Page 21

Twelve

J ulia inspected her ass in the bathroom mirror back at their hotel room. Mom apparently thought a satin spaghetti-strap dress with a plunging neckline and a thigh-high split was appropriate for a daytime beach wedding.

Groan.

“Everything okay in there?” Carson called.

Goddamn these thin walls.

“My mother is ridiculous.” She marched into the room. “Does she actually expect…”

Julia swallowed. Carson wore a collared blue polo shirt that hugged his biceps, trim gray shorts, and slip-on canvas shoes. Simple, but sexy.

He sat up on his bed. “Whoa, I’m underdressed.”

“No, you’re fine. This is the bridesmaid’s dress. I’m glad I tried it on because there’s no way I’m wearing this outside. Satin shows moisture easily, and there’s no wearing a bra with this thing.” She pressed her fingers to the center of her forehead. “Sorry. That was an overshare.”

“Don’t be. You look amazing, and I like your hair down. You normally wear it up.”

Because ponytails were easy and stayed out of her face if she crawled under a desk or hustled across a hotel conference center. Neither were likely tonight, so she’d left it loose and wavy against her back.

She was surprised he’d noticed.

“Give me a second and I’ll change into a more appropriate dress.”

One that wouldn’t cause her to accidentally flash half of Azul Caye.

Julia nipped across the room to the partially open closet.

Hmm. She and Carson were closet compatible.

They’d both hung their clothes in the same rough order—shirts, pants, jacket for him, dresses for her.

Their palette was coincidentally coordinated, too.

Refreshing that he liked bright colors and wasn’t afraid to wear pink.

She selected her floral midi dress.

“Back in a second,” she said, then closed the bathroom door.

She whipped off the bridesmaid debacle, then slipped into the midi. She glanced at her bra hanging from the door’s hook. At her size, bras were more decorative than supportive. Not like anyone saw them anyway.

Eh, she’d live on the wild side and skip it tonight.

“I am gorgeous and sexy,” she whispered to her reflection. “I become more attractive every single day.”

Deep breath. She was having dinner with Carson Miller.

This would be fine. She opened the door.

“That one’s great, too.” He grinned, then tucked his phone into his pocket. “I bought tickets for the third-stage show on the beach for local bands. It goes until midnight. Want to get dinner first?”

“Or we can do both and make it a picnic?”

“Love that idea. Should I bring a towel or something?”

Julia patted her big shoulder bag. “I’ve got a pocket blanket. It’s a nylon blanket for camping or beaching or whatever. My dad gave them to Alex and me in our Christmas stockings one year. I’ve used it more times than I can count.”

“Handy.” He opened the door for her.

“That’s me,” she said. “Handy.”

She’d take it as a compliment. She loved always being prepared. Maybe it wasn’t the sexiest trait, but it topped whimsy any day, especially if whimsy meant sand up her ass.

“Any cravings?” he asked as the elevator dropped them to the lobby.

Another chicken sandwich, but that would seem weird. The fact that he’d found the best sandwich in her hometown was infuriating. One of her favorite sandwich places, however, was nearby. She was spoiled for choice.

“This way,” she said and hurried across the checkered lobby to the city sidewalk. Above them, the setting sun’s vibrant tangerine-and-passionfruit streaks would lose to the night sky’s dark blues.

As they rounded the corner, the string lights above Maxi’s Spot popped on and hung like fat golden fireflies over their heads while they waited in line. Maxi’s popularity meant the line was tight. Carson stood close. Glued-to-her-back close. Feel-his-heat-on-her-skin close.

She rooted in her bag until she found her paper fan, then snapped it open.

Carson laughed. “Are you a Bridgerton character? Do you have the vapors?”

A frisson of irritation skated along her spine, and she was right back to their teenage dynamic. Carson noticed something quirky about her, pointed it out with a laugh, and she melted with self-doubt.

In LA, she might’ve stuck to that pattern.

Not on her home turf, where she’d bent and broken rules and expectations. Where she was planning a wedding despite its insane speed and rolled with Alex’s surprise engagement announcement. Why not break more patterns and ditch insecurities, too?

“You’ll be begging me for it in a minute,” she snapped.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you. I’ve just never seen one in the wild.”

Hmph. A qualified apology.

“Because you’ve never lived in a tropical climate or been to a drag show apparently.” She snapped the fan shut, then pointed it at him. “Don’t you dare say I’m being too sensitive.”

He held up his palms. “Never crossed my mind.”

Smile lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes. There was a genuine kindness in his green gaze, mixed with something she’d caught in Roberto’s eyes earlier today, too.

Desire? No, couldn’t be.

Shouldn’t be.

But it totally is.

“Good.” She fluttered her fan again.

Beyond the crowd’s chatter and the street noise, she picked up the quiet thump of the beach concert. The Caribbean beat was the Caye’s pulse, and she swayed in time to it. Her hips could never resist Belizean reggae’s strong spacious grooves.

She was so glad Carson suggested this.

“Any recommendations?” He inhaled deeply.

“I’ll order for us.” At the window, she ordered tamarind-pork sandwiches, fried plantain chips, and water. Carson insisted on paying, and she didn’t argue. The restaurant readied their food quickly, and they were off to the concert.

As they headed toward the cordoned-off area, he asked, “Did you go to the beach a lot when you lived here?”

“I spent half my free time there. Alex didn’t like it as much as me and my parents, but it’s so central to life here. My dad focused his tours on the pyramids, caves, and jungles but reserved the beach for relaxation. He said he enjoyed it too much to make it his job.”

“He sounds smart.”

“He was,” she sighed. “He told me I didn’t have to push against the current all the time. That sometimes when you relax, good things come to you. There’s such a grind-and-hustle culture in the States. We’re told from day one we can achieve our dreams with hard work.”

“That’s not true for everyone.” Carson’s eyes took on a faraway look. Whatever he was seeing, it wasn’t here. “But achieving the dream isn’t enough. You have to hold on to it, too. The second I ease off the gas, some other bastard’ll steal my lunch.”

Well, that was intense for a golden boy. She recognized a hungry soul when she saw one.

“So we keep grinding away,” she said.

“Or change our dreams,” he said. “Are you still hell-bent on a hotelier job in the States? Because this place suits you. I can see you here.”

“Should I get a job here at a competing resort to meet Alex’s dumb requirement?”

He lifted a shoulder. “It’s an option. You’d be here, which you clearly love.”

God help her, she did. Being back in Azul Caye felt like a hug.

A huge banner arched across the concert entrance.

People in matching turquoise T-shirts with STAFF emblazoned on them were checking tickets.

Carson withdrew his cell from his pocket and held up a softly glowing QR code on the screen.

After the staffer scanned it, she wrapped waterproof paper bands around their wrists.

A plastic walkway led them toward the main beach area.

“Hang on.” Julia pulled a reusable tote from her shoulder bag. “Shoes.”

She tossed her sandals into the bag, and Carson chucked in his shoes. Oof. How big were his feet? His shoes must’ve weighed a pound each. And if the rumors about big feet were true…

Not what she should think about.

On the white sand, she paused and breathed the salty air.

This. This was home.

The gentle scrape and give under her feet underpinned so many memories. No other stretch of sand compared to Azul Caye. Not Venice Beach or Santa Monica or even Malibu. Certainly not the stony lakefront beaches in Ithaca, New York, picturesque though they were.

“How about there?” Carson gestured an empty pocket closer to the curling ocean.

“We’ll get wet as the tide comes in.” The combined noise of the surf and music would prevent conversation, too, and she could admit to herself that she liked talking to him. “Follow me. I know a good spot.”

She threaded her way through the festival-goers with Carson close behind. No sargassum here, thank God. She couldn’t imagine musicians choking through a set with rotten seaweed permeating the air.

“Here we are.”

Snuggled next to a palm grove, this spot offered seclusion.

She adored slipping away from life’s demands.

Pale stars shined above them in the dark sky.

This was her happy place. Carson was welcome here because she wouldn’t feel bad about telling him to hush, but if she didn’t talk to another new person, she’d be grateful.

Today had been stuffed with interactions, decisions, reminiscing.

Tonight she wanted to sit, eat, listen, and not do anything for anyone.

He tipped his head back to take in the palms. “We won’t be able to see much.”

“We can hear, and that’s what’s important.” She flapped the thin nylon pocket blanket, then staked the small metal anchors into the vanilla sand. Hmm. This blanket was smaller than she remembered.

She parked her ass on the beach towel–sized blanket.

“Room enough for one more?” Carson asked.

“Squeeze in,” she said. “Now give me my sandwich.”

As he sat, his Carson’s cool marine scent blended with the palm trees’ pleasant sweetness, the ocean breeze’s salty tang, and the richness of the food. A shiver rippled over her as she breathed deeply.

All of it made her hungry. For a meal, for love, for life.

She was starving for all of it.