apparently a brilliant woman," Nate countered. He held up a hand to shush the clever rejoinder on the tip of my tongue. "We will discuss this no further. This court rules that Emory James is a comely young gentleman of stainless repute, and any indications otherwise will be subject to penalties by law."
It was my turn to narrow my eyes at him in bemusement. "You have problems."
"Yeah, well, you have a nice face," Nate said mildly.
I considered this for a moment. "This is unwinnable, isn't it?"
He nodded solemnly. "For you, yes. If you surrender now," he offered, "I won't go into raptures about how your eyes sparkle like the ocean on a clear day."
"Jesus Christ," I said.
Nate flashed me a grin, his foot hassling my shin persistently underneath the table. "I'll do it, man; don't think I won't. And I'll do it in front of people, too."
"You're ridiculous, you know?"
"And you're --"
"Okay, okay, okay." I waved my hands in front of his face. "I'm everything you say that I am and more, you weirdo. Will you shut up about my face now?"
He folded his hands neatly in his lap, his work done. "Yes. Now, eat up, there are escapades to be embarked upon."
In an attempt to get the last word in, I bounced a red grape off his head.
Nate narrowed his eyes. "That was uncalled for. This isn't a high school cafeteria, you know; you can't just start food fights whenever you feel like it."
"That's exactly the kind of talk I'd expect from someone with no ammunition," I said airily, plucking another grape from the bunch and lobbing it carelessly at him.
He tried to snare it out of the air with one hand but fumbled it, and it ended up squishing in his hand. He laughed, grabbing the napkin next to my plate to wipe off the juice, and tossed the used napkin at me.
"Wager," he said. "Next three grapes I will catch in my mouth."
"What if you don't?"
"Does it really matter?"
Agreeing that it didn't, we spent the next ten minutes laughing like idiots trying to throw grapes into each other's mouths from increasingly greater distances. The other people scattered about the restaurant would definitely remember us.
After a particularly skilled toss on my part, we left the table to go in search of scooters, ending up at the same rental place we'd gone to the first time. Now that I was sufficiently experienced in scooting, we took off with a minimum of fuss, a warm island breeze and the occasional bug on our faces.
Between the two of us we decimated the local supply of young coconuts by drinking about three thousand of them everywhere we went, pausing in our wanton destruction only to devour street food on sticks and photograph them beforehand, if we remembered.
By late afternoon we rolled up to a beach park the Australians had recommended to us, equal parts stunning seashore and lush vegetation. Nate unpacked his camera as soon as we parked and locked our scooters, indecision all over his face as the panorama unfolded itself to him, unable to even pick a place to start shooting.
I liked watching him at work, his intensity and passion out for all the world to see. He framed his pictures with careful precision, always aiming for the angle that gave him the best light. He'd shown me some of the photos he had taken today on his camera viewscreen, and though I'm not exactly a connoisseur of the fine arts, he was definitely wasted on the matrimonial services he usually did.
I left him to do his thing and eased myself onto the grass, drinking in the scenery. It was the kind that made people seriously consider leaving their jobs and lives. I could see the allure -- out here, even with the other tourists milling around, it was unbelievably serene; looking out onto the ocean felt like you were staring into glittering blue swathes of forever.
Plus, the coconuts were plentiful and delicious.
Nate ambled over eventually, juggling a variety of lenses as he reorganized his camera bag. "Hey," he said softly, and offered a hand to pull me up.
I resisted the urge to yank him down
It was my turn to narrow my eyes at him in bemusement. "You have problems."
"Yeah, well, you have a nice face," Nate said mildly.
I considered this for a moment. "This is unwinnable, isn't it?"
He nodded solemnly. "For you, yes. If you surrender now," he offered, "I won't go into raptures about how your eyes sparkle like the ocean on a clear day."
"Jesus Christ," I said.
Nate flashed me a grin, his foot hassling my shin persistently underneath the table. "I'll do it, man; don't think I won't. And I'll do it in front of people, too."
"You're ridiculous, you know?"
"And you're --"
"Okay, okay, okay." I waved my hands in front of his face. "I'm everything you say that I am and more, you weirdo. Will you shut up about my face now?"
He folded his hands neatly in his lap, his work done. "Yes. Now, eat up, there are escapades to be embarked upon."
In an attempt to get the last word in, I bounced a red grape off his head.
Nate narrowed his eyes. "That was uncalled for. This isn't a high school cafeteria, you know; you can't just start food fights whenever you feel like it."
"That's exactly the kind of talk I'd expect from someone with no ammunition," I said airily, plucking another grape from the bunch and lobbing it carelessly at him.
He tried to snare it out of the air with one hand but fumbled it, and it ended up squishing in his hand. He laughed, grabbing the napkin next to my plate to wipe off the juice, and tossed the used napkin at me.
"Wager," he said. "Next three grapes I will catch in my mouth."
"What if you don't?"
"Does it really matter?"
Agreeing that it didn't, we spent the next ten minutes laughing like idiots trying to throw grapes into each other's mouths from increasingly greater distances. The other people scattered about the restaurant would definitely remember us.
After a particularly skilled toss on my part, we left the table to go in search of scooters, ending up at the same rental place we'd gone to the first time. Now that I was sufficiently experienced in scooting, we took off with a minimum of fuss, a warm island breeze and the occasional bug on our faces.
Between the two of us we decimated the local supply of young coconuts by drinking about three thousand of them everywhere we went, pausing in our wanton destruction only to devour street food on sticks and photograph them beforehand, if we remembered.
By late afternoon we rolled up to a beach park the Australians had recommended to us, equal parts stunning seashore and lush vegetation. Nate unpacked his camera as soon as we parked and locked our scooters, indecision all over his face as the panorama unfolded itself to him, unable to even pick a place to start shooting.
I liked watching him at work, his intensity and passion out for all the world to see. He framed his pictures with careful precision, always aiming for the angle that gave him the best light. He'd shown me some of the photos he had taken today on his camera viewscreen, and though I'm not exactly a connoisseur of the fine arts, he was definitely wasted on the matrimonial services he usually did.
I left him to do his thing and eased myself onto the grass, drinking in the scenery. It was the kind that made people seriously consider leaving their jobs and lives. I could see the allure -- out here, even with the other tourists milling around, it was unbelievably serene; looking out onto the ocean felt like you were staring into glittering blue swathes of forever.
Plus, the coconuts were plentiful and delicious.
Nate ambled over eventually, juggling a variety of lenses as he reorganized his camera bag. "Hey," he said softly, and offered a hand to pull me up.
I resisted the urge to yank him down
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