The Choice (18 page)

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.

It amazed him that all this soul-searching seemed prompted by his day with Gabby. Gabby, the woman who’d falsely accused him, consistently avoided him, overtly antagonized him, and then made a point of repeatedly mentioning that she was in love with someone else. Go figure.

Behind him a swell seemed promising, and Travis began to paddle hard, maneuvering himself into the best possible position. Despite the glory of the day and the pleasures of the ocean, he couldn’t escape the truth: What he really wanted to do was to spend as much time as possible with Gabby, for as long as he possibly could.

“Good morning,” Kevin said into the phone, just as Gabby was getting ready to leave. Gabby moved the receiver to her other shoulder.

“Oh, hey,” she answered. “How are you?”

“Good. Listen, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about the call last night. I wanted to call you when I got back to the room to apologize, but by then it was pretty late.”

“It’s okay. You sounded like you were having fun.”

“It was less thrilling than you probably think. The music was so loud that my ears are still ringing. I don’t know why I went with those guys in the first place. I should have known I was in trouble when they started doing shots right after dinner, but someone had to keep an eye on them.”

“And I’m sure you were the model of sobriety.”

“Of course,” he said. “You know I don’t drink much. Which means, of course, that I’ll probably crush them in the golf tournament today. They’ll be too hung over to even hit the ball.”

“Who were they?”

“Just some other brokers from Charlotte and Columbia. By the way they were acting, you’d have thought they hadn’t been out in years.”

“Maybe they haven’t.”

“Yeah, well . . .” She could hear him rustling and assumed he was getting dressed. “How about you? What did you end up doing?”

She hesitated. “Not too much.”

“I wish you could have come down. It would have been a lot more fun if you’d been here.”

“You know I couldn’t get off work.”

“I know. But I wanted to say it anyway. I’ll try to give you a call later, okay?”

“Sure. I might be out and about.”

“Oh, how’s Molly doing?”

“She’s doing well.”

“I think I might want one of those puppies. They were cute.”

“You’re just trying to get on my good side.”

“That’s the only side to be on. Hey, I was thinking, though. Maybe you and I could head down to Miami this fall for a long weekend. One of the guys I was talking to just got back from South Beach, and he said there were a couple of great golf courses nearby.”

She paused. “Have you ever thought about going to Africa?”

“Africa?”

“Yeah. Just taking off for a while, going on safari, seeing Victoria Falls? Or if not Africa, someplace in Europe? Like Greece?”

“Not really. And even if I wanted to, it’s not like I could get the time off. What made you think of that?”

“No reason,” she said.

While Gabby was on the phone, Travis walked up onto Gabby’s porch and knocked. A moment later, she appeared in the doorway, the phone to her ear. Motioning to the phone, she waved him inside. He stepped into the living room, expecting her to make some excuse on the phone, but instead she pointed to the couch and vanished into the kitchen, the swinging doors swaying behind her.

He took a seat and waited. And waited. And waited. He felt ridiculous, as if she were treating him like a child. He could hear her speaking in hushed tones and had no idea whom she was talking to, and he contemplated getting up and walking out the door. Still, he remained on the couch, wondering why she seemed to have such a hold over him.

Finally, with the doors swinging behind her again, she stepped into the living room.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m a little late, but the phone’s been ringing off the hook all morning.”

Travis stood, thinking that Gabby had grown even prettier overnight, which made no sense at all. “No big deal,” he answered.

The call with Kevin left her wondering again what she was doing, and she willed herself to stop thinking about it. “Let me just get my things, and we’ll be good to go.” She took a step toward the door. “Oh, and I want to check on Molly—she was fine this morning, but I want to make sure she has plenty of water.”

A moment later, with her bag flung over her shoulder, they moved into the garage and filled the water bowl to the brim.

“Where are we going, by the way?” she asked on their way back out. “Not to some biker bar out in the sticks, I hope?”

“What’s wrong with biker bars?”

“I wouldn’t fit in. Not enough tattoos.”

“You’re generalizing, don’t you think?”

“Probably. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Just a ride,” he said. “Over the bridge, all the way down Bogue Banks to Emerald Isle, back over the bridge, and then we’ll wind our way back to this place I want to show you.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Is it a fancy place?”

“Hardly.”

“Can we eat there?”

He thought about it. “Sort of.”

“Is it inside or outside?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said. “I don’t want to ruin it for you.”

“It sounds exciting.”

“Don’t build it up too much. It’s just this place I like to go—nothing spectacular.”

By that time, they’d reached the drive. Travis motioned toward the bike. “This is it.”

The chrome on the bike made Gabby squint, and she put on a pair of sunglasses.

“Your pride and joy?”

“Frustration and angst.”

“You’re not going to start whining about how hard it is to get parts again, are you?”

He made a face, then chuckled. “I’ll try to keep it to myself.”

She motioned toward the basket he’d attached to the back of the bike with bungee cords. “What’s for lunch?”

“The usual.”

“Filet mignon, baked Alaska, roast lamb, Dover sole?”

“Not quite.”

“Pop-Tarts?”

He ignored her gibe. “If you’re ready, we can go. I’m pretty sure the helmet will fit you, but if it doesn’t, I’ve got more in the garage.”

She raised a sardonic eyebrow. “What about this special place? Have you taken a lot of different women there?”

“No,” he said. “Actually, you’ll be the first.”

She waited to see if he would add anything else, but for once he seemed serious. She nodded slightly and walked to the motorcycle. She put on her helmet, fastened it beneath her chin, and threw her leg over the back of the seat. “Where do I put my feet?”

Travis unfolded the rear pegs. “There’s one on each side. And try not to touch the exhaust with your leg. It gets very hot and you could get a nasty burn.”

“Good to know. What about my hands?”

“They’ll be around me, of course.”

“Such a ladies’ man,” she said. “Why, if you were any smoother, I probably wouldn’t even be able to hold on, would I?”

He put on his helmet and in a single, smooth motion climbed on and started the bike, allowing it to idle. It was quieter than some motorcycles, but she could feel the slight vibration through her seat. She felt a distinct anticipatory thrill, as if she were seated on a roller coaster as it was about to start, only this time without a seat belt.

Travis eased the motorcycle forward, out of the drive, and onto the street. Gabby reached for his hips, but as soon as she touched him, she thought about his hip flexors, which made her stomach do a flip-flop. It was either that or wrap her arms around him, and she didn’t feel ready for
that
. As the motorcycle began to accelerate, she told herself not to squeeze, not to move her hands at all, just to keep her hands steady, like a statue.

“What’s that?” Travis asked, craning his neck.

“What?”

“You said something about hands and a statue?”

Unaware she’d spoken aloud, she squeezed his hips, telling herself that she was doing it only to provide cover. “I said keep your hands steady, like a statue. I don’t want to crash.”

“We’re not going to crash. I don’t like crashing.”

“Have you ever crashed before?”

Continuing to crane his neck and making her nervous by doing so, he nodded. “A couple of times. Spent two nights in the hospital once.”

“And you didn’t think this was important to mention before you invited me?”

“I didn’t want you to get scared.”

“Just keep your eyes on the road, okay? And don’t do anything fancy.”

“You want me to do something fancy?”

“No!”

“Good, because I’d rather just enjoy the ride.” He craned his neck again; despite the helmet, she could swear she saw him wink. “The most important thing is to keep you safe, so just keep your hands steady like a statue, okay?”

On the back of the seat, Gabby felt herself shrink, just as she had in his office, aghast that she’d said those words aloud. And that despite the wind in their faces and the roar of the engine, Travis had actually heard them. There were moments when it honestly seemed as if the world were conspiring against her.

That he didn’t bring it up again over the next few minutes made her feel slightly better. With the motorcycle zipping along, they left the quiet confines of their neighborhood. Gabby slowly got the hang of leaning when Travis leaned, and a few turns later, they were making their way through Beaufort and over the small bridge that separated them from the Morehead City limits. The road widened to two lanes and was clogged with weekend beach traffic. Gabby tried to ignore the feeling of vulnerability as they rode alongside a gigantic dump truck.

They veered toward the bridge that crossed the Intracoastal Waterway, and the traffic slowed to a crawl. When they reached the highway that bisected Bogue Banks, the traffic headed for Atlantic Beach evaporated and Travis gradually began to pick up speed. Sandwiched between two minivans, one in front and the other behind them, Gabby felt herself relaxing. As they sped past condominiums and houses hidden amid the Maritime Forest, she could feel the heat of the sun beginning to soak through her clothing.

She held Travis to keep herself steady, intensely conscious of the outline of his back muscles through the thin fabric of his shirt. Despite her best intentions, she was beginning to accept the reality of the attraction she felt for him. He was so different from her, yet in his presence she felt the possibility of another kind of life, a life she had never imagined could be hers. A life without the rigid limitations others had always set for her.

They drifted in an almost dreamlike silence past one town, then another: Atlantic Beach, Pine Knoll Shores, and Salter Path. On her left, largely hidden from view by oaks bent by the never-ending wind, lay some of the most desirable oceanfront property in the state. A few minutes earlier, they’d bypassed the Iron Steamer Pier. Though warped from years of storms, today it was home to scores of people fishing.

At Emerald Isle, the most westerly town on the island, Travis applied the brakes to slow for a turning car, and Gabby felt herself lean into him. Her hands inadvertently slid from his hips to his stomach, and she wondered if he noticed the way their bodies were pressed together. Though she willed herself to pull away, she didn’t.

There was something happening here, something she didn’t quite understand. She loved Kevin and wanted to marry him; in the past couple of days, that feeling hadn’t changed at all. And yet . . . she couldn’t deny that spending time with Travis seemed . . . right, somehow. Natural and easy, the way things were supposed to be. It seemed an impossible contradiction, and as they crossed the bridge at the far end of the island, heading toward home, she gave up trying to resolve it.

Surprising her, Travis slowed the bike before turning onto a partially hidden one-lane road perpendicular to the highway that stretched into the forest. When he brought the bike to a halt, Gabby turned from side to side, puzzled.

“Why are we stopping?” she asked. “Is this the place you wanted to show me?”

Travis got off the bike and removed his helmet. He shook his head.

“No, that’s back in Beaufort,” he said. “I wanted to see if you’d like to try driving for a bit.”

“I’ve never driven a motorcycle.” Gabby crossed her arms, remaining on the bike.

“I know. That’s why I asked.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, pushing up the helmet visor.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. I’ll be right behind you on the bike, and I’m not going to let you crash. I’ll have my hands right next to yours, I’ll do all the shifting. All you’ll have to do is steer until you get used to it.”

“But it’s illegal.”

“A technicality. And besides, this is a private road. It leads to my uncle’s place—a little way up, it turns into a dirt road, and he’s the only one who lives that way. It’s where I learned to ride.”

She hesitated, torn between excitement and terror, amazed that she was actually considering it.

Travis raised his hands. “Trust me—there aren’t any cars on the road, no one’s going to stop us, and I’ll be right there with you.”