True believer - Nicholas Sparks [92]
“And what if I’m not leaving for a while? Or if I just said you’re on your own?”
“I didn’t figure that part out yet.”
“And where did you intend to stay while you were out here?”
“I haven’t figured that part out yet, either.”
“At least you’re honest about it,” she said, smiling. “But tell me, what would you have done if I wasn’t here?”
“Where else would you have gone?”
She glanced away, liking the fact that he’d remembered this about her. In the distance, she saw the lights of a shrimp trawler moving so slowly it almost seemed stationary.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“I’m starved. I haven’t eaten anything all day.”
“Would you like to have dinner?”
“Do you know a nice place?”
“I have a pretty good place in mind.”
“Do they take credit cards?” he asked. “I used all my cash to get here.”
“I’m sure,” she said, “that we’ll be able to work something out.”
Turning from the lighthouse, they made their way back down the beach, walking along the compact sand near the water’s edge. There was a space between them that neither seemed willing to cross. Instead, with their noses turning red in the chill, they moved steadily forward, as if pulled toward the place that both were meant to be.
In the silence, Jeremy mentally replayed his journey here, feeling a pang of guilt about Nate and Alvin. He’d missed the conference call—there had been no reception at all as he was crossing the Pamlico Sound—and figured that he should probably call from the landline as soon as he was able, though he wasn’t looking forward to it. Nate, he suspected, had been revving up for hours and was waiting for Jeremy’s call so he could finally go ballistic, but Jeremy planned to suggest a meeting with the producers next week, complete with the footage and the outlines of the story, an idea that he suspected had been the whole point of the call, anyway. If that wasn’t enough to appease them, if missing a single call could end his career before it started, then he wasn’t sure he wanted to work in television.
And Alvin . . . well, that was a little easier. There was no way Jeremy could get back to Boone Creek to meet Alvin tonight—he’d come to that realization by the time the boat had dropped him off—but Alvin had a cell phone, and he’d explain what was going on. Alvin wouldn’t be happy about having to work alone tonight, but he’d recover by tomorrow. Alvin was one of those rare people who never let anything bother them for more than a day.
Yet, being honest with himself, Jeremy admitted that he didn’t really care about any of that now. Instead, all that seemed to matter was that he was walking with Lexie on a quiet beach in the middle of nowhere and that as they trudged into the salty breeze, she quietly looped her arm through his.
Lexie led the way up the warped wooden steps of the old bugalow and hung her jacket on the rack beside the door. Jeremy hung his as well, along with his satchel. As she walked ahead of him through the living room, Jeremy watched her, thinking again that she was beautiful.
“Do you like pasta?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts.
“Are you kidding? I grew up on pasta. My mother happens to be Italian.”
“Good,” she said. “Because that’s what I planned on making.”
“We’re eating here?”
“I guess we have to,” she said over her shoulder. “You’re out of cash, remember?”
The kitchen was small, with fading yellow paint, flowery wallpaper that was peeling in the corners, scuffed cabinets, and a small painted table set beneath the window. On the counters were the groceries she’d picked up earlier. Reaching into the first bag, she pulled out a box of Cheerios and a loaf of bread. From his spot near the sink, Jeremy saw a flash of her skin when she stood on her toes to put them in the cupboard.
“Do you need a hand?” he asked.
“No, I’ve got it, thanks,” she said, turning around. After straightening her shirt, she reached into another bag and set two onions off to the side,