Page 71 of That Conflicted Feeling

Pollycups the microphone to her lips and peers at me. “Pleasedon’t tell me you own an island too.”

“No.Butmy cousinWalkerdoes.”

“Theone who’s marrying a hippie?”

“Goodmemory, but no.Thiscousin is more like a brother.Longstory.”

Shereturns to the view of the island. “It’sso green.Apartfrom the swimming pool.Andthe houses.Andthat rocky patch.”

“Yeah, the cliff.There’sa look-out spot on top.”

“DoesWalkerwork at your company too?”

“Nope.HeardofToastedTomatobrew pubs?”

“I’veseen ads for them,” she says, watching the water ripple as we swoop low over it. “Theones with all the celebs.”

“That’shis company.Well, half of it.Hestarted it with his best friend from business school.”

Asthe land comes up to meet us,Pollyflinches and sinks her fingers into my thigh.Beingthe thing she instinctively reaches for when she needs to feel safe produces a surge of satisfaction and pride that swells my chest.

That’sa first.

I’venever wanted to be needed by any woman before.I’vealways powered forward, scattering everyone except family in my wake.Whatthe hell is it aboutPollythat makes me want her to need me?

Yes, she’s beautiful.Yes, she’s funny.Yes, she’s feisty and gives as good as she gets from me.Butthere’s something else.Anindefinable something else.

I’vespent the last ten years breaking everything down into precise, quantifiable items on spreadsheets to make the best business decisionsIcan.Notbeing able to define something frustrates the fuck out of me.

WhendidIchange from wanting her to call off the protests to just wanting her?Andfrom wanting her to wanting her more than just for now, for more than just her body?Wantingto spend the day with her, a dayI’msure she’ll light up with her spirit, determination, and compassion?

Thepilot artfully touches the wheels of the helicopter back down on terra firma.

“Thereyou go,Mr.Dashwood,” he says into our ears. “Callme when you’re ready to return.”

“Thanks,Lewis.Greatflight.”Ireach forward and pat his upper arm. “We’llbe a few hours.Guesthouse number three has been set up for you.Makeyourself at home.”

“Howmany guest houses are there?” asks a surprisedPolly.

“Five.Plusthe main house.Oh, and the housekeeper’s cottage.”

Itake off my headphones, open the door, and jump out.Ican’t hear her reply over the noise, andI’mnot sure if her expression means she thinks that’s amazing or extravagant.

Itake her hand as she climbs down, and we jog out from under the slowing blades.Wecome to a halt before the wet rocks on the shoreline, still hand in hand.

Shepushes her windswept hair off her face and shields her eyes from the sun as she slowly turns her head from left to right, soaking in the blue water that surrounds us.

“Stunning,” she breathes. “Itlooks like there isn’t another living soul for miles.”Shetakes a pair of sunglasses from her purse and puts them on, instantly turning from shop girl to off-dutyHollywoodstarlet. “Andthere was me thinking a ‘date’ would mean lunch at the diner.”

Ihad considered that for a moment, but it likely wouldn’t have blown her away.Andas much asInow have other motives for wanting to spend time with her,Ido still have a job to do—Istill have to convince her to stop this ridiculous anti-YellowBarncampaign.

“Betweenthe shop and your mom, you probably don’t get to leave town much.”Istart to walk away, pulling her arm to full stretch. “So,Idecided you deserved to go somewhere new.”

“Lookat you, being all thoughtful.Maybethere is something soft beating inside that hard, businessy exterior.”Sheallows me to lead her to the shoreline boardwalk. “Whereare we going now?”

“You’llsee.”

Thehelicopter blades fall silent behind us as we make our way along the wooden path that gradually climbs above the water toward the tall cliff at the opposite end of the island.