Delayed, Nathan Kingsly [read aloud txt] 📗

pool, and that's when I notice the eyes of the other swimmers. Most of them on her as she resurfaces again, and I know why. She’s beautiful, the kind of beauty that’s not exclusive to her appearance. She’s like sunshine on a cloudy day, and the men watching her know it too.

Making it to the pool, I sit on the edge and lower myself in. I don’t go after her, my back on the wall, not willing to leave the protection of it, but I don’t allow her to get out of sight. She stops a few times and locks eyes with me, coaxing me to follow, but I can’t. Instead, I do my best to reassure her with a smile and let her have her fun. Only another forty-two minutes to go.

“You’re watching her like you’re afraid she’ll disappear.” I jerk from the voice.

The older lady that’s becoming all too familiar looks at me with wide eyes. “Oh, sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you.” She pats me on the arm.

Taking a deep breath, I will my heart to slow and shake my head. “It’s fine. I just didn’t see you there.”

“It’s no wonder. You're looking at your wife like you never want to be apart, even if it's across the room. I remember when my husband looked at me like that. Sometimes I swear he still does.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to her.” My eyes flick over at Emma. Her face beaming as she starts to swim towards us.

“She’s lucky to have you.”

“You think?” When I search for Emma again, I notice she stopped on her way over. Her smile is gone, and she keeps glancing my way. I notice the hand on her arm, and I can’t see anything else.

The lady says something, but I can’t hear her as I leave the edge. I eat up the distance like a shark honing in on its prey. My fists ball as I tower over them. Emma spots me and her eyes widen.

“Yeah, the partying has gone non-stop. You sure I can’t …” The guy with his New York lilt yammers on, seemingly oblivious to me behind him.

“Get your hands off her.” My tone low with threat.

The guy jumps and twists. When he sees me, his hand drops from Emma but comes up in surrender. “Whoa! Sorry man, didn’t know she was yours.”

“Mine?” I raise an eyebrow. “She’s not a possession. Next time you touch a woman, you better make sure she wants it.”

“Hey, that’s not what this is.” His hands cross over his chest. Little man, you are out of your league. You wouldn’t last a second if you thought to take a swing.

“No? From where I was standing, she was uncomfortable, and you must have some serious deficiencies if you couldn’t figure it out on your own being so close.”

“No need to get on my ass, man. If you’re some concerned citizen, you can go. I wasn’t hurting you, was I, sweetheart?” He looks at Emma, but I don’t give her a chance to answer.

“She’s my wife,” I growl it, and the guy focuses on me again.

He must see something in my face because he backs away without another word. I only tear my eyes away from his retreat when he gets out of the pool. That’s when I look down and see the goofiest smile on Emma’s face, and before I know it, my anger is seeping from me, and I’m smiling back. This woman, she’s something else.

“Wow. I didn’t see that whole macho act coming. After that, I’ll be surprised if the pool is sanitary.”

“Shut-up.” I chuckle as I sink into the pool and grab her waist. She comes willingly into my arms with a laugh and wraps her legs around me. In that instance I forget we're surrounded by people and perfect targets.

She takes my face in her hands and gives me a quick kiss on the lips. “Thanks,” she says before her hands drop back to my shoulders. “Food?”

“Yes,” I say. Now that everything is coming back into focus, I need to leave. Keeping her in my embrace, I walk towards the stairs and don’t let go, even with her giggles and whispers about people watching. As if I could ignore it. Only when we get back to the corner, and the towels, do I let her slide down my body.

Since Subway closed after the first night, the next morning it was apparent the hotel didn’t have the staff on site to continue providing us meals. So, Emma suggested along with the hotel staff, a few volunteering guests help prepare each meal on a rotating shift. It took some convincing the manager, but he didn’t have much of a choice.

Emma and I discovered after she volunteered us as temp cooks the first night that we move seamlessly in the kitchen, and it is no different this time. She grabs the bread and sets them on the plates as I get the meat, cheese, lettuce, and condiments. Hip checking the refrigerator door, I set them between us. She put the mayo on mine and the mustard on hers before I even slap the meat and cheese on. It is always her that finishes with lettuce and closes with the other slice of bread. With a knife, I slice mine into halves and hers into triangles.

Then, we start preparing sandwiches for the others. Emma labels the type on a ripped piece of paper in front of each towering plate. People are already trickling in to grab what they like from the plates.

The process of making sandwiches might seem insignificant to someone watching, but sharing space and function with me means more than what meets the eye. I haven’t found anything close to this in my life, and I don't know how I am going to give it up.  After her brother's wedding, and then after I go home. Home. ---

“Shit.” I breathe.

“What?” Emma asks as we walk back to our room.

“My phone died sometime after