Page 7

Five

A s they finished dinner, Julia mentally ran through this evening’s task list. Shower, pack, charge devices, download a book…call Alex for an emergency consult on why she’d been unable to resist patting Carson’s chest this morning.

No, wait, scratch that. She’d keep that embarrassment to herself.

“Now that we’ve eaten…” Mom twisted her wineglass’s stem. “We have a slight change of plans with our departure time.”

Argh. Finalizing logistics with her mother was like nailing Jell-O to the wall.

“Define slight .” Julia forked up the last bite of swordfish Jim had grilled. “Direct flights are at dawn or early afternoon. If you miss the later one, you’re bumped to the next day.”

“Which is okay,” Carson said. “We built slack into the schedule. Day one is menus and dessert, which we can handle.”

Julia hid her surprise. He was right about the itinerary. Maybe he was actually good at event planning and this wasn’t smoke-in-mirrors bullshit? Annoying he hadn’t taken one note and simply memorized the plan.

Although… annoying wasn’t the right word.

Hot , the unhelpful voice in her head whispered.

“My project went sideways,” Jim said. “Materials are on backorder, and the client’s unhappy. It’s too high profile to delegate.”

“Jim needs to stay to smooth things over at the site, and I’ll stay, too.” Mom squeezed his hand. “We don’t want to travel separately, so we’ll be there in a few days.”

“But…” Julia rucked up her forehead. “You need to be there seventy-two hours before the ceremony to get a license.”

“We’ll be there in plenty of time.” Jim leaned back in his chair. “By the way, I emailed the budget to Carson earlier today. Whatever you don’t spend you can consider a bonus.”

She clutched her fork. Sent to Carson? Who hadn’t sent it to her?

“Hey, Julia.” Carson scooted back from the table. “Help me with dessert in the kitchen?”

“Sure thing.” The tips of her ears burned, but she pinned on a smile and definitely didn’t notice his ass in his well-worn jeans as she followed him into the kitchen.

Alone together, she whirled on him. “What the hell happened to radical cooperation?”

Her whisper contained a tenth of the heat she felt, but their parents were twenty feet away.

“Calm down.” He opened the oven door, and a sweet-but-somehow-savory aroma enveloped them.

“Dad seemed off last night, so I stopped into his office this afternoon. He said the Costello project was behind schedule and overspent. I suggested he stay and let us handle things in Belize. Then we got to talking about the wedding budget. He sent it before dinner, but I don’t have your email address, so I saved it to the app. Maybe don’t assume the worst of me?”

Hmph. He was making some points. Also, dessert.

“When did you make a pie?”

“I didn’t make it, I ordered it. It’s a pear almond tart that’ll change your life.”

The crumbly dessert dusted with sugar did look delectable.

“What’s with you and pears?”

“It’s a pun. They’re a pair. Get it?” Carson padded toward the freezer. “Also, I like pears.”

“Me, too.” She parked her hip against the counter. “Why are you so unbothered? We’ve got such a tight schedule.”

He freed the cap from the pint of vanilla ice cream and tossed it onto the island.

“I’m all about the upside. This is an impossible situation. If we succeed, we’re heroes. If we don’t…well, it was an impossible situation. My dad’s easy. He’ll be happy no matter what. Your mom seems like someone who changes her mind a million times.”

“That’s accurate. How do you know that?”

“We’ve been out to eat a few times. She waffles among four different options, then eats half of Dad’s. She’s even called the waiter back because she saw another person’s dinner and wanted to change her order.”

“Oh my.” Julia pressed her palms to her heated face. “Major secondhand cringe.”

“Why?” He sliced around the tart’s roasted pear halves.

“Because I work in the service industry.” She opened a cabinet. “It’s mortifying that my own mother treats waitstaff badly. Where are the dessert plates?”

“Top right cabinet, next to the stove.” He gestured with the pie server, and ooh .

His inner biceps were defined, like a sculptor had lingered for weeks over the muscles’ ridges. Smooth and curved, she’d bet his skin was warm and—

Shit. He’d caught her staring.

“She didn’t treat the waitstaff badly.” He smirked, then lifted a slice. “Even if she did, she’s not a reflection of you.”

Julia disagreed, which was why she’d walled Mom off from school.

Back then, she couldn’t risk damaging the good impressions she’d made on her guidance counselors, teachers, and club advisors for Distributive Education Clubs of America, aka DECA.

A rude comment from Mom—and those happened often—could tank their willingness to write her recommendations for colleges, prestigious internships, and scholarships.

So she’d studied, volunteered, smiled, and raised her hand frequently to impress her teachers.

Eventually the hustle had become a habit.

An exhausting, smiley habit.

She set a small stack of dishes next to Carson, and he plated four tart wedges. Fast, efficiently, and without spilling a crumb.

“Them arriving late is a good thing,” he said. “We can move faster if they aren’t there to question our decisions.”

Hmm. He was right. These two would slow everything down.

“I hadn’t thought of it that way. That’s freeing, actually.”

As he dropped smooth vanilla scoops next to the tart slices, his lips tipped up in a smile. “Happy to help you shift perspective.”

She didn’t want his help—with anything—but she was stuck with him through the wedding. After that, they’d go their separate ways and maybe see each other around holidays. Might as well make the best of it while keeping him at arm’s length.

“Help me bring these in?” he suggested.

They grabbed the same plate, and their fingers brushed. Heat rushed up her arm, like he’d dragged a match from her wrist to her shoulder.

“Sorry,” he said and let go.

His touch echoed on her skin.

Yes, distance would be crucial.

* * *

Carson didn’t remember how he and Julia ended up in the pool, but he was pretty fucking glad they had. The curves he’d been admiring since their parents’ engagement party were on full display in her tight white suit.

The underwater lights winked and rippled in the pool’s surface as he cut through the water toward her like a shark. She splashed at him like a flirty teenager. He wouldn’t be deterred. Not when he was finally about to get the armful of Julia Stone he’d been craving for a decade.

Whoa, was that an earthquake?

“Carson,” she snarled. “Wake up .”

Wake up? What did she—

Water smacked him in the face.

“We’re late.”

He bolted upright in bed.

“Finally,” Julia said.

The hallway light loaned her an otherworldly glow.

“What the fuck?” He scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Did you pour water on me?”

“No, I flicked it.” She snapped on the bedside lamp. “Then you knocked into my hand and I dropped the cup. Sorry.”

His chest was soaked. “What time is it?”

“Two thirty.”

No wonder it was dark. “In the morning? Jesus Christ, why ?”

“Our flight’s at six, and we’re thirty minutes from the airport.”

“Thirty minutes at rush hour. Right now it’ll take us fifteen. My alarm’s set for three.”

“ Three? We should be there at three.”

He desperately wanted to stand—bickering with Julia required commitment to the bit—but his typical morning wood hadn’t actually waited for morning. Probably his dream about Julia in a tight, white, wet bikini.

“Only masochists want to go to LAX three hours early.”

“FAA regulations recommend arriving three hours early for international flights. As it is, we’ll be lucky to get there two and a half hours early. Please tell me you’ve packed.”

“Yes, warden, I’ve packed.” He gestured vaguely to the suitcase he’d thrown together when he’d dipped back into his apartment last night after dessert. His dad’s place was closer to the airport, and he and Julia could Uber together, so it made sense to bunk in the pool house again.

He hadn’t, however, expected a wet wake-up.

“Could I have privacy while I get dressed, please?”

Julia sighed. “Yes, but hurry.”

“Faster you leave, faster I can get ready.”

“I’ll be out by the pool.” Her sneakers squeaked against the floor as she made her exit.

Carson flipped back the covers. She’d lose her shit if he took a shower, but oh well.

It was either that or rubbing one out. He twisted on the water and shampooed while the cold water took effect on his stubborn hard-on.

Dream Julia had been sexy as fuck but didn’t compare to the real deal hovering over him with her pink cheeks and their kissable constellation of freckles.

He low-key loved to fluster her—it mirrored the way she drove him to distraction.

It also proved he had her attention.

Five minutes later, he rolled his bag out to the patio, where the glow of Julia’s phone lit her serious face. As he shut the door behind him, she rose from the poolside lounger. Her travel outfit—a black jumpsuit, jean jacket, and white slip-on sneakers—was adorably practical.

Like her.

“Our Uber’s almost here,” she whispered.

As they exited the front gate, a sedan arrived at the curb.

“That’s us,” she said.

The driver popped the trunk. Carson reached for her suitcase, but she waved him off.

“I’ve got it.” She hefted the large bag with surprising ease.

“Impressive.” He snuggled his bag next to hers.

“My first internship rotated us through the resort’s workstations, including bellhop. I learned to handle bags.”

He held the rear passenger door open for Julia. As they buckled themselves in, his knee brushed against hers, sending a sizzle up his leg.

That cold shower had been an excellent idea.

“Good morning. Which airline?” the Uber driver asked.

“United,” they both replied.

The driver nodded, then peeled away from the curb.

The directions on his dashboard screen estimated they’d be there in seventeen minutes.

No matter how tempted he was to give Julia a taste of her own Type-A medicine, gloat, and point out this morning’s fire drill was unnecessary, he’d be a mature, dignified adult.

On the 101 North, Julia jiggled her knees. “You’ll be hot when we land in Belize.”

He winked. “I’m hot now.”

She couldn’t set up gold like that and expect him not to knock it down.

“Sweaty hot.” She rolled her eyes. “It’ll be eighty degrees today. You’re wearing jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a jacket.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said through a yawn. “Layers.”

“I’m amazed you could sleep. I was up all night researching and planning. Were you seriously not gonna wake up until three?”

He lifted a shoulder. “I’ve never missed a flight.”

“Your loose relationship with punctuality makes me question your event skills.”

Her assumption of his incompetence was astounding.

“You’re basing that on the me from ten years ago. I run my own business, remember?” He relaxed into the seat. “I respect the clock, but event management is more than devotion to a schedule and a checklist.”

“Obviously. Nothing ever goes a hundred percent according to plan, but you go through the planning effort to mitigate those risks.”

“It’s too early for conversations about risk mitigation.” He ran his hands through his damp hair. “We shouldn’t plan all the contingencies before we’re in Belize. A perfectly executed event can still be a dud if you don’t leave room for spontaneity, serendipity, kismet.”

“You sound like a romantic.”

“I am a romantic.”

“Not with me, you’re not.” She scrolled through an unending task list on her tablet. “We’re having dinner with my sister tonight, by the way.”

He ran his hands along his thighs. “What about your dad?”

“Um.” Julia dragged her lower lip between her teeth. “I guess my mom didn’t tell you? He doesn’t live there. Or anywhere. I mean…my dad died three years ago.”

His chest tightened. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“That’s okay. Mom should’ve said something.”

“You don’t get along with her, I take it?”

“We…mostly get along.” She slipped her tablet into her bag. “Listen, not to be rude, but can we not talk during the ride? I meditate before flying, and I’d rather not do it at the airport.”

“Be my guest,” he said.

“Thanks.” She plugged her ears with fuchsia wireless buds, then closed her eyes.

He sank back into the seat to enjoy the ride. More importantly, the view.

Julia’s style was impeccable. She’d pulled her hair into a pinup girl updo, complete with a kerchief tied around it to pull it in place.

Despite the early hour, she’d also given herself a subtle cat-eye with her eyeliner and painted her luscious lips a berry pink.

Lips he’d bet were soft as cherry panna cotta, and just as sweet.

Damn, she was cute.

And bossy.

Which ramped up the cute.