Rhees lost track of time. She had no idea how long she'd sat on the point when a motorcycle rolled up behind her, causing her to panic. She wasn't ready to face him-it had to be him-it was just like him to face a problem head on. She thought she'd never be ready.

Paul stopped about ten feet away from her but didn't turn the motor off. He sat, straddling the bike, the motor idling while he watched her. The motor finally sputtered and fell silent and he put the kickstand down. He climbed off and took a few steps toward her.

She twisted her head to look at him without turning to face him, trying to wipe her face dry before he saw how bad it was. He hesitated for a second, but then he moved to stand behind her.

"I knew you'd be crying."

Dang it! She'd been crying more than ever lately, and Paul always seemed to be around when she did.

"But . . . I came anyway." He looked down.

"I'm not crying." She stood and turned to face him.

"Oh really?" He moved to stand in front of her. He reached out and gently wiped her cheek with his thumb. "What's this?" He showed her the captured tear.

"Yeah." She tried to act casual. "My eyes are just watering-from laughing so hard."

He raised one eyebrow with curiosity. "Yeah?"

She took a deep breath. "Yeah, you see, I was watching these guys down there." She pointed to where Paul and his friends had been surfing. "I think they thought they could surf, but they were-it was pretty comical." She tried to look embarrassed for them.

His eyes sparkled with amusement, but his mouth twitched instead of breaking into a grin.

She exhaled. "Paul, I couldn't bear for you to hate me again." Her own mouth twitched as she fought to maintain a small semblance of control. She didn't want to cry again.

His face reflected pain and confusion. He didn't say anything, but he moved closer until they stood face to face. There were several more seconds of silence.

"I've never hated you," he said, his voice quiet and deep, deeper than she'd ever heard it.

"Are you sure? Because I remember a pretty miserable, hate-filled three weeks, not too long ago." His jaw tensed and his cheek twitched when he finally allowed his gaze to meet hers.

"I'm positive." He paused. "I've never hated you." He paused again. "I could never hate you." He closed his eyes when he paused the last time. "I will always . . . never . . . hate you." He exhaled. She smiled tentatively.

"Just so there are no mixed signals." She snaked her arms around his waist and hugged him. "This is just a hug. It doesn't mean I want to have sex." He chuckled and slipped his arms around her shoulders. She looked up at him. "I am so sorry. I didn't mean to be so cruel."

"Truth is truth. Never be sorry about the truth."

She rested her cheek against his chest, and they stood, holding each other. She listened to his heart beating, strong and steady, and she grasped him tighter. She hadn't felt so safe for a very long time, maybe never.

He exhaled again, relieved beyond measure.

"Wow!" Paul laughed softly to himself and she looked up expectantly. "Except for my sister, I can't remember holding a girl this long without wanting to poke her."

"Poke?" she whispered. It took her a second, but he watched her expression change to cynical incredulity.

"Oh wait." He laughed again. "There it is." He pulled away, resting his hands on her shoulders, his forehead on hers.

"There what is?"

"That pesky desire." His mouth twisted, trying to suppress an accepting grin.

Her mouth gaped open. She pulled away and slugged his arm. "You'll never change."

He laughed and pretended she'd wounded him. He wanted to change, but most likely, she was right.

Chapter 21.

Rhees took the last step onto the porch when she got home that night. Two cases of beer were stacked next to the door and she smiled when she read what was written on them. She showered and went to the kitchen to start dinner, finding herself in a very good mood, but she didn't want to go out.

She put some macaroni on to boil and chopped some onions and green peppers while she waited. When the pasta reached al dente, she drained it and set her one and only steak on to fry, medium rare. This was a special occasion. She added the vegetables, with a little butter, and let the edges brown a bit before setting it aside while she thickened up a cheese sauce-with extra cheese, making it incredibly creamy. She pulled it off the hot plate, pleased with herself for managing it all without an oven or microwave, just as she heard the knock at the door.

She poked her head around the corner to see who it was through the screen door, but didn't seem too surprised. The front door was propped open with a door stop, but the padlock kept the screen door locked.

"Paul," she said casually as she strolled into the living room and leaned with her back against the wall between the two bedroom doors. "Hi."

"Hey," he answered and rested his forehead against the screen mesh. They watched each other for a few seconds. "I came to ask . . . I was wondering if you'd like to join me for dinner."

"Oh?" She tried for aloof. "I decided to eat in tonight. It's almost ready. Maybe you would join me?"

"Umm . . . reconstituted spaghetti and sauce from a can?" He didn't sound too excited.

"There are other types of pasta," she teased. She rolled around so she faced him, her head and shoulder leaned against the wall.

"Okay." He sighed, giving in, as if he'd prefer not to but he'd sacrifice himself. "Sure you have enough?"

She ignored his question as she removed the lock to let him in. She turned to walk back to the kitchen, gesturing for him to follow her, which he did. He looked around the apartment, seemingly agitated or nervous. She understood he wasn't accustomed to not spending the night out.

"Smells good." His eyes brightened as if surprised. He looked around and could see dirty pans and dishes, signs that she'd been busy. He looked at the table and there were already two place settings. "Expecting someone?"

"Uh-hmm." She opened the fridge and took out two bowls filled with salad and fumbled to grab a bottle of salad dressing while her hands were full. He quickly met her at the fridge to take the bowls from her. They set them on the table and smiled awkwardly at each other.

"Sit," she said, and she scurried to the hot plate to pour her sauce over the macaroni.

"I'm afraid the food is ready now-no two-hour wait. I hope that's okay?" She smirked at poking fun at the long dinner wait all the restaurants made their patrons make. She carefully folded the sauce into the pasta. "Oh, where are my manners?" She stopped mixing and went to the fridge. She opened the freezer and pulled out three beers.

"I hope these are cold enough." She sat two in front of him and one at her plate. He grinned-the shy little-boy grin that she loved.

She sliced the steak and slid it off the cutting board with the knife to top the macaroni and carried it to the table. "I'm sorry the presentation couldn't be a little nicer, but our supply of dishes is quite limited. The macaroni and cheese should really have buttered breadcrumbs on top, baked until it's browned, but no oven. I hope it'll taste okay."

He gazed at her with an expression of awe but then leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Her breath caught at his gesture but she shook it off quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed.

"This is amazing." He continued to stare, but besides one of his almost winks, he gave no other sign he had noticed. "I think you're amazing."

"You'd better taste it first. If it's bad, you might lose your appetite, but still have to eat your words."

He scooped a helping onto his plate and took a bite. She noticed not only the satisfied look in his eyes but the admiration, and he dug in.

"How did you know I was coming?" he asked quietly. "I wasn't even sure until just a little while ago."

She grinned. "Well, when I got home, there were two cases of beer on the porch. One had Regina written on the box, and the other one had Paul written all over it."

His brow furrowed and he seemed confused. "No it didn't. It was supposed to say Rhees . . ." He smiled as he realized he'd just been played.

"What would I do with a whole case of beer . . . unless my best friend, who just happens to like that particular brand of beer, planned to spend a little more time here?"

He smiled his shy grin while he thought about it.

"You were sure I'd come tonight-you apparently know me better than I know myself." Paul leaned in again but this time he seemed determined to find answers in her eyes. She stared back, wondering what he was searching for. He blinked a few times and broke eye contact.

"Or I just planned to eat leftovers for a while." She lifted one shoulder, exaggerating an expression of indifference.

"Aww . . ." he whined, expressing his disappointment. She giggled and they ate, enjoying an easy conversation. When they finished, she started clearing the table, putting food away and washing the dishes. He looked lost. He put the salt and pepper shakers near the hot plate, where there were a few other spices.

"I'm sorry I'm not more help. I don't spend much time in the kitchen. I could dry the dishes though. Where's a towel?"

"Um, I prefer to let the dishes air dry. We only have a few dish towels, and my roommates use them for just about everything." Rhees wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I'm the only one who ever thinks to send them to the laundress, but I wouldn't get anywhere near the clean dishes with them. I'm never sure what kind of germs might be lurking on those towels."

"Still with the germs . . ." Paul chuckled. He leaned against the counter and watched her finish up with the last of the dishes.

"Grab another beer," she said as she scrubbed the last pan.

"Um, maybe I'll wait."

She stared at him as if he had just told her he was really a green lizard from another planet, disguised in human form.

"Dessert on the porch?" she asked when she finished. She reached into the freezer again and pulled out two bowls of ice cream. She paused while she stared at the bowls.

"Problem?"

"Ice cream seems like such a cop-out for a home-cooked meal. I can bake. I would have liked to bake you a cheesecake or something, but again, I'd need an oven." She handed the bowls to him and grabbed two more beers from the fridge. She knew it was too out of character for him to refuse to drink in the evening, and she wasn't about to ask him to change because of her . . . even if it would make things easier.

Rhees brought him fresh bottles as fast as he emptied them, but Paul kept his drinking to a minimum by consuming the beer slower than usual. They talked for hours about anything and everything, except the night before. Paul finally sat forward in his chair and stared at her.

"I want to be friends. I mean it this time. Well, actually-so there're no mixed signals here, it doesn't mean I don't want to have sex, but . . . I'd rather be friends than-nothing." He glanced down. It felt so hard to mean it.

"I won't try to talk you into it again-it won't have to be an issue again." He took a deep breath, taking a second to make sure he could say what came next. "I promise. You could beg me to have sex with you, but I'll refuse, I swear. I understand now-I'll try to understand. Rhees, I promise you'll leave this island in the same condition you came."

He thought about the way he felt, thinking of her with Taylor-he knew she hadn't been with him, but still, the thought of it . . . If he couldn't have her, he didn't want anyone to, at least on the island. When she left, made it back home, she'd find someone, but the new pud would marry her. Paul convinced himself that's all it was. "There are no do-overs, but we could make a fresh start."

"I wish I could give more. I just can't. I've thought about it all day but even if I wanted to-you should take the me-begging-you part off the table." She finally giggled, as if throwing in the last sentence to hide her obvious discomfort at what she'd started to say.

"You wish you could give more?" Thoroughly confused, he needed her to explain where she was going with her statement before she'd changed her mind.

"I'm a virgin, not a robot. I start to think about it, but . . ." She shrugged but then glanced down. She fidgeted, played with her hands, her clothes, looked around, but not at him. He half expected her to break out into a sweat any moment.

He ran his hands through his hair before he let out a quiet laugh. "This is so complicated. I keep asking myself, 'Is this how it should have been for me in junior high, but never was?' I've never thought like this before. You've got me thinking about all that."

"Is that a roundabout way of calling me immature?"

His eyes grew wide, and he smiled. "Nooo . . ." He stared at her for a minute and his right eye winked before he laughed. "If one of us is immature, it has to be me, but you, you're just . . . innocent. You know, the way a young girl is innocent."

"How is that different than immature?"

"You brought it to mind-when you said you never watched movies rated over PG-13. It's like you have this body of a . . . beautiful, sexy, twenty-four year old, but your mind is . . ." He was suddenly reticent about saying it. ". . . still thirteen."

Her eyes grew wide, offended, and he jumped to his own defense before she could let him have it. "I don't mean it in a bad way. It's good-it's great actually, very refreshing. You're such a good person."

"I'm not that good a person, not at all," she said solemnly. "I selfishly hurt you with what I said." She looked down.

Paul shrugged. "Umm . . . I deserved it . . ." Then he looked down too, and shrugged again.

Rhees thought about what he'd said, but decided she really was just immature. She'd always been taken care of. Everyone she knew well tended to take a protective, motherly-or fatherly-role with her, and it felt perfectly natural to let them. Her parents shielded her, never pushed her beyond her comfort level. Probably because there were times she remembered as a small child-having episodes, sending them into a panic. She didn't want to think about that anymore. Bottom line, she was a full-grown baby-immature.

"Hey." Paul had sat forward, catching her attention and bringing her back to the present. "I meant it as a compliment. I think it's a compliment. I mean, look at me. Come here." He reached for her hand and pulled her closer so they sat face-to-face. He looked so serious she prepared herself to hear something very important.

"I'd bet money no one's ever called you Miss Meanie-Head, or Grumpy Pants." He managed to keep a straight face until she giggled, but he didn't move away. Their faces were within inches of each other. "Look at me," he repeated.

She did, and she wondered if he knew what he was doing, how well he used his eyes.

"I'm in awe of you. I love your innocence, and I'm sorry I tried to convince you to change for me. Please don't ever change."

She watched as he leaned back and released her from his spell, wondering again if he did it on purpose. She believed he did.

He slapped his thighs with his hands and stood, switching from serious to upbeat. "Now it's late. We were up late last night too. Can I spend the night?"

Her mouth gaped. "But you just said you loved my innocence."

"On the couch!" He realized how it had sounded. He grinned his shy, embarrassed grin. "I'm sure if I go home, Taye's going to have . . ." He glanced sideways at Rhees. "A date waiting for me, and I'm not in the mood. Can I sleep on your couch?"

"The couch stinks. There's an extra bed in my room. I'm sure it would be more comfortable than the couch."

"Oh no!" He didn't hesitate to put the kibosh on that idea. Once again, he was amazed at how nave she was. "The couch will be dangerous enough."

Paul woke up and looked at his watch-three sixteen in the morning. Tracy and Regina had made it home and their squeals about finding him asleep on their couch were impossible to sleep through.

"You do realize what time it is?" he asked, with one eye open.

"Sorry." They slipped into their bedroom.