to admit it yet. It’s like my brain is padding my heart, trying to keep it safe from the truth.
There, there, little guy. Just keep pretending to be confused. Keep avoiding him and running away and going for another swim as if you think that will help.
Eventually, I know, I’m going to have to rip this Band-Aid off.
But I like the Band-Aid. It’s been there for a few years now. Sure, it’s a little dirty around the edges and one side’s just flapping free in the wind, but that Band-Aid is there for a reason. I AM NOT TAKING OFF THE BAND-AID.
Noah can go to hell.
Around lunch time, I help Gabriella set out the spread for the students. The cooks at St. Cecilia’s packed up quite the beach picnic for us. There are little finger sandwiches and cold pasta salad, Italian sodas, and fresh fruit. Peaches and cherries and melons—all in season, all divine. I have a little bit of everything and I eat standing up, like a jittery little rabbit who might flee at any moment.