Dara Girard - Touch of Paradise

“They are really not that difficult to make. It just takes some patience. Want me to show you?”

“Yes.”

All through the night Aaron eagerly showed Rebecca his collection of art materials and selection of intricate hand tools he used, and walked her through the basic steps to making a diorama. Then they spent the rest of the time sharing their hopes and dreams.

He told her about his vision to expand his family’s hotel into an international holiday resort; she told him how she hoped to travel the world and become a famous designer one day. She made him laugh with her imitations of her various college roommates and professors, and her grandmother.

“I know your mother died in a hospital, but what about your father?” Aaron finally asked. “You only talk about your grandmother.”

“He’s gone, too. He died when I was three. But don’t feel sorry for me. My grandmother and sister love me enough for both my parents.”

Aaron pressed the back of his hand against her forehead. “How do you feel?”

At that moment she felt hot, but not from illness. She adjusted her position and moved out of his reach. “Good. I was sleepy before, but now I’m having so much fun, I’m not even thinking about what happened.”

He looked at the small scene she was completing, which consisted of a palm tree and what looked like a baby seal, sunning on a beach.

“It’s not very good,” she said. “But at least I’ve enjoyed making it.”

“You’re doing a great job, and it’s almost morning so I think you’ll be safe.”

“You want me to go now?”

“No, not yet,” he said with a smile. “I just didn’t want you to be worried about having to stay here too much longer.”

“Why not? I like it here. You’re fun.”

He laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“No one has ever said that to me, either. You really are a strange one.”

“How can that be strange? You are fun.”

He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “Thanks, I really needed to hear that. You’re sweet.” He stood. “Let me go get us something to eat.”

When Aaron returned carrying a large tray filled with bowls of fruit, hot cereal and toast, she could hardly eat. She couldn’t focus. He’d kissed her. Sure, it was on the forehead and like a kiss a big brother would give a little sister, but that didn’t matter. He’d kissed her.

He’d not only saved her life and listened to her stories, he made her feel special. No one had ever made her feel that way before.

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