Nicholas Sparks - Message in a Bottle

After closing the sliding glass door, Garrett saw what she had done. It was dark in the kitchen except for the small flames pointing upward, and the glow made Theresa look beautiful. Her dark hair looked mysterious in the candlelight, and her eyes seemed to capture the moving flames. Unable to speak for a long moment, all Garrett could do was stare at her, and it was in that moment that he knew exactly what he’d been trying to deny to himself all along.

“I thought these would be a nice touch,” she said quietly.

“I think you’re right.”

They continued to watch each other from across the room, both frozen for a moment by the shadow of distant possibilities. Then Theresa glanced away.

“I couldn’t find a wine opener,” she said, grasping for something to say.

“I’ll get it,” he said quickly. “I don’t use it very often, so it’s probably buried in one of the drawers.”

He carried the plate of steaks to the table, then went to the drawer. after sorting through the utensils toward the back, he found the opener and brought it to the table. In a couple of easy moves, he opened the bottle and poured just the right amount into each glass. Then, sitting down, he used the tongs to put the steaks on each of their plates.

“It’s the moment of truth,” she said right before taking her first bite. Garrett smiled as he watched her try it. Theresa was pleasantly surprised to find out that he had been right all along.

“Garrett, this is delicious,” she said earnestly.

“Thank you.”

The candles burned lower as the evening wore on, and Garrett twice told her how glad he was that she had come this evening. Both times Theresa felt something tingle in the back of her neck and had to take another sip of wine just to make the feeling go away.

Outside, the ocean slowly rose toward high tide, driven by a crescent moon that had seemingly come from nowhere.

* * *

After dinner, Garrett suggested another walk along the beach. “It’s really beautiful at night,” he said. When she agreed, he picked up the plates and silverware from the table and put them in the sink.

They left the kitchen and walked outside, Garrett closing the door behind him. The night was mild. They stepped off the deck, making their way over a small sand dune and onto the beach itself.

When they reached the water’s edge, they repeated their actions of earlier that day, slipping off their shoes and leaving them on the beach, since no one else was around. They walked slowly, close to each other. Surprising her, Garrett reached for her hand. feeling his warmth, theresa wondered for just a moment what it would be like to have him touch her body, lingering over her skin. The thought made something inside her tighten, and when she glanced over at him, she wondered if he knew what she’d been thinking.

They continued strolling, both of them taking in the evening. “I haven’t had a night like this in a long time,” Garrett said finally, his voice sounding almost like a remembrance.

“Neither have I,” she said.

The sand was cool beneath their feet. “Garrett, do you remember when you first asked me to go sailing?” Theresa asked.

“Yes.”

“Why did you ask me to go with you?”

He looked at her curiously. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you looked almost like you regretted it the moment you said it.”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure that regret is the word I’d use. I think I was surprised that I asked, but I didn’t regret it.”

She smiled. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. You have to remember that I haven’t asked anyone out in over three years. When you said that you had never gone sailing before—I think it just sort of hit me that I was tired of always being alone.”

“You mean I was in the right place at the right time?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I wanted to take you out with me—I don’t think I would have offered if it had been someone else. Besides, this whole thing has turned out much better than I thought it would. These last couple of days have been the best days I’ve had in a long time.”

She felt warm inside at what he’d said. As they walked, she felt him slowly moving his thumb, tracing small circles on her skin. He went on.

“Did you think your vacation would be anything like this?”

She hesitated, deciding it wasn’t the right time to tell him the truth.

“No.”

They walked together quietly. There were a few others on the beach, though they were far enough away that Theresa couldn’t make out anything but shadows.

“Do you think you’ll ever come back here again? I mean for another vacation?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Because I was kind of hoping you would.”

In the distance, she could see lights along a faraway pier. Again she felt his hand moving against hers.

“Would you make dinner for me again if I did?”

“I’d cook you anything you want. As long as it’s a steak.”

She laughed under her breath. “Then I’ll consider it. I promise.”

“How about if I threw in a few scuba lessons as well?”

“I think Kevin would enjoy that more than me.”

“Then bring him along.”

She glanced over at him. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all. I’d love to meet him.”

“I bet you’d like him.”

“I know I would.”

They walked along in silence, until Theresa blurted out, “Garrett—can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“I know this is going to sound strange, but . . .”

she paused for a moment, and he looked at her quizzically. “What?”

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

He laughed aloud. “Where did that come from?”

“I just want to know. I always ask people that question. It lets me know what people are really all about.”

“The worst thing?”

“The absolute worst.”

He thought for a moment. “I guess I would say that the worst thing I’ve ever done is when a bunch of my friends and I went out one night in December—we were drinking and raising hell when we ended up driving by a street that was totally decorated in Christmas lights. Well, we parked and right there and then proceeded to unscrew and steal every light bulb we could.”

“You didn’t!”

“We did. There were five of us, and we filled the back of the truck with stolen Christmas lights. And we left the strands—that was the worst part. It looked like the Grinch had come wandering down the street. We were out there for almost two hours, laughing uproariously about what we were doing. The street had been featured in the newspaper as one of the most decorated streets in the city, and when we were done . . . I can’t imagine what those people thought. They must have been furious.”

“That’s terrible!”

He laughed again. “I know. Thinking back, I know it was terrible. But at the time, it was hilarious.”

“And here I was, thinking you’re such a nice guy. . . .”

“I am a nice guy.”

“you were the Grinch.” She pressed on, curious. “So what else did you and your friends do?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah, I do.”

He began to regale her then with tales of other teenage misadventures—from soaping car windows to tepeeing the houses of former girlfriends. Once, he claimed, he saw one of his friends driving alongside him while he was on a date. After his friend motioned for him to roll down the window, he did—and his friend promptly launched a bottle rocket into his car that exploded at his feet.

Twenty minutes later he was still telling stories, much to her amusement. When he finally finished, he asked her the same question that had originally started the conversation.