Page 38

Twenty

A bove Julia, bright canvas came into focus.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

They’d fallen asleep and stayed in the cabana until morning.

“Carson.” She shook his shoulder. “Wake up. We fell asleep.”

After Carson dropped that LA question on her last night, she’d frozen.

If Jim was serious about investing in the “and Resort” part of Stone Adventures and Resort—which she hadn’t even had a chance to discuss with Alex—she’d be crazy to prioritize LA.

She loved the city, but sacrificing her dreams for a shot at love was a recipe for disaster.

Which she’d never say out loud, because her mother and sister would be offended.

Mom moved to Belize after a holiday hookup with Dad, which she’d never say was a disaster because they’d produced two lovely daughters.

But still—heartbreak. Bo had moved here, too, for one of those daughters, and Julia hoped that worked out, but who knew?

The heart could want what it wanted, but hearts changed.

She’d lain there, unable to articulate any of her worries, and been lulled to sleep by the soporific cocktail of rain; Carson’s broad, comfortable chest; and the ocean’s rhythmic crash.

He stretched. “Yeah, I know. I set an alarm for seven.”

“You set an alarm ? You should’ve woken me up last night.” She found her romper. “We left the patio door open. Mom might think I’ve been kidnapped, or—” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Someone could’ve murdered them.”

As he sat up, the plush resort robe they’d used as a blanket fell to his waist. “Murder rates at five-star resorts are pretty low.”

She whipped the robe from him to slip it on. Oh, hello. No. Back to reality. His morning wood was not her problem to solve at the moment.

“Julia, calm down. Everything’s fine.”

“For you . For me?” She knotted the robe’s belt. “Anyone who’s on their way to morning yoga will know I’m doing a walk of shame.”

“Who’s ashamed?” He jumped into his shorts.

“Poor word choice.” She scrubbed her forehead. “I hate people knowing my business.”

“No one knows.” Carson kissed her forehead. “Even if they did, who cares?”

“Me.” His cozy arms soothed her. “Maybe I shouldn’t, but I do. I care what people think, even strangers. ‘There go the almost-stepsiblings,’ they’ll say.”

“No one’s saying that. Caring that much is a tough way to live.”

“It can be.” She extracted herself from him. “I’ve gotta go.”

“I’ll walk you.”

“You will not.” She swigged the water from last night. “Stay here and throw everything in the hamper or the trash and wait at least ten minutes before leaving.”

Delicious tingles flowed from her nape as he played with her hair. His eyes twinkled in the morning sunshine that set the cabana aglow.

“I love it when you tell me what to do,” he said.

“And I love telling you what to do. It’s why we make a good team.”

“A great team.”

He covered her mouth with his. This was no good morning kiss or have a nice day kiss. This was a persuasive let me jump your bones right now kiss, and he was fumbling at her belt.

No, no, no. She had to leave right now, or they’d end up having sex in broad daylight surrounded by vacationers.

“You don’t play fair.” She clutched the curtain, ready to whip it open.

“Never said I would. Can you do me a favor, Jules?”

“What, you monster? I have got to go.”

An alert sounded on her phone. He’d added a new task in their project.

Stay with me at the resort tonight.

Desire twirled between her hips.

“If it’s on the list, consider it done.” She disappeared through the curtain with his chuckle chasing her.

The tangerine sun was unforgivably bright. She blinked at her phone and called up today’s affirmation. The only force that can stop me is me.

She paused to let three women with yoga mats cross her path.

“Morning,” she said. “Coffeemaker in my room’s broken.”

What was wrong with her? It wasn’t necessary to spin up a plausible non-sex reason to explain why she was running around in a bathrobe.

The only force that can stop me is me.

Her paralyzing fear at getting caught was overwhelming. Anxiety spirals about being judged. Contorting herself to meet every demand, even those detrimental to her mental or physical health.

The only force that can stop me is me.

She could try not doing those things. The worst that would happen is someone might dislike her, be disappointed in her, or complain she did a bad job. There was a time when she thought she’d combust if that happened. Now…not so much.

She grabbed the patio door’s handle.

The only force that can stop me is me.

Oof. And apparently a locked door, since it didn’t budge. She shaded her eyes and found her mother sitting at the dinette table, watching her phone and drinking coffee.

Tentatively, she knocked.

Mom looked up, then ventured toward the door. It clicked as she unlocked it.

“You’re an early bird today. Did you catch Jim? He went for a jog a few minutes ago.”

“No.” She left off the thank God . What if he’d caught her at the cabana? Oh, hi Jim. Please excuse me while I go tame my spent-all-night-tangled-up-with-your-son hair.

“Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll head to breakfast? We’ve got a big day, and I don’t want you melting down about a nonissue because you skipped the day’s most important meal.”

Julia sighed. “Okay.”

No matter how capable she showed herself to be, her mother and sister pigeonholed her as the sensitive one. The emotional one. The fragile one who sprang apart at the slightest flick.

Wait. What was she doing? This was not okay.

“When’s the last time I had a meltdown?” she asked.

Mom lifted a shoulder. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“This isn’t drama.” Julia crossed her arms. “It’s clarification. When was it?”

After the longest sip of coffee in human history, her mother answered. “When you missed the deadline for National Honor Society applications.”

She laughed. “You had to go back to eleventh grade?”

“I’m sure there are others I’m not remembering.”

Julia shook her head. She’d spent so much effort evolving herself into a resilient self-starter, and her mother hadn’t even noticed. Carson was right—people thought whatever they wanted, irrespective of truth, so worrying about it was a waste of energy.

“There aren’t, Mom. I haven’t had an anxiety attack in six years. That’s what those were, by the way. Not ‘meltdowns.’”

“Be nice to me,” Mom pouted. “It’s my wedding weekend.”

“I know!” Julia threw her hands in the air. “I planned it!”

Her mother cocked her head. “What’s gotten into you?”

Carson. She snorted.

“Did you get enough sleep last night?” Mom asked.

“I’m annoyed, that’s what’s gotten into me. You’re treating me like a child. I’m not sleep-deprived or hungry or hormonal. This is plain and simple irritation.”

Her mom flipped her palms toward the ceiling. “All I did was ask you to breakfast. Where’s this coming from?”

“From here.” Julia glanced her hand against her heart. “I never told you it bothers me when you treat me like that, and now I am. So, could you stop?”

“I suppose I can’t say anything without sending you into a tizzy.” Her mother sighed.

“Now who’s being dramatic?” Julia laughed. “I’ll be ready in ten.”

Her heart was lighter than it had been for a long time. A week ago she would’ve tried to get Mom to admit she was right to be annoyed. But now? She’d let it go. Mom wouldn’t change, but she didn’t need her to. She could enjoy her mother’s extra-ness and choose to laugh instead.

* * *

“Julia?” Carson carried a crate of Belizean rum into the resort’s meeting room. Somewhere behind the mound of sturdy canvas beach totes and tissue paper was the person he wanted to see first in the morning and last at night.

“Hi!” She popped up from behind the table, clutching a spool of ribbon. “What’s that?”

“My dad’s contribution to the welcome bags. Want help?”

When he’d tried to corner his father for a heart-to-heart, Dad had thrust this crate at him, then shooed him away as he took a business call. Another reason to be concerned, actually. Dad channeled anxiety into work.

She twisted her toe against the carpet. “If you’re not busy?”

“Nothing pressing.” He set the rum on the table, then withdrew a chicken sandwich from the box. “I thought you might not have eaten.”

“You’re a god.” Julia unwrapped the foil and chomped an enormous bite. After she swallowed, she glanced at him, then back to the sandwich. “Want to split this?”

Insincerity dripped from her words.

He laughed. “It’s all yours. How many bags do you have left to put together?”

“A dozen.” She winced. “Breakfast took forever, and then Alex was late picking my mom up for their outing, so I’m behind.”

Carson inspected a completed bag. “These are nice.”

“Mom calls them the essentials. Sunblock, sunglasses, bug spray, water bottles, a rattan fan, a copy of Destination Belize magazine, Mama Belize potato chips, and cashews.” She swigged water. “Plus the rum. Oh, and monogrammed beach blankets.”

“Swanky.” He crushed the tissue paper to create a base, then carefully arranged the goods in the bag. He shook out a blanket, then folded it so their initials peeped above the bag’s lip at a jaunty angle. “What do you think?”

“You’re better at this than me.”

Julia smiled at him, and it made his shoulders tense. He should tell her about his dad’s confession, but it might be nothing. Why stress her out, too?

Instead, he said, “I have many hidden talents. Wait ’til you need a foot rub from your wedding heels. No shot they stay on all night.”

“They’ll stay on. The bridesmaid’s dress, however…” She quirked an eyebrow.

“Happy to help with that, too.” He rearranged another bag. “Want to check out the view from room 228? And while you’re there, I want to check out a view.”

He winked, and she rolled her eyes.

“That’s an empty offer, sir. You’re supposed to pick up my aunt Mary while I’m doing the final checks with the vendors. Once that’s handled, I’ll head to the restaurant for the rehearsal dinner and set out the place cards.”

Damn, she was right. This day was getting away from them.

“When did your mom settle on seating arrangements?”

“This morning, finally. She had many opinions for someone who’s ‘easy breezy.’” Julia tossed the balled-up wrapper into the garbage.

“You’re with your family, Alex is with my mom’s college roommates, and I’m Aunt Mary’s date for the evening.

She’s more like a buddy since she’s Alex’s and my godmother. ”

Calm wafted off her. This was an outrageous turn of the tables. Julia Stone was efficiently working while he was a combustive mess on the inside.

“Both of you?” When she bent to gather more items from under the table, he straightened her bag’s monogrammed blanket corner.

“Yep,” she said from under the table. “She didn’t have kids, so she spoiled Alex and me. You met Mary at the engagement party, didn’t you? She’s a retired teacher, but she still lives in LA. My mom must have had her over before.”

The bottle of rum he’d been holding thumped against the bag as he let it go.

Nerves of the shit-I-might-get-caught-in-a-lie variety erupted in his stomach. He had met her aunt Mary before, but he’d forgotten about their conversation. Until now.

“Is she tall with short blond hair? Wears scarves?”

“That’s her.”

Fuck. He’d been in the kitchen at his dad’s Labor Day barbecue when she’d asked him to uncork a bottle of sparkling wine. As he’d obliged and poured her bubbles, they’d chatted. She’d said she was a happily retired teacher and asked where he’d gone to high school.

“Bronson Alcott,” he’d answered.

“Oh!” Mary widened her mouth in a smile. “Then you might know Michelle’s daughters—Alex and Julia Stone.”

He’d squeezed his tumbler tight. Over the years he’d casually surfed for Julia’s social media, but she kept her shit locked down tight. Either that or she’d preemptively blocked him out of spite, which he couldn’t blame her for.

“Michelle’s their mom? But her last name is Doll.”

“That’s her fourth last name. I take it you do know them?”

His dad had rescued him by calling to him to help with the sound system. Later, snooping around the photos Michelle had stuck on the fridge since she’d moved in, his heart had squeezed when he saw a grown-up Julia Stone.

Chances were slim that Mary would remember or reveal he’d known who Julia was months ago. But if Julia found out, she’d lose her mind, and she’d be right to do it. At the time, he’d thought it’d be better to tell her in person…but then he took one look at her, and all of his logic had fallen away.

He had to tell her. If it came from him, he could salvage things. Should he tell her before or after mentioning that his dad was having doubts?

Christ, this was messy.

He riffled his hair. The best way to rip off a bandage was fast.

“Carson?” she prompted. “Everything okay?”

He turned to face her. “There’s something I’ve—”

She held up her finger. “Whoops. Hold that thought. It’s my mom.”

Dammit.

“Hey, what’s up?” She nodded at whatever Michelle said on the phone. “Oh, okay, I’ll let him know. No, it’s fine. He’s right here. Yep, see you soon.”

She clicked off the phone, then sighed. “Aunt Mary got in early, so you’re off to the airport. But what were you about to say?”

He couldn’t confess now. This information required a big cushion of time afterward so he could answer her questions, absorb her anger, explain why he’d lied in a way that didn’t make him seem like a manipulative asshole.

“Just that I can’t wait to see you tonight.” He caught her to him, then dropped a sweet, gentle kiss onto her lips. “Call or text if you need anything.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” she said. “Now scoot. Aunt Mary’s mean if she’s kept waiting.”