Where Sea Meets Sky(25)

“Want to go for a walk?” I ask him, gesturing to the door.

“Oh, I don’t want to interrupt your day, I just wanted to say hello.”

“You’re not interrupting,” I say reassuringly. “And like I’d let you say hello and just leave.”

“Well,” he says, scratching at his head, his expression bordering on a wince, “after the term stalker was just used, I wouldn’t blame you for running far away.”

I give him a wry look. “Hey, I can take care of myself.”

His eyes trail over my body and I can feel the heat in them. “I definitely believe you can. You’re looking good.”

“Sweaty and gross is preferable to purple-haired and drunk?”

“You know I’ll have any version of you.”

My stomach swirls, feeling peppery and light. His gaze is back to mine, holding me in place, and I’m captivated by the icy depths of his blue eyes. His presence is doing a million things to me—bad, unacceptable things.

Nick. I’m seeing Nick. I am with someone else. I shake some sense into me and shoot him a smile but Josh is already looking away, putting a subtle amount of distance between us. It’s probably for the best.

“Come on,” I tell him, touching him lightly on his arm. His skin is both soft and warm and rough, and I want to touch him again but I shouldn’t. I don’t. I walk to the door and open it. He follows and we step outside into the blinding heat.

“There’s a park around the corner,” I tell him, “has a lot of shade.” I glance at his jeans. “You must be hot.”

He laughs, low and rich. “Yeah, I didn’t really pack for the whole summer thing. I was at least expecting a Vancouver-like spring. You know, rain and more rain.”

“Normally we do get nothing but rain in Auckland, but summer has come early this year.” I pause and notice I’m staring at him a bit too much. I turn my gaze to the street. “So, erm, what brought you to New Zealand? I mean, how did you find me?”

He clears his throat, sounding a bit uncomfortable. “Uh, well, I guess a few things we talked about, you know, that night, kind of resonated with me. It took time but I couldn’t stop thinking about just packing up and leaving. Going off on my own, someplace new. The things you said . . . I wanted to feel that, discover it for myself. You gave me a push in the right direction.”

I smile. I actually affected someone. It feels good. “And your job? You were working as a cook, right?” I phrase that as if I don’t remember every single thing I learned about him.

“I quit,” he says proudly. “I got into art school for the spring semester, so I figured it was as good a time as ever to quit and do something else, something more . . . rewarding? Something less shitty and life-draining, anyway. Still don’t know what, but at least being here buys me some time to think and figure it out.”

I feel a pang of jealousy over his art school. I shouldn’t—I should feel happy for him, and I am, but it’s a bit buried under the sharp stab of yearning. That should have been my future, not the one I was currently staggering through.

“Anyway,” he goes on, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t really have any plans except just coming here and hoping to figure the rest out as I went along. I didn’t think I’d see you again because, I mean, I don’t even know your last name. But then I met Tibald and his friends last night and they kind of made it their mission for me to meet you. We figured out where you worked and . . . well, here I am, ironically in Mission Bay.”

He’s smiling but it’s stiff. He’s unsure of how I’m going to act. I don’t know whether to let him sweat it out a bit or tell him the truth—that I’m flattered.

I go another route. “Wait, so it was their mission for you to find me? You wouldn’t have done it without them egging you on?”

He shoots me a look of surprise, his dark brows snaking together in confusion. “Oh. Uh. Well, you see I was more concerned about coming across as desperate and stalkerish.”

“And are you desperate and stalkerish?”

He suddenly stops. “No,” he says adamantly. He hurriedly runs his hand through his hair and looks away. “I knew it was a mistake to come here.”

“Hey, I’m just taking the piss out of you,” I tell him. I reach over and grab his forearm, giving it a squeeze. His muscles are firm beneath my touch, his skin sun-warmed. “Seriously. You can stalk me all you want.”

He glances down at my hand on his arm but he’s still stressing. “I just wanted to say hello. I didn’t expect . . . I don’t expect . . .”