"Where did that come from?"
"This? I brought this."
"You brought clothes?"
"That's what people do when they go on a trip!"
I knew I sounded flustered. I didn't mean to sound flustered. After cleaning up the sauce explosion, I had gone back on deck to escape from the noise of the shower. I was standing there self-condeming myself for my thoughts when her hand gently slid along my back. I whirled around.
And there she was. Gone were the capris, t-shirt and green flip-flops. Instead she wore a tiny white sundress. Her feet were bare; her face void of makeup. Her hair was still slightly damp and it tangled in on itself making her look wild and carefree. She smiled at me. My heart squeezed and I panicked.
And that's when I had asked her about bringing clothes.
"People shouldn't wear white when eating Italian," I said. She poked at my white shirt, her thin eyebrow arching.
"Oh?"
Damnit. I shoved my hands in my pockets. I had lost. "Do you need help with the food?" I asked. She smiled and nodded.
Ten minutes later, she sat down a basket of breadsticks and we sat opposite each other. It was the first time I had actually used the on-deck dining. I had fumbled to secure the legs, but in the end it was a decent-sized two-person unit.
"The house wine?" I asked as she lifted the bottle. The red liquid filled my glass.
"I took a couple bottles from the restaurant," she admitted. "Consider it my peace offering."
Aside from a few other boats that had passed by during the course of the day, my own boat seemed transfixed in its own little world. I brought the glass of wine to my lips, taking a sip. It was delicious.
"Your uncle's going to be furious," I said. I picked up my fork and wound a few noodles around it. Rosie took a small bite of a breadstick and pressed her cheek to her hand thoughtfully.
"He trusts me."
I took the noodles, relishing the bite before I responded. "Yeah, well you've only known me a few days. I could be a serial killer."
Her eyes crinkled up. She lifted her fork, dancing it around playfully. "Let me guess. I'm going to swim with the fishes?" Her lips puckered, her eyes grew wide, and she began to make a fish face. I laughed. The sound was foreign; I quickly stared down at my plate. I heard the sound of a fork being placed gently onto a plate.
"The laugh's better than the smile," she said quietly. "Why did you stop?"
I grabbed for my wine glass again, taking another sip. I let the taste invade my entire mouth before swallowing. "I don't want to laugh," I said quietly.
"Why not?"
"It doesn't seem right."
"Why?"
I looked up. Rosie dipped her finger lightly in the sauce, bringing it to her mouth. How would she ever understand?
"Nothing about my life is funny," I said. She drew her finger in more before letting it drop.
"That's not true. Life is everything. It's bad and good. There's a balance." Her cheek indented as if she was biting it lightly. "Do you think your wife wouldn't want you to laugh ever again?"
I pressed myself heavily against the back of my chair. My knuckles were white on the fork; I was afraid my hand was going to begin to shake. I closed my eyes and pictured Lauren, her face close to mine as we laughed over my Freddy Krueger costume. I pictured her serene smile as she stared down at the jack-o-lantern we had spent hours carving. I let out a soft gasp. "She would hate this," I said weakly.
"Then laugh, Nick. Don't keep it inside."
I opened my eyes just in time to see her eyes move from my face to the sky. She held her arms open wide. "It's too beautiful of a night to do this," she declared.
"Do what?"
"Be so serious," she said. She clasped her hands together and picked up her fork. Her bare foot kicked my leg. "Now eat."
I stared down at my plate. I picked up my fork and took a slow bite. Then another. And another...
"And then Tito came running around the corner, holding onto his bottom and about a hundred bees were chasing after him. My mom said it served him right for putting the cooler under a beehive without checking first. My stepdad spent an hour getting stingers out of his ass."
Rosie's face was animated, her cheeks flushed from her third glass of wine. The dishes were piled in the sink downstairs and we were both lounging upstairs in our chairs, the breeze whipping our hair gently. I paused for just a second before laughing. My face relaxed into a smile. "How old were you?"
"Six," she said. "The best part was that Tito's birthday was a week later. Mom went out and got him this bee suit and wrapped it up. You should have seen the look on his face when he unwrapped it." She shook her head. "To this day, the only thing that scares him are bees."
"She sounds a lot like you," I mused. Rosie shook her head.
"No, she was the best. I've never seen anyone work so hard to take care of everything and everybody and yet no matter how stressed she was, she always wore a smile."
I leaned forward. "Like I said," I whispered. "She sounds a lot like you."
My fingers slid out across the table and looped around her wrist. I marveled at how small it was. "Who else would stowaway on a strange man's boat?"
"You're not strange," Rosie said with a smile. "You're special."
"I bet that's what you say to all the boys," I teased. Her eyelids lowered.
"No," she murmured.
"No?" I questioned. I leaned forward. My pulse quickened. "Then what do you say to all the boys?"
Her eyes sparkled. "I say, no," she said with a soft laugh. She tilted her head; I let go of her wrist and slid my hand along the smooth curve of her neck. I felt her shiver. Her lips parted. I leaned over the table, my lips so close to hers I could feel her breath.
"What are you going to say to me?" I whispered.
Her hand slid up my arm, her lashes fluttered. "Yes," she said huskily.
