“Donna said I should get Mitch to teach me to surf,” I commented slyly.
Sebastian wasn’t pleased.
“I can teach you! You don’t need him.”
“Are you pouting at me?” I laughed. “You are! You’re pouting.”
I brought our twined hands up to my mouth and kissed his fingers.
“I’m just teasing you.”
He still looked hurt and I rather regretted trying to make him jealous. I suppose it was a childish tit-for-tat—that sales assistant had upset me more than I was willing to admit. But it wasn’t fair to take it out on Sebastian. It wasn’t his fault girls were throwing themselves at him.
“Come on: I’ll buy you coffee and a Danish.”
He settled on pastrami, lettuce and tomato on ciabatta bread; a regular black coffee with two sugars; and a Danish pastry, as promised. I had a large espresso and watched him wolf down the food. Our grocery bill in New York was going to be huge.
“Where else in Europe would you like to go?”
He swallowed his mouthful and drank some coffee while he thought.
“Well, everywhere, but I’d really like to go to Southern Spain—see all the Moorish stuff. I saw a picture of the Alhambra palace once—it looked, I don’t know, like ‘One Thousand and One Nights’.”
I was surprised and I realized how little I knew of him, his hopes and dreams. The more I learned, the more fascinated I became.
“You’ve read ‘Arabian Nights’?”
He cocked his head to look at me. “You don’t remember, do you?”
I was confused. “Remember what?”
“You gave me the book to read—when I was a kid. I must have read it a hundred times. I used to think you were Scheherazade.”
Scheherazade: the princess who told a different story every night to keep the king from beheading her. I wasn’t very keen on the comparison. Except then he fell in love with her and married her.
“Just because you were such an amazing storyteller,” Sebastian said, intuiting my reaction. “I guess I’m not surprised you became a writer.”
I smiled gamely. “I’m trying to become a writer.”
“You will,” he said, certainty coloring his voice. “You are.”
I struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to betray me. His encouragement, his certainty that I had the ability to achieve my dream; it meant more to me than I could ever express.
“What about you?” I said, trying to speak naturally. “After our road trip…”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Mom and Dad always expected me to go the military route.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
I managed to suppress a shudder at the thought of being pulled back toward living on military bases.
“No, I don’t think so. I mean, parts of it would be great—but I’d like to travel.”
“Traveling isn’t a job,” I laughed. “Unless you want to work on a cruise ship.”
“Maybe,” he said smiling. “You could be a travel writer and I’ll … carry your bags.”
“That sounds like a plan.”
He leaned over and kissed me so I could feel the smile on his lips.
This kiss was different somehow: more relaxed, less desperate—just sweet and loving. I stroked his cheek and he sighed happily, leaning into my hand.
“I know,” he said, suddenly sitting up. “I’m going to take you surfing. You said you wanted to learn…”
“No, no! It was Donna who said I should...”
“Are you chicken?”
“Yes! The water’s too cold.”
He laughed. “They’ve invented wetsuits. You’ll be fine. I know a place just north of La Jolla where we can rent some gear. Come on! We’ve got a couple of hours. You can drop me off at work on the way back. We’ve got time.”
I really had no desire to immerse myself in chilly Pacific waters but his enthusiasm was contagious. Maybe it was his recklessness that was catching, his unbreachable zest for life. Maybe I was just no longer afraid to live.
“Okay, let’s go!”
We abandoned the car next to a shabby-looking surf shack that perched precariously above a small, secluded cove. The water was turquoise; I imagined it to be the color of the Mediterranean and wondered if that was something I’d ever see—the sea my dear Papa had lived by as a small child.
“Hey, man,” said the owner of the shack. “Long time no see.”
I immediately felt anxious. It hadn’t occurred to me that Sebastian would take me somewhere he was known. My eyes flickered to him nervously and he squeezed my hand reassuringly.
“Yeah, can we get a couple of shorties, rash vests and a spongey board?”