Not at me—with me (I hope). And then, because he must have sensed that my body was seconds away from dissolving into the sea, he stood up and offered me his hand. Which I took.
Which means I held hands with Peter McCarthy.
Even if it was just for a few seconds, even if it was only so he could pull my pitiful self off the ground, it happened.
I am never washing my hand again. Ever. Because he saw me today. He noticed me. And maybe for one fleeting second, I wasn’t just Eli’s little sister.
Maybe, in some alternate universe, in some far-off timeline, I could actually be someone that Peter McCarthy likes.
And if that’s the case…
Well.
I really need to learn how to play volleyball.
Love,
Vivien
PS: I’ve officially forgiven him for Bethany/Brittany at the bonfire.
As Peter ordered two glasses of pinot grigio, Vivien leaned back and pretended to take in the view from the deck known as a “skybar” in The Edge Seafood Restaurant. Not exactly a high-rise rooftop, but the open-air second-floor dining room was the perfect place for their dinner date.
The golden hues of the setting sun cast a warm glow over everything, and a light breeze carried the scent of salt and citrus. The soft murmur of other diners, the occasional clink of glasses, and the distant hum of motor boats blended into a relaxed ambiance.
A lovely restaurant, yes. But the sights, sounds, and experience Vivien liked the most was sitting across from her.
Peter McCarthy—the object of way too many girlhood fantasies, recipient of more than a few practice pillow kisses, and centerpiece of dozens of diary entries. She’d read one of those entries after getting dressed tonight, recalling the volleyball incident with nothing but affection for the person on that beach who didn’t laugh at clumsy Vivien.
And tonight? She was finally on a date with him.
Peter handed the wine menu back to the server, and pinned his dark gaze on her, a brow the same color as his light brown hair flicked with interest.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked.
“I can’t smile? I’m out with a great guy in the perfect place, and I’m happy. That’s why I’m smiling.”
He looked skeptical, leaning in. “That wasn’t just an ‘I’m having a good time’ smile. You were thinking of something that put a…gleam in your eye.”
“You’re so observant,” she said, purposely not sharing her thoughts.
“I’m a detective,” he replied, taking his napkin from under the fork and shaking it onto his lap. “I’m observant for a living.”
“It’s kind of like you can read minds,” she murmured.
“If I could, I’d know what put that smile on your face.”
“I’ll tell you later,” she promised. “Now, I just want to bask in the warmth of this sunset over the harbor, and thank you for being so nice and asking me to dinner tonight.”
“Nice?” He nodded. “I get that a lot. Not from the bad guys, obviously, but…from the ladies.”
“Because you are a considerate, classy, attentive man. That’ll earn you a ‘nice’ from most women.” She inched closer. “Which leads me to the obvious question—have there been a lot of ladies since you’ve been divorced?”
“Not a lot, no. I’ve had a few…I guess you could call them relationships. But nothing ever really developed. It’s fine. I’ve got a consuming job. Lots of colorful cases.”
“Like the one that brought you here? Can you tell me much about it?” she asked, sensing she should take the conversation off the more personal things, at least at the start.
“I can tell you I’m hitting more dead ends than live leads,” he said. “This guy just vanished. I’m starting to think he left the country, but we can’t find any record of him traveling.”
