AMARA WAS AT THE BEACH IN Andrew's secluded waterfront beach house staring at the endless sea of blue. She could see a fracture of white sand, a gash of zephyr-haunted cliffs and a wide slash of the bay. It was a watery wonderland drenched in a lightning-gold, dusk haze.
"How do you like the view?" Andrew asked, approaching.
"It's beautiful. I've never seen anything like this before."
"It's my favourite place in the whole world." He handed her a glass of fizzy champagne. "My boss lets me use it whenever I'm in Khana."
"It's gorgeous."
"Come." He set his hand on the small of her back. "I have a surprise for you."
The steps from the beach led them to the front door of the house. The benign blue of the walls eulogized the soft brown of the wooden doors and the ancient but hale walkway. Wrapping around an exterior column, a staircase ascended from the entry-level to the stepped rooftop. Just off the foyer, a landing extends promontory-like to form a mezzanine seating area.
There was a table specially decorated with tropical floral arrangements and candle lights. Two seats were placed closely together facing the ocean.
"I feel underdressed," she said.
"You're perfect."
Andrew pulled out her chair and she took a seat. She ran her fingers through the white flowers in the vase. "Are these Cattleya orchids."
"My favourite flowers."
A man in uniform, she assumed was the waiter, interrupted them with bottles of wine.
"You decide," Andrew offered.
"I don't know much about wine. I can't tell the difference one from the other."
"I assumed you were a master sommelier since you're a waitress."
"I serve," she stated. "But I drink any kind of wine."
The waiter poured her a glass from a bottle labelled Leoville Barton. She took a sip. On the palate, the wine was plush and full-bodied. It was augmented by sagebrush undertones with gritty tannins, zippy acid, and a persistent finish.
"Thank you."
The waiter returned a brighter smile. "Enjoy!" he said, before leaving.
Andrew raised his glass. "Cheers."
"Cheers." They clinked their glasses together. Amara took another sip of the wine, enjoying the sweet oak spice. "Are all your dates this fancy?"
"No. I don't wine and dine most of the women I get with. I don't need to," he stated confidently.
"Does it come that easily for you?"
"It's not my fault that I am who I am."
Amara kept eye contact as she sipped her wine, "who are you exactly?"
"A good looking, well-off bachelor."
"You're so full of yourself, that's what you are."
The smile that blew across his face was the kind movie stars give on red carpets—that much wattage, that much charm. "Some might interpret it as confidence."
"Or borderline narcissism. Which makes me wonder what you want from me. I don't think I'm the kind of woman you often date."
"What kind of women do you think I date?"
"The kind that cares about this 360-ocean view and a majestic beach sunset. Those who would swoon at your feet for the bare minimum."
"I like you because you don't care to swoon at my feet."
Again, the waiter interrupted as he set their meal on the table. "Seared Scallops infused with flavoured butter and herbs. Cheers."
"Thank you, Justus," Andrew said.
"Bon Appetite," he replied before he scurried off.
Quietly, they enjoyed the delicious meal. The shimmer of the water seemed to be singing and dancing to slow music. It brought tears to Amara's eyes, played with her hair, and kissed her face.
"It was my father's dream to own a place like this," she said pensively.
"Did he?"
"No. But I'm glad he died before he realized it was a pipe dream."
Andrew sliced through his Scallop before taking a bite. "A pipe dream?"
"The myth of the mantra of contemporary capitalism, which has attempted to convince people that with little hard work and determination anyone can achieve higher economic status."
"I don't think it's a myth," Andrew argued. "When my father married my mother, he had nothing to his name. Soon after, he started a timbre business that has been successful to date."
"One of the lucky few." Amara placed her elbows on the table and leaned closer. "The reality is that capitalism is a sham that only increases the wealth of one class."
"You're anti-capitalism?"
"Why wouldn't I be? The affluent have been essentially "eating the poor" since the beginning of civilization, taking the average person for all they have, viewing them as cogs in the societal machine." She shrugged. "Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell."
"You read that in a magazine?"
"Edward Paul Abbey." She smiled. "One of the greatest Essayist of all times."
There was an opera of birdsong coming from the ocean. Amara inhaled deeply, enjoying the earthy cologne of the beach. It chattered in its ancient tongue, the voice of bells and water.
"You're a very smart and passionate woman," Andrew complimented. "I'm interested in picking your brain, but I don't want our first date to be a political debate. Is that okay?"
"Sure. What do you want to talk about?"
"Your mother. Tell me about her."
Once she was done, Amara pushed her plate away. She wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin and continued to drink her wine. "She died three years ago. She held on as much as she could, for me, after my dad passed. When I was old enough to survive on my own, she joined him."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I was lucky to be raised in a very happy household. What about you? What are your parents like?"
"My father is a businessman and my mother is a housewife. They are fairly happy."
She tilted her head to one side while listening. "Fairly happy?"
"I don't think there is any married couple that stays happy through the course of their relationship. They have their ups and downs but as far as I can tell, they are happy."
"That scares me."
"What? Unhappiness?"
"No. Complacency."
The frigid air penetrated Amara's skin, chilling her blood, sinking into the marrow of her bones like wet concrete. She held herself.
"Are you cold?"
"A little."
Andrew rose. "Let's head inside. I hope you have room for dessert."
"Always."
Holding her hand, he helped her from her chair. Amara tried to ignore the tingle that spread from her palm up her arm as if his touch had mainlined into her blood. They headed inside to a glass-wrapped living room which cantilevered over a deck with an infinity-edge pool. The porcelain clock on the wall proclaimed the time as 11:11, but it didn't seem that late.
There were so many anxieties and adrenaline living inside Amara that she couldn't keep herself from fidgeting, shifting her weight from foot to foot, padding a few steps away, then back toward him. But Andrew was fixed and solid. He kept his hands in his pockets, his eyes locked on some spot off in the distance.
"Washroom?"
"It's straight down the hall."
When she retreated to the bathroom, Amara flipped on the lights, cringed, but forced herself to stare at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. Before she could fix her makeup, she spotted the flimsy lace bra haphazardly placed on the bathroom railing. She picked it up. It had a 'La Perla' tag.
"You're so stupid," she whispered to herself, shaking her head. How many times had she been down this road? Yet here she was, swooning over a man she barely knew.
Her look was one of frigid anger as she stormed down the hallway. She flung the bra at him, "really, Andrew? You have a girlfriend?"
For a few seconds, he was surprised then completely composed. "No. She's just a woman I know who comes over from time to time, but it's not a real relationship."
"Whatever it is, I want no part of it," Amara said adamantly. "I have to go."
He followed her as she paced in circles searching for her purse. "Amara, I don't have a girlfriend."
"Maybe you don't see her as a girlfriend, but she does. Why else would she leave that bra other than to mark her territory?"
"It's just a bra. I can get rid of it." He grabbed her when she found her purse and tried to storm off. "Wait. Stop. Please don't walk out."
She stopped.
"I don't have a girlfriend, but I did have a life before you. When we met, you were trying to run from your past, and I don't hold that against you. You're here. We're here." His eyes were wide and blazing queerly. "I know you don't trust easily, but I want you to trust me. Please. I've never met anyone like you, ever. I'm done with her. Easily. Happily. Immediately."
"When Blu first mentioned you to me, she said that you were looking for a good time," Amara said. "I remember it so clearly."
"I was."
"And I somehow changed your mind?"
"Yes."
"That makes no sense. You barely know me."
The rims of his eyes were inflamed. "Can I tell you a secret?"
"Yes."
"Come here."
Curiously, she moved closer. "What?"
"Come here."
She moved closer again. He leaned down, and she brought her head up. Their lips connected. Her body stiffened for a split second, then he nibbled at her bottom lip making her let out a soft moan, which he took as an opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. Andrew's hand crept up her spine, pulling her in. A rush of euphoric bliss enveloped her. They moved in sync, passionately kissing each other.
"Excuse me." The waiter interrupted, clearing his throat, with a tray of cake in his hand. "Dessert?"