Page 5

“Along those lines…” She sighed. “Don’t shoot the messenger, but Mom spontaneously booked the wedding at a resort in Azul Caye. Next weekend.”

She braced herself for a prolific number of fucks .

Alex answered with a simple, “Yeah, I know.”

“You do? How?”

More grunting. “Some dude named Carson called this morning. He said he was Jim’s son and he’s helping plan the wedding.”

“He…called you?”

She cut her gaze to the pool house. Anger boiled in her gut. Her family was her goddamned turf. Was she not handling things fast enough for him?

“That’s what I said. He called, like, an hour ago.”

Alex sounded weirdly unbothered that Carson Fucking Miller had phoned her with intimate details about Mom’s wedding. Did she not remember him? Julia had gone to great lengths not to involve her family when he was at his worst, but she didn’t think she’d done that good a job.

“How did he get your number?”

“I assume Mom gave it to him. Don’t stress that she picked Azul Caye. It’s for the best that everyone’s coming here. I can’t get away from work, and it’ll give me a chance to officially introduce you to Bo.”

Good for Alex for seeing the upside, but, unlike Julia, she wouldn’t be working with her least favorite person on the planet.

“Anything else, Jules? Not to be rude, but I’m about to pick up a family to climb Nim Li Punit, then kayak down the river.”

Longing tugged at Julia’s insides.

Nim Li Punit were her favorite ruins. Nestled in the lush jungle, the place exuded more peace than La Prairie Spa at the Waldorf Astoria Beverly Hills, where she’d worked before grad school. The nearby museum was excellently curated, too.

“Are the dates okay for your schedule?” she asked.

“Yeah, fine. I’m taking advantage of the rainy season to train another guide. You remember Espy’s son, Luca?”

Julia parked her hand on her hip. “You’re busy enough to take on additional staff?”

“Just tour guides for now. Business is booming . The secret’s out about Belize.”

Excitement bubbled in her belly. “Does that bump up the timeline on the resort?”

“Possibly, but we talked about this. You need more experience.”

She tightened her jaw. “I have experience. I interned every summer and winter break.”

“You know that’s not the same as running the show, Jules. Look, I want to do this with you, but you need a full year, minimum, managing a hotel department before we think about you developing a whole-ass resort. This is a business decision. It isn’t personal.”

It fucking felt personal.

Her pessimist…realist…self fully got that no one handed a potential world-class resort’s development to an untested twenty-six-year-old.

But she’d offered to help with the tour side of the business, too.

Alex had pushed back and said Julia needed to build up her resort-operations experience so they could gut-check anyone they hired.

Why? Because last year, Alex had been fleeced by her ex-boyfriend/accountant, and it had nearly cost them the tour company.

“Maybe Mariele’s hiring?” Alex suggested. “Her resort’s expanding. I could ask.”

Mariele, Alex’s best friend, was chill. But living in Belize and not working with her sister would hurt worse than stepping on a long-spined black sea urchin. Julia and Alex had been Dad’s adventure tour copilots. When he’d died, they were supposed to run things together.

Instead, Alex was trying to fob her off on someone else.

“Not necessary,” Julia said. “I’ve got prospects.”

By “prospects” she meant she’d sent her résumé to two dozen resorts.

“Anyway, I’ve gotta run, too. I just didn’t want you to be shocked when we show up on your doorstep tomorrow.”

“I appreciate the heads-up.” Something clunked in Alex’s background. “Text me your flight info. Let’s get dinner—without Mom—so you can meet Bo without a three-ring circus.”

“I will. Have a good tour.”

She ended the deeply unsatisfying call. Can you believe Mom did this conversations had been classic bonding moments between them, but her sister was too busy to wallow in the ridiculous with her. This left-behind vibe sat like an unhappy ball in her stomach.

Fortunately, a convenient target for those raw emotions lurked inside the pool house.

“Carson!” She knocked insistently, like a woodpecker. “You called my sister? We can’t do this together if you go behind my back.”

She didn’t like how shrill her voice sounded. Deep breath.

The door cracked open. “Behind your back? I called the other must-haves on your mom’s guest list—your sister and your aunt—to give them more time to plan. Since you were deep in your drinks last night, I didn’t know when you’d call. You’re welcome.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Deep in my drinks? I had one .”

“Which was the size of your head, so I thought you’d sleep late. Look, what’s the problem? I just want our parents to have their dream wedding.”

“That’s what I want too!” she threw her hands into the air. “Let me in. I’ve been up researching for hours. Let’s have a planning session so you don’t go rogue again.”

Carson’s playful smile crinkled the corners of his glimmering emerald eyes. Like he’d been hoping she’d pound on his door before 9:00 a.m.

“If you insist.” He opened the door.

And…wow. He wore nothing but a pair of low-slung sweat pants.

Nope, nope, nope, not looking. She snapped her attention back to his lightly stubbled face.

Maintain eye contact. If she dipped her gaze she’d inventory the details of his half-naked body.

Like his rounded shoulders or the broad plane of his bare chest and its light dusting of chest hair.

Also the tidy bumps of muscle that marched straight toward his waistband.

Adulthood had been unfairly good to Carson Miller.

As he padded into the kitchenette, he called over his shoulder, “Want coffee? Or scones? Your mom dropped off fresh-baked ones an hour ago.”

He even had those dimples above his ass, like his body was smiling at her.

Wait, what did he say about scones?

Julia frowned. “My mom doesn’t bake. Or eat gluten.”

She wasn’t allergic, but she liked to try any specialized diet that made the news.

Carson shrugged. “Maybe she does now? My dad has a sweet tooth. Glazed orange. Pretty tasty, actually.”

Carson Fucking Miller should not know more about her mother than she did.

“No thanks.” She waved him off.

“What about coffee?” He lifted a pot toward her, causing his muscles to ripple. Oh whoa, he also possessed one of those vee-shaped situations that she read about in romance novels.

“Julia?” he prodded with a smirk. “Something wrong?”

She mentally slapped herself.

This was what Carson did. He charm-bombed and distracted her with his playful grin, fit body, and flirty wit. Then, eventually, blammo . She’d reestablish boundaries, and he’d ice her out with “jokey” feedback that was like a razor to the heart, unreturned texts, and back-channeled rumors.

She wouldn’t be blammoed again.

Especially not when her mother was marrying his father. Carson wasn’t going anywhere, at least not for a while, and they needed to work together. Ogling him was not okay.

“Could you put a shirt on or something?” She waved her hand in his general direction. “I can’t work with your man flesh staring at me.”

He spluttered his coffee. “Man flesh?”

“What do you call it?”

He peered at his chest. “I mean, I guess man flesh works, but I prefer sculpted abs . If you need me to cover up, so be it.”

As he disappeared into the bedroom, she drummed her fingers.

Her foolish attraction to Carson could go nowhere.

Underneath that beautiful exterior was a Grade A asshat.

At sixteen, she’d been too innocent to clock his manipulation tactics.

At twenty-six, she knew better. Yet butterflies still flapped in her stomach when he came near.

Ages ago, she’d unpacked why she couldn’t simply switch the attraction off. It boiled down to one simple truth.

He’d seen her.

Lots of kids shined at Bronson Alcott, home of the fighting Avocados. She was not one of them. Studious, yes. Disciplined, absolutely. But shiny? No, she was happy to let Alex have all the attention while she sat in a corner with her books.

One day in AP English, Dr. Temple had asked for volunteers to tutor Carson Miller, star of the varsity baseball team. A forest of hands went up around her. Then Dr. Temple mentioned it was a paid position, and she raised her hand.

Carson picked her.

During their first sessions, his attention was like a spotlight.

He’d laughed at her jokes, complimented the sapphire studs she’d picked out for her sixteenth birthday, and asked her questions, like what was a small, everyday thing that made her smile?

(Answer: her sister’s random funny and encouraging messages in her notebook.)

She’d loved his irreverent critical thinking, too.

Carson had joked Lord Byron’s poem “She Walks in Beauty” should be titled “Lemme Smash That Ass” because the short poem was “horny AF.” They’d googled it, and sure enough, Byron had written it about his eventual wife, who’d left him after a year of tumultuous marriage because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.

See? he’d said. Dude was a fuckboy. Game recognizes game.

After spring break, in the middle of baseball season, he’d sarcastically asked her to prom.

She’d laughed and turned down his joke invitation.

The next day his focus felt more like a rifle scope than a spotlight.

He sounded different—more like his friends and less like the surprisingly considerate and warm boy she’d gotten to know.

This changed Carson was aloof, wouldn’t look her in the eye, said she was weird for asking if something was wrong.

Then, the personal details he’d hoarded about her became his arsenal.