Page 18

The comment almost stunned me into silence. “Me?” I said with a squeak. I forced a laugh. “I was a very awkward, somewhat nerdy teenager.”
“Who grew into a swan.” He really was flirting. If I had any doubts before, they were gone. He was smiling and friendly and had a sparkle in his eye, as if he was both having funandenjoying my company. My heart pounded and I feared I was blushing as I picked up the fresh drink.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m going to check out the beach.”
“If I can do anything for you, let me know,” he said. “I mean it, Mia.”
Come to my room tonight for no-strings sex...
But I didn’t say it. He watched me leave, and I didn’t look back.
Men like Jason Mallory who were born attractive and outgoing probably had the time of their lives in high school. He wasn’t built like a football player—maybe baseball. Soccer with those lean muscles. Or maybe the class clown. Someone that everyone liked because he made them laugh. I liked him. A lot.
Not your type, Mia, I told myself.
Who cares?I heard Jane and Amanda echo in my head.
It’s not like I had great success with the men Ithoughtwere my type.
The beach looked inviting, and I needed time alone to decompress. I passed several guests lounging in cabanas or soaking in the sun by the pool. Many were reading books, including an older woman lying on her stomach reading an erotic romance, one I’d heard a lot about but had never read. Maybe she’d leave it on the free table when she was done.
Another woman was reading in a partly shaded cabana while her significant other appeared to be sleeping. I tilted my head ninety degrees to see the cover—a domestic suspense I’d read when it first came out last year. A terrific book by one of my favorite auto-buy authors. An older man in another cabana was reading on a tablet. I hated when I couldn’t see the cover.
An empty lounge chair with a large adjustable umbrella beckoned me. The only thing between me and the ocean was white sand. No people, no headaches, no annoyingly sexy, hang gliding bartenders.
Brie the grumpy teen was sitting two chairs over, reading on her phone, which always gave me a headache. Give me a solid book over technology. She wore a black bikini on her tall, lanky body, her shorts and hoodie dumped in the sand.
I sipped the piña colada and put it down on the table before adjusting the huge umbrella to provide just the right amountof sun. I lathered on sunscreen—the last thing I wanted was to nurse a sunburn all week—then leaned back on the wide chair, tattered romantic thriller in hand. I wassolooking forward to getting lost in a great story about love the second time around against a backdrop of hidden treasure, pirates, and race-against-time suspense.
When I opened the cover, grains of sand fell out. I frowned and wiped them off my chest. The previous owner had really abused this book. I flipped through the front matter and found the opening chapter.
Three pages in, I gasped.
Someone had written in the margins of the book.
Onlymonsterswrote in books! (The same kind of monsters who left books in the sand.)
In college, I was loath to write in books even if the professor said to do so. Sticky notes became my favorite tool. Why mar a perfectly good book with ink or even pencil?
Someone—a woman, judging by the neat, flowery handwriting—had written next to the paragraph that described the lost treasure:
A treasure hunt! Sounds like fun, haha.
It was a free book; I shouldn’t get so upset about the violence done to it. And I happened to agree with her sentiment here: a treasure hunt would be fun. Who didn’t love stories likeUnchartedandOuter Bankswhere the journey was just as exciting as the discovery of something special? I felt an odd kinship with my fellow book lover and vaguely wondered if she was still here on the island, if I could track her down to have a drink or three and see if we had anything else in common.
I jumped back into the story, ignoring the bold penmanship.
The author did a great job integrating the history of the fictional Santa Regina into the first chapter, describing the lost treasure, and introducing the main characters who had oncebeen lovers until Juan disappeared with a treasure he and Gabrielle had found together.
Jerk.He probably had a good reason, but what it was, I could only guess. Gabrielle certainly didn’t believe anything he said. Smart woman.
After reading a particularly biting comeback from the heroine, I smiled. Gabrielle was more confident, more sarcastic, and bolder than I’d ever be. There were so many times my manners prevented a witty response. Or I’d think of something perfect to say... ten minutes too late. If I were the author of my life, I could go back and edit all those conversations where I’d bitten my tongue, misspoke, didn’t say what I should have.
I’d love, for example, to have stood up to Amber Jones when she blocked me on the boat. Or told Andrew’s girlfriend not to be rude to staff.
On the next page, another passage was underlined.
Gabrielle tied back her thick red hair to keep it out of her face while she cleaned the deck. Why pay deckhands when they did such an awful job?