Asher’s mouth was starting to hurt from blowing up the rafts. It didn’t help his discomfort any that he sat at the edge of the lake alone doing his task.
She’s not coming.
He took one last inhale and puffed the last bit of air into the raft before he capped it. He felt dizzy from the effort. And for what? he wondered impatiently. It had to be going on two o’clock, and there was no sign of Laila. Yes, he’d told her last night that he’d continue to wait there every afternoon until she came, but it was hard to tamp down his sharp disappointment at not seeing her.
He was in the process of getting his phone out of his backpack to check the time when he suddenly froze. He listened extra hard but couldn’t identify what had caught his attention. The forest surrounding the calm lake was almost preternaturally quiet.
He glanced to his left. His hands dropped to his sides as he watched her walk onto the beach, her face alight with the afternoon sun and something else . . .
Anxiety? Restrained excitement?
Her thick hair was pulled into a high ponytail. The hairstyle emphasized the pretty tilt of her large green eyes. She wore a plain white T-shirt that showed off her smooth skin and golden-brown tan and a pair of snug jean shorts that distracted him hugely. Her legs were long and toned.
He unglued his stare from them as she approached him, a shy smile on her lips. Her eyes seemed alight with warmth.
“I’m sorry I’m late. My mother and aunts needed help with dinner. My oldest cousin decided to come unexpectedly from the city for the night. It’s like preparing for the prince’s arrival whenever he comes,” she said, rolling her eyes.
He held out his hand to relieve her of the load she carried over one shoulder. She’d brought a backpack too. “How many people from your family vacation here in Crescent Bay?”
“My mom and dad. My dad’s brother and his wife—they’re my cousin Zara’s parents—and Zara’s younger sister and brother, Sophia and Noor. Zara has an older brother who is a captain in the Navy, Driss. But he’s stationed in San Diego, so he doesn’t come anymore. Then there’s my mom’s sister and her husband—Tahi’s parents. Tahi has a little brother, Jamal, and an older brother, Zarif. He’s the one I was just talking about. Zarif is doing a surgical residency at Henry Ford Hospital, plus he’s engaged, so we hardly ever get to see him. So when he does come around, we have to roll out the red carpet.” She paused and they shared a smile. “He’s actually pretty cool. I’m just kidding about the prince thing. Then there’s my Mamma Sophia. She’s my mom’s and aunt Nora’s mother. She lives with us.”
“That’s quite a list.”
She laughed. “I know, it’s crazy.”
“Tahi told me last night that your last name was Barek.”
She nodded. He’d never known anyone’s eyes could shine like hers did. “It’s a Moroccan name,” she murmured.
“But you were born in the States?”
“Yeah. Actually, my mom was too. But my grandma and grandpa had just recently immigrated to New York when she was born. My dad was born near Tangier, but he came to the States with his parents when he was seven.”
“Have you ever been? To Morocco?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. Zara and her family have gone a couple times. My dad is really busy with his shop, and my mom and I look out for Mamma Sophia, so we haven’t had a chance yet. I still have a lot of family there. I’d like to go.”
“I’d like to go too.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“Why do you look so surprised?”
She shrugged and gave him a dubious glance. “I dated a guy in high school who thought Fez was just a hat. Morocco isn’t a destination at the top of most Americans’ list, that’s all.”
“Yeah. I love traveling, seeing other cultures firsthand. The closest I’ve ever gotten to Morocco is Cairo, but I’ll get there someday. One of my majors was international relations.”
“So that’s why you got a job being an international reporter?”
“Yeah. I’d like to be a foreign correspondent. Do you speak Darija? What?” he asked, noticing her surprised glance.
“Not many white guys know the name of the dialect of Morocco.” He shrugged, and she laughed softly. “If you’re trying to impress me, you’re succeeding.”
“I had a few classes in Arabic in college. And if you’re impressed, then my work here is done.”
Color stained her cheeks, making her even more beautiful, if that was possible. She laughed to hide her embarrassment at his comment, but he thought she looked pleased, as well. “Yeah, I speak Darija. But mostly only with my family, and that’s really a kind of Arabish, a mixture of Darija and English. What about your family?”
“What languages do they speak?”