Someone Exactly Like Me by Debbie Cromack

8

Destiny

Tour guide? My social life is pathetic and I confess I don’t really know where to take him. Now I’m laughing at myself for resorting to Google.

I didn’t ask how many days during the two weeks he wants me to help him so I’ll put together four days’ worth of itinerary and run it by him tomorrow when we meet. That should be enough. I can’t believe he wants to pay me to show him around. This is nuts. But, he’s also right, I could use the money.

My phone chimes.

Candi:Hey! How did it go with Nicco?

Me:Can you talk?

My phone rings.

“Tell me everything!” Enthusiasm bursts out of her. “I’m packing to head out of town so I have you on speaker.”

“Where are you off to?”

“Hawaii. I’ve never been there before. It’s an amazing shoot for Guess and I’m so excited! Come on, tell me what happened with Nicco.”

“Okay.” I sigh. “So, not only am I going through with this ridiculous deal we made, but it seems that now I’m going to be his tour guide here and there over the next two weeks. And, he insists on paying me.”

“Well, isn’t this interesting.” I can see her tapping together her fingertips with a mischievous grin plastered on her face.

“He’s just looking for someone to show him around so he has a better feel for things when he moves here someday, that’s all,” I say, trying to douse whatever fantastical thoughts are brewing in her head. “I don’t even know where to take him.”

“You’re resourceful. You’ll figure it out.”

“I’m thinking some touristy things, you know, to give him a little taste of that stuff. And then I thought I’d take him to a few off-the-beaten-path places, even though my life is so boring I don’t even know what those places might be.” I chuckle. “Where do you think I should take him?”

“The Hollywood sign for sure. But I’m thinking you should spend a day in Malibu. You can hit the beach, a winery, and eat at Malibu Farm. That would be a fun day.”

“Yeah, that would be good. Oh hey, what does dolce ricotta means? Is it some kind of cheese?”

“What?” She laughs.

“Dolce ricotta. He says it when we’re leaving each other. I don’t know what it means, but it sounds like some kind of cheese.” Now I laugh at how silly it sounds.

Her laugh grows louder. “I think you’ve got something wrong in your translation. I’m pretty sure he’s not saying, goodbye cheese.” She laughs harder still. “Shit, I gotta go. My limo’s here to take me to the airport. I love you. Tell me more later.”

“Okay, Love you. Bye.”

Malibu is one good idea. That’ll definitely fill up a day. The beach though? I’m not about to let Niccolo Mancini see my shapeless body in a bikini. I’ll wear a suit, but I’ll keep my coverup on.

I change into jean shorts and a tank, grab my water bottle, and settle in at my computer to do some research and plan a few days of fun activities for Nicco. But first, I Google him.

While there are many articles about his movie and his music, there isn’t much about his personal life. Hmmm. I was hoping to learn a little more about him. Well, I guess I’ll learn as we go.

A few hours later, I’ve created itineraries for four days that I know I would have fun doing. I just hope Nicco will. Nicco. I can’t believe I’m going to be spending four days with the hottest freaking man who I’ve been having torrid fantasies about for months. God, every time he does that kiss-on-the-cheek thing, I feel like I’m going to melt to the ground. I know that sounds childish and ridiculous, but I can’t help it. He just has this sexy energy that makes my entire body tremble.

Our plan is for him to come to my house around eleven a.m. so I can get some writing done in the morning after my workout. Then we’ll grab lunch, head to the observatory, hike to the Hollywood sign, and call it day.

Fueled by thoughts of Nicco, I get some words written before I go to bed. I can fill in the practical parts of the story once I’ve interviewed him. Right now, the steam is all I can think about.

Holy hell was my dream realistic last night. I swear I could feel the warmth of his lips on my skin as he trailed hot, feathery kisses across my collarbone. Thankfully there was no smoky smell in my dream. It was just the two of us, together, alone.

His strong hands on my waist pinned me against the wall. He moved slowly, determined, trailing from my collarbone up the side of neck, nibbling, kissing, sucking.

My heart raced with each of his muted groans. When he moved his face in front of mine, the way he had that night on my porch, my heart pounded wildly in my ribcage. I was begging for his lips on mine. He lifted me up in his arms, pressing me hard against the wall. I wrapped my legs around his waist and felt how rock hard he was, grinding into me. Looping his arms under mine, he wrapped his hands around my shoulders and tugged my body down into him, letting out a guttural groan. I cradled his head in my arms and squeezed my thighs around his waist, wanting more.

That’s when I woke up in a full-body sweat and scribbled the scene into the notebook on my nightstand.

How am I going to look him in the face all day and not think about that dream? I’ve seen him naked. I’ve seen how he moves his body during hot-as-fuck sex. Okay, fake sex on a movie set, but you’d never know by watching. I have to get a grip on myself. He’s just a man. An ordinary man. An intriguing ordinary man. An attractive, intriguing ordinary man. Shit, he’s no ordinary man.

I get out of bed, both excited and nervous about the day ahead. I power through my workout and head home. After a quick breakfast and a shower, I put on jean shorts and my favorite and softest light blue T-shirt. Then I get to work on my manuscript. I’ve got a bunch of good scenes written, but it’s all haphazard and I need to create some structure so I know where I’m heading with it.

I start with a high-level timeline outline. It has some holes, but I can fill them in. Next, I create my character bible. With Nicco as my muse for my hero, the words flow rapidly onto the page. Though I have a heroine and I’ve written some scenes with her, I have yet to delve into who she is.

This is when the flow of words comes to a screeching halt. I look up at the ceiling. I look around the room. The words aren’t in those places. Who are you, heroine? Where do you come from? What has your life been like until this point? What are you struggling with? What are your faults that you don’t want anyone to know about?

The ocean calls me. Wanting to hear the lull of the waves, I get up and step out onto my back porch to listen to their song. Inhaling deeply, I let the salt air clear my head. Before I can move forward, I need to dig inside my heroine, get into her soul. Climbing into the pillows on my large porch swing, I close my eyes, trying to picture her face. I have to know what she looks like before I can know her heart.

“It’s beautiful out here.” His deep, raspy voice sends a rush of blood shooting through me and my eyes spring open.

I gasp. “Hi.”

“Hello. I’m a little early. I knocked on the door, but you didn’t answer. The view was too enticing not to come back here. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no, not at all. I’m sorry. I must’ve lost track of time.” I get up from my swing, still clutching a puffy, seafoam green pillow.

“I can see why. This is some view you have.” He gazes out to the ocean.

“It’s the perfect place for me. And it inspires my writing, usually.”

“Do you need more time? I don’t want to interrupt you if you’re working on something.”

“No. I’m ready. I just didn’t realize the time.” I put the pillow on the swing. “Come in. I just need to put on my shoes.” I open the screen door and he follows me in.

I walk over to the weathered, light gray shoe bench in my foyer and put on my socks and sneakers, not daring to look up at him standing in my house.

“It’s nice in here. Cute. Very beachy and comfortable.”

When I finish tying my shoes, I grab the small purse I prepared for today with only the essentials. “Thank you. Okay, I’m ready. How about I drive since I know where I’m going?”

“That works.” He gestures his hand toward the door.

I grab two water bottles, handing one to him as we head toward the front door. “For our hike.”

“Thank you. I didn’t think to bring one.”

My phone rings. “Karen” lights up on the screen. “I’m sorry. I need to take this.”

“Of course.”

I swipe the screen, putting the phone to my ear. “Karen, hi.” I pause, listening. “She is? Today?” I pause again. “Now? Yes, it’s taken care of. He’ll be there. Okay, yes, I’ll be right over.” I hang up the phone.

“Do you need to reschedule us?” he asks.

“No, but do you mind if we make a quick stop first?”

“I don’t mind at all.”

As I drive toward the hospital, I point out places that may interest him. Thankfully the hospital’s not far.

“Should I stay here?”

“No, come with me.”

We enter the hospital and I walk us quickly to the maternity ward. As we approach room two, I stop far enough away to not be noticed, but close enough to see into the room.

Nicco

“What are we doing here?” I keep my voice hushed, respecting the quiet of the ward.

Keeping her voice quiet also, she answers, only briefly looking up at me, then returning her gaze to the open door of room two. “This couple has been trying to have a baby for three years. She’s had two miscarriages. And today, she finally gave birth to their first child…” She stops abruptly, her right hand clutches her chest and her left hand reaches down, grabbing my hand. Though I don’t think she did it purposefully, it felt so natural, intimate, and drew me into the moment with her. I like the way her soft hand feels in mine. The smallest gasp releases from her.

My gaze is lured to the open door. A man dressed in army fatigues removes his cap and turns into the room.

Destiny squeezes my hand, causing me to look at her. Tears sit in her beautiful eyes and her lips are closed tightly together.

I hear a very surprised female voice come from the room, “Patrick!”

Looking back into the room, I see the man bent over his wife who’s lying in the hospital bed. She rubs his shaven head. A nurse walks in, carrying a baby, and the man turns toward her. The nurse gently places the baby in his arms and tears stream down his reddened face. I’m not sure what’s happening, but I know this is a special moment for Destiny to witness based on her reaction so I don’t speak and let her experience it. The tears spill out and slide down her face as she squeezes my hand once more.

The nurse exits the room and walks toward us, taking her glasses off her face and tucking them on top of her head into her gray and white curly hair. When she reaches us, Destiny lets go of my hand and the nurse embraces her. The two hug and cry. When they release each other, the nurse cradles Destiny’s face in her hands.

“You did a beautiful thing,” she says, smiling and shaking her head.

“I couldn’t have done it without your help. Thank you, Karen.”

One more quick hug and Karen smiles at me.

“Hello there,” she says politely.

“Oh, Karen this is my,” Destiny hesitates, “friend, Nicco. Nicco, this is my friend, Karen, she’s a nurse here.”

Karen reaches out her hand to shake mine. “It’s nice to meet you,” she says, then steps back as her eyes open wide. “Oh, ooohhh.” Her eyes move quickly back and forth between me and Destiny. Still with my hand in hers, she shakes more vigorously. “It’s very nice to meet you.” Given the flush in her cheeks and her broad smile, I think she may have just figured out who I am. She looks back to Destiny, releasing my hand. “Where are you two off to?” she asks.

“I’m taking him to the observatory and then we’re going to hike to the sign, after Trails, of course.”

Karen’s eyes light up. “Ooo, have a piece of that apple pie for me, will you?”

“I just might.” She smiles at Karen.

“Okay, you go have a fun day.” Karen winks at Destiny.

“We will. Thank you again.”

“Thank you, honey.” She looks up at me with a spunky smile on her face. “Goodbye Nicco.” Giving us a wave, she turns and goes back to work.

We turn and walk back down the hallway.

“What just happened there?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t get to finish telling you before he arrived. Patrick’s been deployed. When Karen told me their story and that he couldn’t even be here with his wife after her second miscarriage, I wanted to do something to help them. I was able to pull some strings and get him here for the birth of their first baby.” She pulls her shoulders up to her ears and clasps together her hands with a smile of pure joy spreading across her face.

I stop dead.

She stops, turning toward me, her eyebrows squeezing together.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yes, I’m okay,” I say, processing what she said. “You mean you arranged for him to be able to come home for this?”

“Yes,” she says, like it’s no big deal.

I rock my head forward and down, getting close to her face. “Destiny, you just gave that couple a gift they’ll remember forever.” I force a strained swallow down my throat.

“I hope they do,” she says casually, clearly not understanding the magnitude of her efforts.

“Do you know them? Do they know who you are?”

“Oh my gosh, no. They don’t need to know,” she says and starts walking down the hallway again.

I’m stunned, shocked if I’m being honest. What an incredible act of kindness. Anonymous no less. Who is this enchanting woman I’ve stumbled upon? I’m in awe and enamored of her huge heart.

“How were you able to even make something like this happen?”

“Oh, I have connections,” she says with a devious smile as she winks at me.

We continue our drive and she gives me some history about the places we pass. She pulls into the parking lot at Trails and we grab a quick bite to eat in the busy café.

“I wasn’t sure how many days you wanted me to show you around so I put together four days’ worth of itineraries for us,” she says, carrying her tray of food and weaving us through the café to a two-person table near the back. Sitting down, she puts her tray on the wooden table. “Once I know you’re okay with what I’m thinking, I can print it out for you so you have names and addresses of places in case you want to visit them again.”

“Wow. You’re taking your tour guide job very seriously.”

“Yeah, I don’t do anything halfway.”

“Great. So, what do you have so far?”

“Well, today is the Griffith Observatory and a hike to the Hollywood sign to take your picture. One of the days, I’d like to take you to Santa Monica Pier. We can ride bikes from my house to get there. It’s like a big carnival on a pier. Then another day, we can go to Malibu. We can hit the beach, stop at a winery, and then go to Malibu Farm for dinner. It’s all fresh, local, organic food and pretty much everything they have is delicious. And the last day I planned is a day trip to San Diego. We can go to the zoo and grab some lunch. Then we can come back here and go to the Street Food Cinema which is an outdoor movie theater. It’s something different to do. What do you think?”

I’m impressed by how much thought she’s put into our time together and showing me different places. “It all sounds amazing.”

“I tried to put some variety in there. Is there anything that doesn’t sound like something you want to do? Because I can change things around,” she says, taking a bite of her apple and bacon spinach salad.

“No. I like the sound of everything.”

“Okay. I’ll print it up when we get back to my house. Do you have any preference of days to do each trip?”

I want to spend more time with her than just four days, but I’m willing to start with that.

“Let’s go to Santa Monica Pier on Tuesday and Malibu on Thursday.”

“Okay, then that leaves San Diego for next week. It’s about a two-hour drive from here. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, that’s fine. We can figure out what day later this week.”

“Okay. How’s your sandwich?”

“Mmm, so good.”

“Right? Great food for such an unassuming little spot.”

I curl my fingers into my pursed lips then splay them out and away, making a kissing sound. “Delizioso.”

She laughs her tiny, adorable laugh.

We finish our lunch and she drives us to the observatory.

“I need a cigarette before we go in. Do you mind?”

“Yes, I do. I’ll wait for you by the entrance,” she says, pointing up the hill. “I don’t want to smell like smoke.”

I can see by her toned body and how she eats that she lives a healthy lifestyle.

“Of course. I understand.” My shoulders weigh me down. Fuck, do I understand. I don’t want to smell like smoke either. I’ve tried quitting, several times, but the addiction is strong. I started sneaking cigarettes not long after these fucking things took my dad’s life. Not even a teenager, I lied to myself that it was my way of coping and I could stop whenever I wanted. Nineteen years later, they’re shackles, imprisoning me, killing me faster each day. My twisted connection to my dad, holding onto him any way I can.

I stamp out my cigarette in the large round concrete ashtray. Help me, Dad.

Taking our time, we tour the grounds of the observatory, learn from the exhibits, and marvel at the sky through the telescopes.

“What did you think?” she asks.

“Absolutely fascinating. The sky is magnificent.” I look up into the clear blue sky.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it. Are you ready for our hike?”

“Lead the way.”

I’m looking forward to our hike so we can talk. I want to learn more about her and her life. She takes the lead and I follow beside her.

“Have you always lived here in L.A.?”

“Yup. Born and raised.”

“Did you ever want to live anywhere else?”

She tilts her head up and twists her lips to the side. “Actually, no. I love living here. I also love experiencing different cultures and countries. Even though my parents both have demanding, successful careers, they always made sure we went on vacation once a year and traveled to wonderful places. I don’t travel as much now as I’d like to, but maybe someday I will again.”

“Have you ever been to Italy?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s definitely one of the places I want to visit. It looks breathtaking on Google and Pinterest.”

“Pinterest? What’s Pinterest?”

My question elicits a laugh from her as she tucks a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “It’s a visual platform where you create something like a virtual vision board. I use it for my business and to share my inspiration with my readers.”

“Interesting. Will you make one for the book you’re writing about me?”

She pulls her lips in like she’s suppressing a smile. “Yes, all my books have boards.” She pauses. “Speaking of the book, should I interview you during one of our days together? Let me know what works best for you so I can be prepared with my questions.”

“We’ll figure that out.”

“Okay, just let me know.” She takes a few long steps in front of me. “It’s a little narrow here and gets a bit steep. Be careful.” For being tiny, her legs are long. The sexy indentation between her quads and her hamstrings shows her dedication to fitness. I’m aching to touch her tight body again. Candi having me put my hand on her inner thigh the other day was a brutal fucking temptation.

“I will.” I move cautiously. “So, you’re not married and I know you haven’t found your soul mate. Is there a boyfriend?” I know it shouldn’t matter, but something inside me wants to know. And that something is hoping she says no.

She looks back at me as the path opens wider. Already winded, I quicken my steps to walk beside her again. “No. Not officially anyway,” she says looking forward.

“Not officially? What does that mean?”

“There’s a guy I have dinner with from time to time. It’s nothing serious.”

“No? You just eat meals together?”

She chuckles. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“There’s nothing physical?” What kind of relationship is this?

“I think he might want there to be more —”

I cut her off. “Of course he does.”

She snaps her head toward me, her questioning eyes dart back and forth.

I stop walking. She stops. Taking a step in front her, I gaze down into her breathtaking blue eyes. “Destiny.” I drag my finger softly across her cheek, tucking the hair the wind blew across her face behind her ear. Her lips part slightly. “You’re beautiful.” She’s beyond cute or pretty or sexy. She’s all of them plus being kind, compassionate, and caring. I know I’m only scratching the surface of who this captivating woman is. And I want to learn more. I want to learn everything I can about her.

She ignores my compliment. “I — well.” She catches a breath and continues walking. “It doesn’t really matter because I don’t want anything more.”

“Who is this guy?” I take a large gulp of water from my bottle as beads of sweat gather on my forehead.

“Henry. We’ve been friends for a few years. He knows I don’t want anything more than friendship.”

Poor sap. He doesn’t stand a chance with her. And he never will with me in the picture. I have to have this woman. Do I stand a chance with her? For me, it can only be physical. I know my strengths and I know my weaknesses. There’s no way I’m good enough for anything more with her, no matter how much the feeling is growing inside me for more than just hot, passionate sex. Shit, I’m getting hard thinking about it.

She abruptly changes the subject and tells me her ideas for our trips she’s planned as we continue our hike. We reach the spot designated for tourists to take pictures with Hollywood sign behind us and I’m itching for a cigarette. I excuse myself and walk away since I know she doesn’t want to smell like smoke and I’m sure she doesn’t want to inhale it either.

When I return to her, she’s stretching her legs.

“Are you ready?” She reaches out her hand for my phone.

I tap in my password and hand it to her. “Where should I stand?”

“You stay right there. I’m going to move around to get as much of the sign in for you as I can. I’ll take a couple so you have a few to pick from.”

She takes some pictures, moves left, takes more, moves right, and takes more. Then she returns to me and hands me my phone.

“Take a look and make sure there’s something you like in there.”

I stand next to her, close, and flip through the images. “Yeah, these are good. I like them. You got some good ones. Thank you.”

“Of course. Now you can say you’ve been to the famous Hollywood sign.” When she looks up at me, the sun sparkles in her eyes.

“Here, let’s get one of us together,” I say, putting my arm around her before she has the chance to decline.

“Oh. Okay.”

I extend my arm and snap the camera several times. Her faint scent of vanilla enters my nostrils. Picking the best one, I send it to her phone.

“Are you ready to head back down?” she asks, taking a drink of water.

“After you.”

On our way back down the mountain, she continues telling me about different things to do in the area. Things we won’t be doing together, but she thinks I might enjoy.

As we drive back to her house, I’m not ready to end our day together. She pulls into her driveway.

“Come on in quickly and I’ll print out the itineraries for you.”

I follow her in and she takes off her shoes and socks. I do as well. While she sits down at her computer, curling her leg under her, I gaze out at the ocean.

“I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” I ask, hoping she is.

“I am. An afternoon of hiking in the sun will do that to you.”

“What do you say to ordering food?”

“You want to eat here? With me?”

“I do.”

“Aren’t you tired of me by now? Yammering your ear off all day.”

“No. I enjoy your stories and listening to you tell me about all the things there are to do around here.”

“Um, okay. What are you in the mood for?”

You.“Are there any good sushi places?”

“Oh yeah. Hana Sushi. Their food is so good. I’ll pull up the menu.”

We place our order and I insist on paying since it was my idea.

“Want to eat out by the fire? Sunsets here are amazing.”

“I can’t say no to that.”

“We’ll start the fire while we wait for the food.” She gets up and goes out to her back porch.

Grabbing some wood, she places it in my arms and carries a few pieces herself. She heads down the few steps into the sand and out to a fire pit. Two white, weathered Adirondack chairs sit close to the circle of rocks creating the pit. Taking her pieces of wood, she forms a teepee and reaches out for my pieces.

“Do you want s’mores after we eat?” she asks.

“Sure. I know what they are, but I’ve never eaten one.”

Placing the piece of wood in her hand onto the sand, she whips her head toward me. “You’ve never had a s’more?”

Her surprised reaction makes me laugh. “No, I haven’t.”

“Well, that changes tonight. We’re making s’mores,” she says, standing up and dusting off her hands.

“You make them?”

“Yup, you’re going to toast marshmallows and make your very first s’more.” She smiles at me and nods then heads back to the house.

Lifting the lid of a large round woven basket, she reaches in, pulls out two blankets, and hands them to me. Then she goes inside and comes back out with a two dinner trays and a candle lighter in her back pocket.

“It can get chilly as the sun goes down. We’ll get the fire going. Food should be here soon, they’re not far away.”

I follow her back to the pit and put a blanket on the back of each chair while she sets a tray in front of each and lights the wood.

When the food arrives, she puts everything on plates and we bring them, a bottle of wine, and glasses out to the pit where the fire is flickering and crackling. I pour us wine as she pokes at the fire. Then we settle into our chairs to eat.

“So, I know what your mom does. How about your dad, what does he do?”

“He’s retired now, but he worked for the government.”

“Retired. Good for him.”

“What about your parents?” she asks.

“My mom was a housewife and raised me and my brother until my dad passed away. Now that we’re grown, she likes to keep busy working at a small clothing shop in the town where we live.”

“I read that your dad passed. You were pretty young.”

I clear my throat. “Yes, I was. Twelve years old.”

“He died young then. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. It was these.” I take the pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and shake it, eager for a drag. “These took him from me.” I pause. “Excuse me.” I get up from my chair, walk to the shoreline, and touch the flame of my lighter to the end of a cigarette. Taking a long drag, I watch the tip burn in toward me, a tiny vibrant fireball. Half closing my eye, I send the smoke down to my lungs, relaxing into the calm that spreads through my body. I exhale out my nose, watching the smoke curl and dance in front of the sun.

Looking out to the horizon and the sun about to touch the edge of the water, my dad stands by my side. A ghost. The sun is a searing white, feathering out to a bright yellow then fading to a softer daffodil-yellow to tangerine and then orange. I watched so many sunsets with my dad after a day playing at the beach. If I stay still, I can almost feel him holding my small hand. Together, staring out at the waves as they mesmerize us.

Placing the cigarette to my lips, I suck in my death, yearning for one more day with him, making sandcastles at the beach. One more sunset.

The foamy water splashes onto my feet. I bend down and let it extinguish my cigarette. Help me, dad.

Dirty cigarette butt in my hand, I walk back toward Destiny. A different kind of peacefulness fills me as I watch her. She’s not doing anything but eating, yet she makes me feel at peace. I toss the butt into the fire and sit back down in my chair to finish my meal.

“I’m sorry.” Sorrow colors her soft voice. “I didn’t mean to pry about your dad.”

I wave my hand. “No, it’s okay. It’s,” I hesitate, “it’s hard for me to talk about him.”

“I understand.” She pauses. “I can’t help but wonder, if smoking took your dad’s life, don’t you worry it will take yours?” Where most people ask this question in such a malevolent way, her gentleness brings compassion to her curiosity.

“Every day.” I confess.

“Have you ever thought about quitting?”

“All the time. I’ve tried to quit, a couple times.” I put the last bite of sushi in my mouth. “The desire is so strong it’s unbelievable. It’s a love-hate relationship. I hate knowing I’m killing myself. I hate the way I smell, I hate that I’m exhausted after climbing a flight of stairs, I hate the addiction. Then, I love the calm it brings me, and the feeling that I can take on the world and, this is so stupid.” I shake my head. “But it — it makes me feel connected to my dad.”

“Mmm.” Her lips tighten together and she nods.

I laugh at how ridiculous that must’ve sounded. “I know, it doesn’t make any sense. You probably think I’m crazy.”

“No. I don’t think you’re crazy.” Tenderness wraps around her words. “It sounds like you had a close bond with your dad and, even though you know it’s going to kill you, because it took him from you, doing it somehow makes you feel close to him still. The mind connects things in interesting ways.”

“It’s true.”

My smoking typically elicits judgement and criticism from most people. Destiny listens with an open heart, removing the shame I often feel when people ask me about it.

“Here’s the thing, your mind is also powerful enough to break that connection. And you’re the only person who can do that, if you want to.”

Whomph. With empathy and respect, she puts an imaginary mirror in front of me, reminding me that my habit, my addiction, is my choice — and I’m the only one who can change it.

“Are you ready for the first and most delicious s’more of your life?” She stands up with a playful smile on her face.

“I am.” I’ve seen pictures of them and I’m excited to make my first one, with her.

We gather our dishes and bring them inside. She opens a cabinet in her kitchen and takes out a glass jar filled with large marshmallows, chocolate bars, and another glass container filled with graham crackers. She hands both glass containers to me, opens a drawer, and takes out two long, silver forks on wooden handles. Before going back out, she grabs paper towels, two paper plates, and turns on some music.

When we get back to the fire pit, the flames of the fire have died down.

“The fire is perfect now for roasting our marshmallows.” She sets down on her tray the things she was carrying and turns the tray to the side of her chair. Then she turns mine to the side of my chair and I set down the containers. “Here.” She tugs her chair closer to the fire. “Pull your chair closer.”

I pull my chair closer to the fire and closer to her. She prepares our plates by snapping the crackers in two then placing half a chocolate bar on one of the halves. Taking one of the long silver forks, she pulls on the end of it, extending it to three times its length.

“Whoa. You’re serious about your s’mores.” I chuckle, reveling in how cute she is.

“Oh, s’mores-making is a very serious thing in these parts.” She smiles and winks at me then slides a marshmallow on the tip of one of the forks and hands it to me then sits down. Sliding another onto hers, she holds it toward the fire. “Now, the genius of these s’mores sticks is that you can rotate your stick by the base.” She demonstrates by twisting the wheel at the top of the wooden handle.

“Okay. How do I know when it’s done cooking?”

“Well, there are full debates about that and it really comes down to personal preference. Some people like theirs more stiff and underdone, some people like to catch theirs on fire and burn them to a crisp, and some people like them somewhere in between.”

“What do you like?”

Her gaze remains on her marshmallow as she slowly rotates it over the embers. “I like mine golden brown, hot enough to melt the chocolate and deliciously gooey.”

I sit quietly and watch her. The lyrics from the song “Breaking Me” float softly through the air from her house. The sun dips farther into the ocean, casting its glow on her fair skin.

“Nicco!” The alarm in her voice startles me from my trance.

My marshmallow is on fire. I pull it from the pit and wave my stick wildly, sending the marshmallow flying into the sand. She doubles over in laughter and I join her.

“What happened? Did I leave it too long?”

She tempers her laughter. “Yes, you torched the poor thing. Weren’t you watching it?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. It happened so fast.” I chuckle. “This really is an art.”

She withdraws her stick from the embers and puts a plate in her lap. Then she taps at her marshmallow, sucking in quick bursts of air as she quickly pulls away her fingers. She lays the marshmallow down on top of the bar of chocolate, takes the other half of graham cracker, puts it on top of the hot marshmallow, and slides the fork out. Picking up the gooey sandwich, she holds it out toward me.

I lean and take a bite, keeping my eyes on hers that are watching my mouth. The crunchiness of the graham cracker; the hot, gooey marshmallow; and the melting chocolate are pure bliss in my mouth. “Oh my God.” I roll my eyes. “I’ve been deprived my entire life. This is amazing.”

She giggles. “Right? Heavenly.”

“Heavenly,” I say, taking the rest of the s’more into my mouth from her fingers.

She slides another marshmallow onto the long fork and hands it to me.

“Give it another try,” she says, taking the blanket from the back of her chair and laying it on top of her legs.

We roast our marshmallows, listening to the music. This time, I keep my attention on my marshmallow and toast it to perfection. The sun dips farther into the ocean, barely lighting the sky that’s turning different shades of red as it sinks.

As I finish my last bite of gooey heaven, a little yawn releases from her. That’s my cue.

I pat my stomach. “I’m so full. You were right, great sushi and the s’more were unreal,” I say, standing up and picking up my containers.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed everything,” she says, unwrapping from her blanket, standing up, and grabbing the plates, long forks, and chocolate bar wrappers.

We walk back to the house, putting everything in the kitchen, and then go back to the fire pit for the trays and blankets.

“Do you need help cleaning up?” I ask as she lowers the volume of the music and turns on her gas fireplace.

“Brrr, it got chilly,” she says, rubbing her arms vigorously. “No, I’m good, but thank you.”

The outline of her hard nipples in the glow of the fire makes me twitch in my pants.

“Okay, if you’re sure,” I say as I walk over to where we left our shoes at her bench.

“Positive. I’ll have everything cleaned up and put away in a few minutes.”

Once my shoes are on, she opens the door and follows me out to her front porch. I turn to face her and chuckle.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“You have some chocolate…”

She parts her lips and grazes the thin connection of her lips with the tip of her tongue. My eyes are drawn to her mouth and I lean in toward her. Curling my fingers under her jaw, I run my thumb down the side of her parted lips, sweeping the chocolate across her lower lip, then stick my thumb in my mouth, sucking off the chocolate.

Her exhale is audible. I move my gaze from her lips to her eyes, they’re flicking back and forth. The urge to kiss her is growing stronger. Her breathing is shorter and quicker. I stare into her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Don’t worry, I won’t kiss you. I don’t kiss women on the lips.” But I’m not sure how much longer I can resist you.

“Okay,” she breathes softly.

I move to her cheek and press my lips into her delicate skin. Passing in front of her face, I see her eyes open. I press my lips into her right cheek, inhaling her faint vanilla once more.

“Thank you for today,” I say, stepping away from her. “I enjoyed being with you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you had a nice time,” she says, rubbing her arms briskly. “Good luck tomorrow. Let me know how it goes.”

“Yes, I will. Go. Get inside, you’re cold.”

“Good night.”

“Buona notte, mia dolce ragazza.”

Destiny

I close the door, my heart races. That’s when it hits me, the heroine I’ve been writing, is me. No. No, no, no. It can’t be me. I cannot write myself as the heroine. I have to create a character. She’ll be the complete opposite of me.

What was that? No wonder women willingly spread their legs for him. Holy shit. Nothing even happened and I’m so freaking turned on right now. Of course he wasn’t going to kiss me. A man like him wouldn’t kiss someone like me. But, why does he get so close to me like that? It’s unnerving. And what did he mean he doesn’t kiss women on the lips? He kisses women all the time.

I tilt back my head. He captures my mouth with his full lips, confidently sliding his tongue in…cut it out. Well, my dreams are going to be interesting tonight, that’s for sure.

Three more days. Just three more days. I’ll ask my interview questions, give him his tours, and we’ll be done. I have to admit, I liked seeing a deeper side to him. I’m honored that he trusted me enough to share a glimpse beyond what the world sees.

No. I’m not going there. I’m not going to let things get personal. I’m not going to be swept off my feet and into his bed.