Page 25 of The Spirit of Love
What I don’t tell Sam is that I’ve only used my canoe once, at Olivia’s and Masha’s insistence, on the night I closed on the house it came with. Our tour of my new neighborhood’s canals was soothing and tranquil and deeply Venetian. We toasted withchampagne, and I promised myself I’d pick up that paddle at least a few times every week. But somehow, eighteen months after I moved in, I’m embarrassed to say I haven’t found the time.
“I bet you don’t have a Jet Ski in Venice,” Sam finally says.
“That would violate section sixty-three fifty of the LA Municipal Code.”
“We have a winner!” He flings back the cover on the Jet Ski. I watch his body move as he prepares our watercraft, checking various gauges and earnestly turning several knobs.
“There’s so much I want to show you,” he says. “So much I want you to see with your director’s eye. I know you’re going to want to come back here and shoot some of these places someday. I can almost guarantee it.”
“I can’t wait.”
“There’s a bald eagle’s nest on a cliff about a mile north. You can only see it from the water. Nothing has prepared you for the cuteness of a baby bald eagle.”
“Do you name the babies?”
“Rogaine and Propecia.”
“Because they’rebald?” I ask, then burst out laughing. “Wow.”
He winces. “You’d kick me out of the writers’ group for that one, wouldn’t you?”
“The writers’ room? No way. We’d take you out for beers. That’s comedy gold. Or at least bronze.”
“I bet it’s fun. Working on your show. I bet you’re good at what you do. I bet people look up to you.”
“It is fun, and…thank you.” I feel a little embarrassed that he’s put his finger on my insecurities so quickly, but mostly, I’m grateful for his kindness. My defenses are crumbling aroundthis man. Maybe his being the physical paragon of the male species has something to do with it? Maybe it’s because when my eyes catch on his full lips I feel like I’m going to turn inside out?
“You snorkel, right?” Sam asks. “Wait ’til you see this reef I’m going to show you. We can picnic there. I brought food! Sometimes I think about getting scuba certified—”
“When was the last time you had a visitor, Sam?”
“Have you ever spearfished? Your face is saying no, but when I put the shaft of that polespear in your hands, you’ll know what to do.”
I almost laugh—because the sexual innuendo is getting a little ridiculous—but when Sam meets my eyes, I see that he meant it not as a ha-ha joke, but a flirtatious and very direct one. And my stomach flips.
“Now get over here,” Sam says, as if he knows all this. “And take off your clothes.”
“What?” I gulp.
He lifts the seat of the Jet Ski to reveal a waterproof compartment. “We need to store them here. Otherwise, they’ll get soaked.”
“This is myfavorite place on island to snorkel,” Sam calls over the waning motor of the Jet Ski. The sun is high in the sky, and my arms are wrapped around his waist. My cheek is pressed against his sun-warmed back and also aching from the grin that hasn’t budged since we first kicked up a wake.
Somewhere past the unfathomably darling baby bald eaglesand the ancient cave hollowed into the northernmost face of the island, I stopped asking myself,Who is this guy?
He’s Sam, and he probably only happens to women like me once in a lifetime. Which is why I’ve decided to say yes to all he offers. He wants to show me what’s beautiful about his world? Who am I to say no? It turns out, there’s a lot to see.
Sam cuts the motor as the Jet Ski draws close to a cluster of rocks. I can almost taste the salt on his skin, but it would be weird to lick him, right?
“You gotta meet my friends the garibaldi by the reef,” he says. “They’re going to love you.”
“Do we just jump in?” I ask. I’ve never swam anywhere so remote and pristine. He was right about letting me in on Catalina’s best secrets.
“You can wear your life jacket if you want,” Sam says, “but the water here is super salty, so you practically float on your own.”
I watch as he unclips his life jacket and drapes it over the handlebars of the Jet Ski. The muscles I hadn’t wanted to let myself see from the front this morning now gleam in the sun. His chest contains my dream amount of chest hair—lots—and he wears an oval-shaped stone charm on a chain around his neck. It’s hard to take my eyes off him.
“Do you want to swim, or should we just stare at each other?” he asks with a smile. “Honestly, I could go either way.”
