The Choice

“See you tomorrow,” he called out.

She didn’t bother to respond, since there was really no reason to. The thought of what might happen tomorrow left her with a sense of dread. Why did he have to ruin things? Why couldn’t they just be neighbors and friends? Why had it ended like this?

She pulled the slider closed behind her and marched to her bedroom, doing her best to work up the anger she felt the situation merited. It should have worked, but for the shaky legs and hammering heart, and the lingering realization that Travis Parker found her desirable enough to want to kiss her.

Twelve

After Gabby had left, Travis emptied the cooler. Wanting to spend some time with Moby, he grabbed the tennis ball, but even as he began their familiar game of fetch, his thoughts kept returning to Gabby. As Moby bounded through the yard, he couldn’t shake the memory of the way Gabby’s eyes crinkled when she smiled or the awe in her voice as she’d named the stars. He found himself wondering about her relationship with her boyfriend. Curiously, she hadn’t said much about him—whatever her reasons, it struck him as an effective way to keep him guessing.

No question, he was definitely interested in her. It was odd, though. If history was any guide, she really wasn’t his type. She didn’t strike him as particularly delicate or touchy, a hothouse flower—he seemed to attract those types of women in droves. When he teased her, she teased him right back; when he pushed the boundaries, she had no qualms about putting him in his place. He liked her spirited nature, her self-control and confidence, and he especially liked the fact that she didn’t seem conscious of possessing those qualities. The whole day struck him as a tantalizing dance, in which each of them had taken turns leading, one pushing, the other pulling, and vice versa. He wondered if a dance like that could go on forever.

That had been one of the downfalls of his past relationships. Even in the early stages, they had always been one-sided. Usually he’d ended up making most of the decisions about what to do or where to eat or whose house to go to or what movie to see. That part didn’t bother him; what bothered him was that over time, the one-sidedness began to define everything about the relationship, which inevitably left him feeling as if he were dating an employee instead of a partner. Frankly, it bored him.

It was strange, he hadn’t really thought of his previous relationships in this light. He usually didn’t think about them at all. Somehow, spending time with Gabby made him think about what he’d been missing. He replayed their conversations in his head, realizing that he wanted more of them, more of her. He shouldn’t have kissed her, he thought with a burst of uncharacteristic anxiety—he had gone too far. But now, all he could do was wait and see, and hope she didn’t change her mind about coming with him tomorrow. What could he do? Nothing, he realized. Nothing at all.

“How’d it go?” Stephanie asked.

Feeling foggy the following morning, Travis could barely open his eyes. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know. It’s early, though.”

“Why are you calling me?”

“Because I want to know how dinner went with Gabby.”

“Is the sun even up?”

“Don’t change the subject. Spill it.”

“You’re being awfully nosy about this.”

“I’m a nosy gal. But don’t worry. You already told me the answer.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly. I assume you’re seeing her today, too?”

Travis pulled the phone away and stared at it, wondering how his sister always seemed to know everything.

“Steph—”

“Tell her I said hey. But listen, I gotta go. Thanks for keeping me informed.”

She hung up before he had a chance to respond.

Gabby’s first thought upon waking the next morning was that she liked to think of herself as a good person. Growing up, she’d always tried to follow the rules. She kept her room clean, studied for exams, did her best to mind her manners around her parents.

It wasn’t last night’s kiss that had her doubting her integrity. She hadn’t had anything to do with that—that was all Travis. And the day had been innocent enough—she’d be perfectly happy telling Kevin all about it. No, her guilt had more to do with the fact that she’d willingly returned for dinner with Travis. If she had been honest with herself, she could have anticipated Travis’s agenda and headed off the situation. Especially at the end. What had she been thinking?

As for Kevin . . . talking to him hadn’t done much to erase the memory.

She’d called him last night after she’d gotten back to her house. As his cell phone rang, she’d prayed he wouldn’t detect the guilt in her tone. No problem there, she’d quickly realized; they could barely hear each other at all, since he’d answered the phone while in a nightclub.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said, “I just wanted to call—”

“Hey, Gabby!” he interrupted. “It’s really loud in here, so speak up.”

He shouted so loudly that she had to hold the phone away from her ear. “I can tell.”

“What?”

“I said it sounds noisy!” she shouted back. “I take it you’re having a good time?”

“I can barely hear you! What did you say?”

In the background, she heard a woman’s voice asking if he wanted another vodka tonic; Kevin’s answer was lost in the cacophony.

“Where are you?”

“I’m not sure of the name. Just some club!”

“What kind of club?”

“Just someplace these other guys wanted to go! No big deal!”

“I’m glad you’re having a good time.”

“Speak up!”

She brought her fingers to the bridge of her nose and squeezed. “I just wanted to talk. I miss you.”

“Yeah, miss you, too, but I’ll be home in a few days! Listen, though . . .”

“I know, I know—you’ve got to go.”

“Let me call you back tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Love you!”

“Love you, too.”

Gabby hung up, annoyed. She’d just wanted to talk to him, but she supposed she should have known better. Conventions had a way of turning grown men back into adolescents—she’d witnessed that firsthand at a medical convention she’d attended in Birmingham a few months ago. By day, meetings were packed with earnest, serious-minded doctors; at night, she’d watched from her hotel window as they’d traveled in packs, drunk too much, and generally made fools of themselves. No harm in that. She didn’t believe for a moment that he had gotten himself into trouble or done anything he’d regret.

Like kiss someone else?

She threw back the covers, really wishing she could stop thinking about that. She didn’t want to think about the weight of Travis’s hand on her hip as he’d pulled her toward him, and she definitely didn’t want to think about the way his lips felt against hers or the electric spark she’d felt because of it. Still, as she headed for the shower, something else was bugging her, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Turning on the water, she found herself wondering if—in the brief instant it had happened—she’d also kissed him back.

Unable to go back to sleep after Stephanie’s call, Travis went jogging. Afterward, he’d tossed his surfboard in the back of his truck and driven across the bridge to Bogue Banks. After parking in the Sheraton Hotel lot, he hefted his board and made for the water. He wasn’t alone; there were a dozen others who’d had the same idea, and he waved at a few he recognized. Like Travis, most wouldn’t stay long; the best waves came early and would be gone as soon as the tide shifted. But it was still the perfect way to start the day.

The water was brisk—in another month, it would be nearly perfect—and he paddled over the swells, trying to get into rhythm. He wasn’t a great surfer—in Bali, he’d studied some of the monster waves and shook his head, knowing that if he even attempted to ride them, he’d probably be killed—but he

was good enough to enjoy himself.

He was used to being alone. Laird was the other surfer in his group of friends, but he hadn’t gone with Travis in years. Ashley and Melinda, two former girlfriends, had gone surfing with him a few times in the past—but neither ever seemed able to meet him on the spur of the moment, and typically, by the time they arrived, he was just finishing up, which threw the morning out of whack. And as usual, it had been up to him to suggest the activity in the first place.

He was, he realized, a little disappointed in himself for choosing the same type of woman over and over. No wonder Allison and Megan liked to give him such a hard time. It must have been like watching the same play with different actors, the outcome always the same. As he lay on the surfboard, watching the swells approach, he realized that the same thing that made women initially attractive to him—their need to be taken care of—was the very thing that eventually signaled the end of the relationship. How did that old saying go? If you’ve been divorced once, you might be right in thinking your ex was the problem. If you’ve been divorced three times? Well, folks, the problem is most definitely you. Granted, he hadn’t been divorced, but the point was well taken.