I meet Nick in the lobby that afternoon, as he and his dad wait for the taxi that will take them back to the airport, and from there to Oahu for a few days, and then to Boston.
“Keep in touch, okay? Deal?”
“Deal,” I say.
“I will hold you to that.”
“I’ll text you. I promise. Prepare yourself for an onslaught of cheesy GIFs.”
“I consider myself warned,” he says. “And maybe we can even play some games together, sometime. It’s fun. I think you’d like it, if you tried it out.”
“Don’t push your luck. Oh,” I say, remembering. I set down my bag at my feet and pull out my sketchbook. And then from the sketchbook, I remove a drawing.
It’s a beach at night, the long stretch of sand, the waves tumbling in. Stars sprinkled liberally all across the sky. And two figures, sitting on the beach, leaning back against their arms, looking up. One of them me, a rare self-portrait, with the bird-of-paradise dress pulled up over my knees.
The other, Nick, who is both lanky and handsome in his suit.
It’s nowhere near as beautiful as that night was. But it is still one of my best sketches ever.
“Oh, wow,” Nick breathes. “This is . . . wow.”
“Thanks.” I feel a tad embarrassed. But also good.
“I’m going to frame this,” he says. “And when I look at it, I’ll think of you.” His dad says his name, and he turns. “I have to go.”
The breath whooshes out of me. “I need to say thank you,” I gasp. “You were a lifesaver. You were my, like, sanity.”
He makes a quick, scared face, like perhaps sanity isn’t the right word, since I’d so clearly gone insane. I laugh and fake-punch him.
“Okay, okay,” he says. “Now give me a hug, so I can get out of paradise.”
I throw my arms around him. My breasts press tightly into his skinny chest. My chin drops to rest on his shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger,” I murmur close to his ear.
“I was about to say the exact same thing.” He pulls away. “Uh, don’t look down,” he mutters, his cheeks going red. “I’ve got a situation.”
Oh. He has a boner.
I don’t laugh, because I don’t want him to think I’m laughing at him. So I just give him a friendly pat on the back.
“Maybe next year,” I say cheerfully.
He grins his crooked smile. “Maybe next year.”