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Jason looked sheepish, but he fought a smile. “I’m sorry. I thought you heard me walk up.”
My adrenaline hit the roof. “Damn you!” I said, barely getting the words out because I hadn’t quite caught my breath.
Now he laughed, reached down, and pulled me up.
He didn’t let go of my hands. “Iamsorry,” he said softly. “You looked so beautiful sitting here under the moonlight, it took my breath away.”
“Apology accepted,” I said, my heart still racing, though no longer from being startled.
He reached into the picnic basket at his feet and brought out a cupcake. “Happy birthday.”
I stared at it, blinking back tears. The last thing I expected was a birthday celebration. He pulled a small candle from his pocket, pushed it into the cupcake, then lit it.
“It’s five after midnight. Make a wish,” he said.
I didn’t know what to wish for. I had just let my dream go in the ocean, but maybe... I could wish to forget about the outside world for the rest of the week. Maybe I could forget about Diana Harden and the people who might have killed her, forget about the drama with Sherry Morrison, forget about what was going on with all these people I would never see again. Iwanted to just let myself go and have fun until I landed back in reality next Tuesday.
I blew out the candle.
He kissed me.
A light, promising kiss. And then another. I smiled when he stepped back, and I wasn’t blushing. I knew what I wanted.
Jason spread a blanket on the sand, then unpacked the basket. He patted a spot for me to sit.
“Eat,” he said, and motioned to my cupcake. He brought out a second cupcake and took a big bite.
You’d think after all the food I’d consumed at the luau that I wouldn’t have room for a cupcake, but I did. It was a rich chocolate with a hint of rum and cherry.
“This is amazing,” I said with my mouth full.
“I bribed the baker.”
Somehow, that made me happy. That Jason, the bartender, would bribe a coworker to bake me a birthday cupcake.
“There’s ten more in my apartment,” he said. “They’re yours for the taking.”
My stomach danced with butterflies. I knew exactly what he meant. At least, IhopedI knew what he meant.
He poured two glasses of champagne and then clinked his glass to mine. “Happy birthday, Mia Crawford.”
I sipped, warm and giddy and excited.
“So, what were you thinking about under the moonlight with such a wistful expression on your face?”
“It’s not important.”
“You looked sad. No one should be sad on St. Claire.”
“I was offered a partnership. I’m a financial planner, you know, and it’s a great opportunity.”
“And that makes you sad? Because your company recognized your talent and wants to reward you?”
“No. Of course not. It’s what I’ve wanted since I started. I like the partners, the other people who work there. It’s a great business. I’m good at it. Really good.”
“But?” he prompted.
I stared out at the water and thought of the shell I’d tossed back, a farewell to my dreams.