“All right, all right. Just trying to make some money here.”
Philip holds his hands up laughing, and he and Liam walk off towards the buil ding.
I pull my phone out of my pocket as I watch Scarlette park her car. I type my message to her:
Spend the day wit h me?
I send it and lean back against the enormous G55 with the bottom of one foot pressed on the bumper. I don’t take my eyes off Scarlette as I watch her walk across the parking lot, searching through her bag as the notification comes through on her phone.
She pulls out her phone and stops to read my message just as she’s about to open the doors to the building. I see a smile form on her face.
Scarlette scans the lot. It takes her a minute as she doesn’t recognize the Mercedes. Finally, our eyes meet. She stares at me, shaking her head. It seems like she’s thinking about it for a few seconds. Then she turns around and starts to walk back towards where she parked her Rio. She opens the driver -s ide door and throws her bag on the seat.
With my eyes watching her every move, I stand in the same position, leaning up against my father’s G55. My heart starts to accelerate as she locks her car and walks over to me. With her index finger, she brushes a strand of hair away from her face and wraps it behind her ear. She’s so beautiful that, for a moment, I’m frozen. Then I step back and pull the passenger door open for her, keeping my eyes on her face.
“Has anyone ever told you how brave you are?” she asks.
As I watch her get into the Benz, I can’t help but smile at her ques tion.
“Only you have pointed that out to me,” I respond, shutting the door and walking around to the driver’s side.
At the edge of the parking lot, Liam stands with his hand open while Philip places a crisp bill in his palm. I shake my head at them and laugh to myself. It’s going to be a good day.
As UBC gets smaller in my rear -v iew mirror, I can’t help but keep looking over at Scarlette, sitting right beside me. She has her eyes focused straight ahead, the length of her rich brown hair is cascading down each side of her shoulders, and her cheeks have that rosy blush to them. It’s the most beautiful colour on her skin. While she keeps her eyes on the road, I notice that each time she blinks her lashes flicker like the wings of a butterfly, fragile and gentle, just like Scarl ette.
“Where are we going this time, Elvis?” Scarlette’s voice interrupts my thou ghts.
“Somewhere you can enjoy the most exhilarating views,” I answer with a side smirk. She turns her gaze back to the road, smiling so ftly.
The four hours we spend driving up into the mountains seem to take no time at all. I enjoy watching her admire the scenery of the winding roads that lead us to Whis tler.
As we arrive at the Fairmont Chateau, just shortly past noon, Scarlette’s eyes light up with excitement. I stare at her in admiration for a few sec onds.
“This is breathtaking,” she shares excit edly.
I park the G55 in front of the resort and make my way around to the passenger’s side to open Scarlette’s door, reaching my hand out to her. She places hers onto mine without taking her eyes off of the view.
“Wow,” she exclaims under her br eath.
The chateau sits in the upper part of the village, hugged by the highest peaks and surrounded by greenery. We step through the doors to give Scarlette a peek inside, and it feels like we’re in a castle complete with high ceilings, stone pillars along the main lobby and large, ornate chandel iers.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“Sure,” Scarlette responds, while she continues to look around, admiring the buil ding.
I reach out to hold her hand and find Scarlette’s is already meeting mine halfway. Our fingers intertwine, and we walk out with our arms barely an inch apart. Then, I feel Scarlette release her grip. She reaches into her purse and pulls out her buzzing p hone.
“Hi, Dad,” she answers. “Yes, everything is fine,” she says. “Oh, she is there looking for me? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I’m good, Dad. I’m perfectly safe. Tell Paige I will call her later. Bye, Dad. I love you too.”
Scarlette ends the call and quickly throws her phone back in her purse, smiling sweetly at me. “Let’s go, I’m starving!” she says.
We start our walk down the village towards a little restaurant. I can feel her excitement, and it makes me happy to see a smile on her beautiful face. As soon as we arrive, a dark -h aired hostess greets us with a friendly smile. “Welcome to Portobello. My name is Leslie. A table for two?”
“Yes, please,” I respond, and she directs us to a table next to the window where we can enjoy the view of the village. Outside, rain clouds are starting to form. We glance at our menus and both order the smoked beef brisket on fi lone.
I catch myself staring at Scarlette. Her beauty is captivating.
With her sitting across from me in her fitted, ripped jeans, her
brown hair striking against a long -s leeved pink shirt, without realizing my eyes lock on her every time, she’s flaw less.
It reminds me of the first time I saw her in class, and the way I couldn’t stop staring at her from the moment she walked through the door. I must have seemed crazy. Maybe that’s what put her off at first? Although now she seems to blush every time she catches my gaze. But I still want to know why she was so uninterested at the beginning—she wouldn’t even take the seat that was available right beside me. Did Scarlette seriously not like me then? I come out of my recollection of that day and run my hands nervously through my hair, leaning over the table slightly to ask Scarlette what I’ve wanted to know since our first class toge ther.
“Are you all right, Elvis?” she asks, noticing my expres sion.
“Why didn’t you sit beside me the first time we had class together? There was a chair next to me, but instead you walked around to the other side of the classroom to take a seat far from me. Did you really not like me when you first saw me?” I blurt it all out.
“I hope I didn’t scare you when I noticed you walk in,” I said.
“It’s just, well, you instantly caught my atten tion.”
Scarlette seems frazzled by my curiosity. “It wasn’t you, Elvis.”
she said. “I didn’t like the colour shirt you were wea ring.”
She laughs, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Scarlette seems anx ious.
What does the colour of someone’s shirt have to do with anything?
I wonder, confused. I tilt my head to the side. “Is that a joke?
What colour shirt was I wearing?” I ask, in attempt to make sense of what she is sa ying.
“Forget I even said that, Elvis.” Scarlette shakes her head. “It was the way you looked at me. It took me by surp rise.”
“Ho w so?”
“There was something in your stare. I felt butterflies instantly.
But I didn’t know what to do in that moment, so I took the safest way.”
“By staying away?”
Scarlette stares down at her hands, folded together on the table.
I wonder if she’s hoping to dismiss my ques tion.
“At first, yes,” she resp onds.
“Well, I’m happy that you’ve changed your mind since then.”
I see her shift a little in her chair as she looks back up at me.