Day 87
Dear Diary,
Charlie can be really sweet (like the picnic) but so can Desmond. I'm trying not to think on it like a competition but sometimes (well, all times) it's exciting. I know Desmond has that Penny girl somewhere and there's probably no ulterior motive to his kindness, but it's exciting all the same.
Desmond has this spot by the caves he likes to go to that's so quiet and peaceful. I think of it as "his." If I'm ever taking a walk and he's not on the beach, I know he'll be at his spot. He's always good for a chat – even if he does keep insisting that there's some dark, shameful secret hiding in his past and I should make nice with Charlie. Mum used to say I had a "Martyr" complex and wanted to "fix" everyone – especially the dark wounded souls. Guess she was right because I don't have any other explanation for my attraction to not one but two wounded souls on this Island.
Today I found Desmond at his usual spot. He actually grinned when he saw me and waved. Lately, it's been rare to find him in a good mood so I intended to take full advantage of it.
"Hey, what's up?" I asked, arranging myself cross legged when he motioned me to sit. "You're awful cheery."
"I do have good moods that do not come after a bottle of wine or a few beers, you know," he said.
"Yeah, of course, sorry," I said, tucking my hair behind my ears.
"I made something for you, Claire."
Claire. I love how he says my name with that accent of his. Claire.
"Yeah? That's sweet. Thank you, Desmond." (I actually answered right away so hopefully didn't seem like I was mentally obsessing over how he says my name. Still, I always wonder if he can read minds as well as divine the future.)
"You haven't even seen what it is yet."
"Either way, it's a present and a nice gesture so thank you."
"You're welcome," he says, uncovering a plate of sandwiches. "I made them. Well, not the bread or the peanut butter, but I made mango marmalade to go on them. Charlie mentioned your love of peanut butter, and protein is important for a nursing mum, so I. . .I made them."
"Thank you!" I said, thrilled by the gesture. "That's really sweet, Desmond."
He wouldn't meet my eyes. "You can take them back with you to camp. I gave Charlie the peanut butter jar so if he comes up with something similar, pretend to like it, yeah?"
"Yeah," I agreed. "Speaking of camp, I should probably head back. Maybe we can talk some time later?"
Desmond nods slowly, still not meeting my eyes. "I know where to find you."
"Thanks again," I said, gathering the plate of sandwiches as I stood. "You're really sweet."
"That's the first time anyone's called me that."
"Well, you are," I insisted, leaning in to kiss his cheek impulsively. "And not just because I say so."
Desmond finally looks up, opening his mouth as if to say something, but no words come out. I smiled, waving with the hand not holding the plate, before turning to head back to camp.
So, I'm not saying it's a competition between Charlie and Desmond but it does leave me to think "What if it were?"
What if it were?
Who would I choose?
The answer's not simple like on TV shows.
Till next time...
Claire
