Николас Спаркс - The Choice

He was, he realized, a little disappointed in himself for choosing the same type of woman over and over. No wonder Allison and Megan liked to give him such a hard time. It must have been like watching the same play with different actors, the outcome always the same. As he lay on the surfboard, watching the swells approach, he realized that the same thing that made women initially attractive to him—their need to be taken care of—was the very thing that eventually signaled the end of the relationship. How did that old saying go? If you’ve been divorced once, you might be right in thinking your ex was the problem. If you’ve been divorced three times? Well, folks, the problem is most definitely you. Granted, he hadn’t been divorced, but the point was well taken.

It amazed him that all this soul-searching seemed prompted by his day with Gabby. Gabby, the woman who’d falsely accused him, consistently avoided him, overtly antagonized him, and then made a point of repeatedly mentioning that she was in love with someone else. Go figure.

Behind him a swell seemed promising, and Travis began to paddle hard, maneuvering himself into the best possible position. Despite the glory of the day and the pleasures of the ocean, he couldn’t escape the truth: What he really wanted to do was to spend as much time as possible with Gabby, for as long as he possibly could.

“Good morning,” Kevin said into the phone, just as Gabby was getting ready to leave. Gabby moved the receiver to her other shoulder.

“Oh, hey,” she answered. “How are you?”

“Good. Listen, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about the call last night. I wanted to call you when I got back to the room to apologize, but by then it was pretty late.”

“It’s okay. You sounded like you were having fun.”

“It was less thrilling than you probably think. The music was so loud that my ears are still ringing. I don’t know why I went with those guys in the first place. I should have known I was in trouble when they started doing shots right after dinner, but someone had to keep an eye on them.”

“And I’m sure you were the model of sobriety.”

“Of course,” he said. “You know I don’t drink much. Which means, of course, that I’ll probably crush them in the golf tournament today. They’ll be too hung over to even hit the ball.”

“Who were they?”

“Just some other brokers from Charlotte and Columbia. By the way they were acting, you’d have thought they hadn’t been out in years.”

“Maybe they haven’t.”

“Yeah, well . . .” She could hear him rustling and assumed he was getting dressed. “How about you? What did you end up doing?”

She hesitated. “Not too much.”

“I wish you could have come down. It would have been a lot more fun if you’d been here.”

“You know I couldn’t get off work.”

“I know. But I wanted to say it anyway. I’ll try to give you a call later, okay?”

“Sure. I might be out and about.”

“Oh, how’s Molly doing?”

“She’s doing well.”

“I think I might want one of those puppies. They were cute.”

“You’re just trying to get on my good side.”

“That’s the only side to be on. Hey, I was thinking, though. Maybe you and I could head down to Miami this fall for a long weekend. One of the guys I was talking to just got back from South Beach, and he said there were a couple of great golf courses nearby.”

She paused. “Have you ever thought about going to Africa?”

“Africa?”

“Yeah. Just taking off for a while, going on safari, seeing Victoria Falls? Or if not Africa, someplace in Europe? Like Greece?”

“Not really. And even if I wanted to, it’s not like I could get the time off. What made you think of that?”

“No reason,” she said.

While Gabby was on the phone, Travis walked up onto Gabby’s porch and knocked. A moment later, she appeared in the doorway, the phone to her ear. Motioning to the phone, she waved him inside. He stepped into the living room, expecting her to make some excuse on the phone, but instead she pointed to the couch and vanished into the kitchen, the swinging doors swaying behind her.

He took a seat and waited. And waited. And waited. He felt ridiculous, as if she were treating him like a child. He could hear her speaking in hushed tones and had no idea whom she was talking to, and he contemplated getting up and walking out the door. Still, he remained on the couch, wondering why she seemed to have such a hold over him.

Finally, with the doors swinging behind her again, she stepped into the living room.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m a little late, but the phone’s been ringing off the hook all morning.”

Travis stood, thinking that Gabby had grown even prettier overnight, which made no sense at all. “No big deal,” he answered.

The call with Kevin left her wondering again what she was doing, and she willed herself to stop thinking about it. “Let me just get my things, and we’ll be good to go.” She took a step toward the door. “Oh, and I want to check on Molly—she was fine this morning, but I want to make sure she has plenty of water.”

A moment later, with her bag flung over her shoulder, they moved into the garage and filled the water bowl to the brim.

“Where are we going, by the way?” she asked on their way back out. “Not to some biker bar out in the sticks, I hope?”

“What’s wrong with biker bars?”

“I wouldn’t fit in. Not enough tattoos.”

“You’re generalizing, don’t you think?”

“Probably. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Just a ride,” he said. “Over the bridge, all the way down Bogue Banks to Emerald Isle, back over the bridge, and then we’ll wind our way back to this place I want to show you.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Is it a fancy place?”

“Hardly.”

“Can we eat there?”

He thought about it. “Sort of.”

“Is it inside or outside?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said. “I don’t want to ruin it for you.”

“It sounds exciting.”

“Don’t build it up too much. It’s just this place I like to go—nothing spectacular.”

By that time, they’d reached the drive. Travis motioned toward the bike. “This is it.”

The chrome on the bike made Gabby squint, and she put on a pair of sunglasses.

“Your pride and joy?”

“Frustration and angst.”

“You’re not going to start whining about how hard it is to get parts again, are you?”

He made a face, then chuckled. “I’ll try to keep it to myself.”

She motioned toward the basket he’d attached to the back of the bike with bungee cords. “What’s for lunch?”

“The usual.”

“Filet mignon, baked Alaska, roast lamb, Dover sole?”

“Not quite.”

“Pop-Tarts?”

He ignored her gibe. “If you’re ready, we can go. I’m pretty sure the helmet will fit you, but if it doesn’t, I’ve got more in the garage.”

She raised a sardonic eyebrow. “What about this special place? Have you taken a lot of different women there?”

“No,” he said. “Actually, you’ll be the first.”

She waited to see if he would add anything else, but for once he seemed serious. She nodded slightly and walked to the motorcycle. She put on her helmet, fastened it beneath her chin, and threw her leg over the back of the seat. “Where do I put my feet?”

Travis unfolded the rear pegs. “There’s one on each side. And try not to touch the exhaust with your leg. It gets very hot and you could get a nasty burn.”

“Good to know. What about my hands?”

“They’ll be around me, of course.”

“Such a ladies’ man,” she said. “Why, if you were any smoother, I probably wouldn’t even be able to hold on, would I?”