12 Hours In Paradise by Kathryn Berla Read Free Book Online

you think,” he said. “Holding a drink in your hand and floating in an infinity pool is not a guarantee of happiness.”
    “I know that.” I sat down on one of the lounge chairs that would be denied to me, a non-guest, during the daytime. “It just looks like fun.”
    “In fact, they might be quite unhappy. Maybe their drinking is a way of escaping from their troubles. The man you saw floating here the other day could be in the middle of financial collapse. He’s just been fired from his job after thirty years, and he brought his wife here for one last fling before he tells her the truth. The woman…”
    “Arash?”
    “Yes?”
    “Why do guys do that?”
    “ That being?”
    “I don’t know. Girls like to just talk sometime. If we say something, it doesn’t mean we’re necessarily unhappy about it. Sometimes it means we’re just making an observation. But then guys think they have to fix everything. My father’s like that too. You don’t have to fix everything. Not everything’s fixable, and not everything requires fixing. I was just saying, I walk by and think the pool looks like fun. I still love my life. I still feel happy to be in Hawaii.”
    Arash sighed deeply and brought his lips together in a neutral kind of smile.
    “I apologize for being a guy,” he said. “And I think there’s something to what you just said.” He sat on the lounge chair beside me. “I was willing to have every last person in the swimming pool suffer just so you would be happy by comparison.”
    It was funny, really. Funny but true. Fortunately, we both saw the silly side of it, so we laughed.
    “Dorothy?” Arash took my hand and held it gently between his. He tilted his head to one side and peered into my eyes like he was going to say something really significant.
    “Yes?”
    I loved physical contact with Arash. He didn’t abuse it the way some guys do. Guys who can’t keep their hands off you, pulling you closer than you’re ready to be. And he didn’t underuse it like the guys who seem scared to touch you on the first date. As if you were a sand sculpture that the slightest breeze would reduce to rubble. With Arash, touching was perfection.
    Just enough to remind me of our connection.
    Just enough to electrify my nerve endings.
    And then when he let go, he left me wanting more.
    “May I make a confession?”
    “Of course.”
    I knew silly was coming. I knew Arash well enough even by then. A declaration of love would have been nice, but that only happened in fairy tales and movies. We weren’t even on question number nine yet.
    “I have an earworm.”
    In a way, his humor had become my lifeline. My way to cope with the strong attachment to him I was already beginning to feel. My way to not be serious and think I loved him before I really loved him.
    “I’m sorry to hear that. What’s an earworm?”
    “A song that stays with you for many hours, days even—and drives you mad.”
    “In a good way or a bad way?”
    “Madness can be delightful when it comes to music or beautiful girls who steal your heart. But in this case, it’s a bad thing. Yes. A definite bad thing.”
    “What’s the difference? Why in this case is it bad and another case it’s delightful?”
    “I’d have to say it’s the quality of the song. One generally doesn’t hear quality songs in an elevator.”
    “I actually do know what an earworm is. I get those too sometimes. So annoying.”
    “Can I tell you the name of the culprit song?”
    “No way. Then it’ll get stuck in my head.”
    “Please.” He drew out the word and lowered his thick lashes over puppy-dog eyes. “I’ll sing it for you. You said you liked my singing.”
    “Arash. No.”
    “Whistle it?”
    “No.”
    “Tap out the rhythm on your back?” He looked so cute. Like a little boy begging for a cookie.
    “Okay, you can tap out the rhythm on my back, but I don’t understand why it’s so important for you to share this earworm song with me.”
    “I was