Page 110 of Only After We Met
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Rhys
The night was warm and pleasant. We walked to a restaurant near the beach and sat on the patio. The menu was in English, so I didn’t need to translate anything before the waiter came to take our order.
I looked at Ginger. She was precious, even if she’d taken a beating from the sun. Her hair was still wet from showering, and even without being combed or dried, it curled a little at the tips. She got embarrassed and nudged me under the table with her leg when she noticed I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
They served us a pitcher of sangria with fruit.
“Are you trying to make me uncomfortable?” she asked.
“What am I supposed to do? You’re hot.”
“Is that how you hook up with all the girls?”
“Why are you saying that?” I laughed as I poured two glasses.
“I was just thinking about that when we were on the beach.”
“You were thinking about what? You’ve got to be more specific, Ginger.”
“That. All the girls you must have shared the same moment with through the years. Lying on the beach, watching the sunset. Also,you never did tell me what happened with Alexa.”
“You already know. I wasn’t in love with her.”
“You’ve never been in love with anyone,” she responded.
“Yeah.” I took a sip of sangria and looked at her.
Too much, maybe. Too closely.
Because I understood then that there was nothing I liked more than that, looking at her and memorizing every little gesture, every frown, every detail of her face. She was wearing earrings that looked like small strawberries. Her lips were soft, juicy. I remembered kissing them. Licking them. Biting them. I sighed. Then I drank a little more.
We had dinner, and she told me her relationship with her father was still tense, even though they had talked a few times after she’d decided to leave the family business. Ginger picked at some fries while we ordered a second pitcher of sangria. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright and aware.
“Let’s talk about the list,” I blurted out.
“The list? Please, Rhys, I was drinking…”
“You’re drinking now, and you seem to be thinking perfectly clearly.”
“Let me clear that up: I was drinking, and I was lonely and sad.”
“Come on, Ginger. It’s your list of wishes.”
“A list of wishes I wrote on a napkin.”
“Who cares? Point one, travel somewhere, you’ve gotten that done. As for point two, having kids…are you sure? One, two, three? Like they were…I don’t know, artichokes?”
“Artichokes…” Ginger laughed.
“Or whatever. You’re twenty-three years old.”
“So? I’ve always wanted to be a mother.”
“Really?” I was astonished.
“Yeah. You should think about having kids. You’re about to turn, what…twenty-nine? You’re not that young anymore. It’s not just kids; what I mean is maybe you should think about finding some stability.”