Part 4 (2/2)

”Um, excuse me?” I called to him loudly, wondering what on earth I was going to say.

He eventually stopped hammering, straightening his body to his full height. He was altogether too breathtaking this close up.

He wore no shoes, some khaki shorts and a faded U.S. Navy t-s.h.i.+rt. I found myself wondering if he'd actually been in the Navy. He looked like the type, I supposed.

The man finally tossed the hammer down on the table beside him, squinting up at me through the sunlight. Gray, I noticed his eyes were a dark shade of gray.

His delayed reaction to my presence caused me to believe I was some kind of unwanted interruption. And now that I had his attention, my mind lost its course of action. I wanted to kick myself.

”Yes?” The deep baritone of his voice sent chills down my spine. I couldn't comprehend why he was affecting me to this extent.

Say something, my mind screamed. I looked away, back towards the golf cart, and noticed my trash bag. I finally remembered why I walked over to this part of the beach in the first place. Ask him about the cans!

”Um, I was wondering if I could ask you a question, if you have a moment?”

He merely nodded, imploring me to continue speaking. I still sensed I was interrupting him in some huge way.

My nervousness caused me to speak a little quickly. ”Well, you see, I volunteer for Habitat for Humanity and I was helping to clean up this area of the beach today. Anyway, I came across this line of soda cans. It was the weirdest thing. There were a bazillion of them and they eventually led me to this pier. . .” I took a breath to calm my anxiety and waited for his confusion to take root. Thankfully, he just waited for me to finish speaking. ”Well, I was wondering if, since you've been out here working on your boat and all, if you happened to catch sight of the person who is leaving all these cans behind?”

His face was without expression. He was proving to be exactly like the Grecian sculptures- carved out of stone.

Finally, he said, ”Sorry. Didn't see anyone.”

I waited for him to say more, feeling like an idiot. No other words escaped his perfect lips.

”Oh. . .really? n.o.body at all?”

It bothered me more than a little that he didn't seem as freaked out about these cans as I was. He could have at least provided me with some small portrayal of the bewilderment that I had felt at following a mile long trail of soda cans.

”Nope, no one.”

His abruptness did not put me at ease. He even picked his hammer back up.

”Oh. Okay, well, thanks anyway.”

”No problem,” he replied, then turned his back to me.

While walking away, I became incredulous. I knew I shouldn't be surprised by his rudeness. The man was truly gorgeous. It was no wonder he acted like he did. Perhaps it bothered me so much because I was used to guys trying to pursue me, being extra sweet to please me and going out of their way to help me. Luca used to tell me in a very annoyed voice, ”They fall all over themselves trying to win your favor.”

I scratched my head in contemplation, wondering what went wrong. . .I guess I was a little sweaty today. Not to mention the guy on the boat had to be at least five or six years older than me. But still. . .it bothered me. In quick, heated strides, I s.n.a.t.c.hed up my bag of cans and walked back in the direction of the golf cart. At least Christo taught me to be more humble, I thought to myself resentfully.

After I thought about it and my temper had cooled somewhat, I became annoyed with myself for relating my confrontation with the beautiful man to my own looks and appeal. I needed to realize that I simply came into contact with someone who was just plain rude. There was nothing else to it. And if I didn't stop over a.n.a.lyzing everything, I was bound to pick up some bad traits of my own.

I smiled, feeling better. I would just forget the rude guy and finish what was left to clean up along the beach. There was no reason I should let something so insignificant affect me to this extent. I had more important tasks at hand. Like cleaning up the rest of this beach. . .

By the time my work was done, I was exhausted. But it was a good kind of exhaustion. The kind where one feels accomplished.

It wasn't until I had made it back to the house, showered and sat down to eat lunch before I figured out who the man on the boat was. I nearly choked on my turkey sandwich, remembering the arms that had been wrapped around me during the night of the storm were the same arms of the man on the boat today. It had almost slipped my mind, seeing the remnants of a tattoo sticking out from beneath the sleeve of his t-s.h.i.+rt. Some sort of tribal design. He was the angel!

Well, I suppose I could let the angel theory go now that I could see he was perfectly alive and human. There was just something about him. Something I wished I could put my finger on. . .

Nonchalantly, I strolled into the living room where Miriam was lying on the couch watching her soap opera. She had applied a cream mask applied to her face, the exact color of seaweed.

”You look like an alien,” I remarked.

She arched a brow. ”Lo, you really need work on your bluntness.”

I smiled. I started to ask her about the angel/boat guy, but she put her finger up as if to tell me to hold on. Apparently, her soap opera was at some dramatic climax she didn't want me to interrupt. She was sitting on the edge of her seat in antic.i.p.ation. I drummed my fingers along the arm of the couch, waiting for the commercials. I couldn't help but feel irritated. I hated soap operas.

Finally, the commercials started and Miriam once again remembered I was alive and in the same room with her.

”Grams, I need to ask you a question about your neighbors who rescued me the night I came to Florida.”

”What is it?” I couldn't be sure, but it looked like she stiffened, as if she were uncomfortable with me asking about her neighbors.

I decided to be direct with her. ”Does one of them own a boat down by the pier?”

”Yes, I believe so. Gabe just bought an older speedboat he was planning to fix up, but I don't think he's got it running yet. Why?”

Gabe, like Gabriel. I almost laughed at the irony.

”I recognized him today when I was doing my volunteer work. He was there doing some handiwork on it. Hey, do you know--”

”Do you think that really works?” she asked, changing the subject and throwing me off. She pointed to the television at a commercial for some medical solution that supposedly makes your eyelashes grow.

”I don't know, Grams. Hey, he's kind of strange, isn't he?”

”Who?” she asked, caught up in the commercial. Or, at least she appeared caught up in the commercial. For some insane reason, I felt like she was purposely dodging my questions. Super annoying of her.

”Gabe, your neighbor, who helped rescue me.”

”He's sort of quiet, I suppose. Why?”

I shook my head, remembering the scene on the beach. ”He just struck me as odd. Not the very friendly type, you know?”

”You spoke to him?”

”Yeah, it's a long story. There were all these soda cans and I was only asking him if he knew--”

”That's nice dear. Tell me about it later?”

I couldn't believe her. Miriam had completely cut me off. Twice! One glance back at the television and I could see why. Her soap was back on. This conversation simply wasn't working. Giving up, I decided to go finish my lunch.

”Sure,” I mumbled.

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