Where Sea Meets Sky(96)

I purse my lips for a moment before saying, “Then why did you?”

She looks away and shrugs. “I don’t do long-distance relationships well. I don’t do relationships well, period. You saw me and Nick.”

I did. But I can’t help but notice that her mother was the one who mentioned the term relationship. Obviously that notion had to come from somewhere, whether it was accurate or not.

“You’re a complicated little woman,” I say, deciding not to bring it up.

She raises her brow. There’s some relief in her face that the conversation is over. “Who are you calling ‘little’?”

“Most women want to be called little.”

“Not this one.”

“And that’s what I . . .”

She gives me a sharp look. “Why you what?”

What the hell was I just about to say?

“Want to fuck you senseless,” I finish, wrapping my arm around her waist and holding her to me.

She laughs. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but no. The next time we fuck, we’re going to be in my bloody bed. I’m tired of having your cum dripping down my leg.”

“That’s definitely something I have never heard before.” I slide my hand down the back of her shorts.

“Well, it’s a problem with us,” she says.

“Not a bad problem to have,” I say, “but fine. Next time we fuck, it will be in your bed. You know I’m happy fucking you anywhere. We could do it on the kitchen table right now, give your ex-boyfriend’s father a little show.”

She grabs my hand and starts to pull me toward the beach. “Come on, let’s watch the sunset from there.”

“You don’t want to go back and finish that extremely awkward dinner?”

She grins at me. “We’ll go back for dessert.”

I wag my brows excitedly but she was being literal. After the sunset dipped behind the hills and valleys, tingeing the vivid ocean with gold and pink, we came back to find the Richardsons gone and a meringue dessert called pavlova on the table.

No one brought up the weirdness from earlier, and things continued on to the living room, where we sipped brandy and drank beer and slipped into an easy comfort. But in the back of my head, I couldn’t help but worry. If she didn’t do relationships, what were we, really?

What would I be to her when I left?



It’s quite obvious to see whose presents are whose the next morning. Mine are wrapped in a plastic bag and Amber’s are done up in a backpacker magazine about New Zealand, which includes a rather inappropriate ad for a campervan company: Our prices are so Emo they cut themselves.

I haven’t had a fun family Christmas in a long time. Actually, I’ve never had a fun family Christmas, except for that time we were at the Big White Ski Resort and Vera and I climbed onto some condo’s roof to use their rooftop hot tub. That was fun.

Here, though, it’s nice to just relax as Keri and Kam hand out the presents, pretending to be Santa’s elves, even though they’re way past the age to believe in him.

Amber gives me a small sketchbook for writing on the go, which is pretty awesome of her. The art store was certainly the place to be yesterday. She loves her flask, too, and said she’d use it often. I believe her.

She then opens Gemma’s present, which is a pāua, or abalone-shell, necklace, which fits right in with Amber’s hippie-dippie style. The present she bought from us for everyone ends up being a giant box of very fancy Kiwi chocolates. Like, actual kiwifruit chunks covered in decadent dark chocolate. Keri and Kam go nuts over it and I give Amber the thumbs-up.

Somehow Gemma and I end up saving our presents for each other for last. She takes mine first, sitting down among a battleground of torn wrapping paper. She keeps wrapping and unwrapping the plastic bags I stuck together until she comes to the card at the middle.

She slips it out of the envelope and her features soften as she takes it in, reading it over. She looks at me with bright eyes and says, “Thank you.”

I point at it. “But you know that the real gift is coming later, right?”

She smirks at that and I know her mind has gone the perverted route. “Yes,” she says. She then shows the card to everyone else and they ooh and ahh over it, which makes my face grow momentarily hot.

Justine looks at the card and then at me. “I think you embellished your muscles a bit, Josh.”

Everybody laughs and I shrug. “Artistic license,” I say.

Suddenly Gemma grows serious, maybe even a bit nervous, and hands me a small, wrapped box. I take it from her, feeling the slight tremor of her left hand and the eyes of everyone on me.

I slowly unwrap it to find a black jewelry box. The first thing I think is, I hope I like it, because honestly, I’ve never been given a piece of jewelry that I’ve liked. I’m a picky guy and I hope to god I don’t have to hurt Gemma’s feelings. She can see right through me.