i. Palm Trees
They meet during what he is convinced is a monsoon in the middle of the day on an island in the Caribbean. She smiles when he sits down at the counter of the bar she's working at and tentatively asks if she speaks English.
"Yes," she laughs, because she does speak English and a half dozen other languages too. "What can I get for you?"
"Are you American?" he blurts out and instantly feels like an idiot. His mind flashes to how long it's been since he's spoken to a woman in a casual setting. Work doesn't count. Haley definitely doesn't count, and the divorce papers with his still-wet signature back in Seattle prove it.
She reaches behind the bar and hands him a clean, dry rag to soak up the raindrops falling from his hair and face. "Yep."
"I am too," he adds.
He still feels dumb, but somehow she makes him feel normal. She's beautiful, of course. Lighter skin than he'd expect from a girl living on an island but it radiates, dark waves trickling down past her breasts, eyes that light up in playfulness. She seems excited to have another American to talk to, a familiar accent that reminds her of home. She won't admit it, but she likes hearing him in particular speak that familiar accent. And she does hear it. All afternoon, and long past closing time.
"So, Aaron, how long are you going to be here?" She asks him and his name on her tongue sounds different and exciting and alluring, just a little bit.
He feels bold and ballsy, and it might be the whiskey he's been drinking, even after she tells him that whiskey isn't an island drink, but he leans in and flashes his best smile that he hopes is kind of sexy.
"Here on this island," he pauses and gives her a wink, "or here with you?"
He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he's a bit taken aback when she bursts into genuinely happy laughter, he has almost forgotten what that sounds like after the past few unhappy years of his marriage.
She smiles and moves out from behind the counter of the bar. He's a bit self-conscious when he realizes he is the last customer in the bar. She closes the front door and locks it, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. His fingers tingle and he really, really wants to tangle his hands in those dark waves.
"Ever fuck a girl in a bar before?" She asks him innocently, brown eyes wide with what he almost can't believe would be lust. She hops up on the bar countertop and slides in front of him, legs on either side of his body.
He stands and swallows thickly. He's almost completely hard when his hands push up her white skirt.
"Ask me again in an hour, Emily."