She suspected it might have something to do with the dream she’d had—a dream in which Brad had introduced her to his new fiancée, a woman as fair-haired and as blue-eyed as himself, who looked like a poster girl for tanning products. Now that she realized the dream hadn’t been real, she tried to shake off the dismal mood it had left behind. She felt obscurely angry with Brad, mixed with embarrassment at her reaction to his kisses. Her face flamed at the memory of her quickly forgotten intentions. The guy must’ve done more than just surf at the beach. What did it all mean? Did he go around kissing girls who he deemed available? There had been no mention of affection or commitment, just a few stolen moments—which she craved more of if she was truthful. She groaned, fearful that she might be falling hard for a kind, if frivolous, beach bum with too much time on his hands. Delphine splashed cold water on her face from the rusty spigot in the tiny bathroom. That water was like the cold splash of reality, dashing any hopes that she might mean more to Brad than a handy girl to take advantage of.
