Page 8

Six

J ulia breathed deeply. The scent of a fresh spring evening the moment before it started to rain filled the air. What was that word? She’d read it once and liked the way it felt on her tongue. Petrichor. This plane smelled like petrichor.

Something clicked in her muzzy brain. That wasn’t the air.

That was Carson .

As understanding dawned, her stomach curdled with embarrassment. She’d fallen asleep on him during the flight. Planted her face against his rounded shoulder and tumbled deep into dreamland.

There was no graceful way out of this.

She opened her eyes, snuck in one more deep breath, then peeled herself up. “Sorry for making you my pillow.”

“I didn’t mind.” He dog-eared the page of his paperback, then dropped it onto his tray. “Glad you caught up on some sleep.”

He draped his forearm along their shared armrest, then leaned toward her. His closeness sent up warning flares.

A thin gray blanket covered her lap and legs. “Where’d this come from?”

“Thought you might get cold, so I asked the flight attendant for a blanket.”

Bet it was the brunette with the wide smile. “The one you were flirting with when we boarded? Just want to make sure I thank the right person.”

“You can thank me. And I was chatting, not flirting.”

She was sure the flight attendant would say otherwise. You’d have to be dead not to be mesmerized by Carson Miller. His honeyed tones, his well-developed sense of humor, and the way his full tractor-beam attention pulled you in as he asked deeply personal questions.

Which single emotion would you eliminate from your roster?

he’d asked while they were waiting to board at the gate.

Who asks questions like that before sunrise?

Anyway, she’d lied and said fear, but her real answer was shame.

Then she’d be off the hook for worrying what everyone thought of her all the fucking time.

Anyway, anyone would hope he was flirting.

“And…” He gestured toward a coffee and a packet of chocolate chip cookies. “If you’re done busting my balls, those are for you.”

“Your fucking balls?” She almost clapped a hand over her mouth. She cursed like a fucking sailor in her head but rarely swore aloud.

She must’ve been jet-lagged.

“No, you weirdo.” He chuckled. “The coffee and cookies. If you want them, better dig in. They announced we’re descending.”

“I’ve never wanted anything more.” She sipped, and oh, the coffee was perfect . Extra cream and sugar. Her favorite way to drink it after many an all-nighter. Lucky guess on his part? She tore open the cookies, then held it out to him. “Want one?”

“Nah, already ate mine.”

Thank God. She mowed through the crunchy sweet goodness as Carson leaned closer to stare through the window. She popped the last one into her mouth, crumpled the trash into the empty coffee cup, then held the tidy package out to the passing flight attendant.

“The water’s so blue.” Awe threaded Carson’s voice.

An inadequate description. She adored this view.

A tapestry of otherworldly shades of blue colored the flight path from LA to Azul Caye, waters that Dad, she, and Alex had sailed every time he’d borrowed a boat.

The area where mangrove forests met the sea gleamed aqua, as did the many coastal lagoons.

The open ocean rolled with undulating sapphire currents.

Both gorgeous, but her personal fave was the shallow waters’ turquoise.

Turquoise meant they were close to land and she was almost home.

This moment enthralled her every time.

Oh, fuck. The cookie stuck in her throat. She was such a jackwagon.

“Oh my gosh.” She delved under the blanket for the seat-belt buckle. “Switch with me. You should have the window.”

“Stop.” He rested his hand on hers. His commanding pressure rocketed a thrill through her. “Don’t sweat it. I don’t fit under the overhead anyway.”

She gulped. She should not think about Carson and size. At all.

Despite the cool air streaming from the spout directly overhead, Julia was roasting. If this was how she reacted every time he got close, she wouldn’t make it through this week. She peeled the blanket from her legs, folded it into a neat square, then tucked it into her seat back pocket.

“When’s the last time you were in Belize?” Carson asked.

A trickle of grief iced her giddy homecoming feels.

“Three years ago.” For Dad’s funeral.

He’d never been a part of her life in the States, so when she was there, it was easier to ignore his absence. But her father never felt more real—and more permanently gone—than when she was in Belize.

Seriously, fuck cancer.

First, its withering havoc came for his energy, then for his smile, and last his personality as he withdrew into the pain.

The grief counselor at school had assured her that someday, she’d be able to remember Dad without crying.

That she wouldn’t ache for his hug or his reminder that his Julesy-girl was tough and bright as the sapphire for which she was named.

But today was not that day.

She swiped away the tear that had threatened to fall. No one in Belize had seen her cry since the funeral, and she refused for Carson to be the first.

“Three years is a long time,” he said. “Are you excited to be back?”

As the pilot swooped the plane around, nauseated fluttering erupted in her stomach.

Julia closed her eyes. Landing would be another gut punch.

No one to meet her at baggage claim with a caramel-and-pecan cluster because it’s been too long since you’ve tasted Belizean chocolate, the food of the gods .

This was not the homecoming Julia envisioned.

The threatening tears dissolved, replaced by irritation. A homecoming that made sense centered on Alex inviting her to help run Stone Adventures, to fold her into their father’s dreams. Not this. Planning her mother’s fourth wedding with Carson Fucking Miller.

“ Excited ’s not the word for it.” She gripped the armrests. Whoops. Her right hand grabbed Carson’s wrist. She let him go faster than she’d let go of a poisonous frog.

“What is the word?” he asked.

“Frustrated.” Was the pilot barrel-rolling this jet?

Carson shifted his arm until they were holding hands. “ Frustrated is not a happy word.”

“I’m not a happy person right now.” She breathed deeply through her nose, choosing to ignore the warmth of his hand and the reluctant comfort she took from it. She refused to freak out during this landing, even if she was desperate to collapse with fear.

“Why?” Carson asked.

She glared at his big dumb smiling face “What’s with the questions?”

“Promise me you won’t get mad.” He squeezed her hand.

Dammit, that actually soothed her. “No, but tell me anyway.”

“Your mom said you’re a nervous flyer—”

“I am not.” G-forces tugged at her insides as they descended.

This was it. This was the moment where the engines could conk out. They were still high enough they’d die in an explosive fireball instead of crashing straight into the pavement below.

“She said you hate the landings, and the best way to help you through it—” the plane jerked as the wheels hit the runway “—was to distract you with conversation.”

Julia exhaled.

She resented her mother for sharing her vulnerability with this asshole. As though she was a person to be managed. She was the manager of people and things and situations, not Carson Miller.

She opened her eyes, and oh my God, his face was right there, his green eyes searching her expression.

“I’m fine.” She leaned away from him.

His grin was addictive. “Good.”

The plane efficiently sidled up to the airport. She didn’t protest when Carson grabbed her bag from the overhead bin. His height was an advantage. As his shirt raised above his belt, she caught a tantalizing slice of his abs.

Stop that , she chastised herself.

As they descended the air stairs, familiar tropical humidity walloped her.

She breathed deeply. Underneath the jet exhaust she caught the familiar mix of rich earth, native flowers, fragrant citrus, and a hint of the salty ocean.

This was the perfume that had rolled through her childhood home’s open windows. Tears pricked her eyes.

She’d forgotten that this was what home smelled like.

Three years was a long time.

Before her feet touched the tarmac, something shifted inside her. One of Dad’s stipulations when her parents split was that she and Alex visit Belize twice per year, minimum. He wouldn’t have cared that Mom wanted to marry Jim here. In fact, he would’ve loved the bonus time with his girls.

Regardless of the reason for the trip, this was where she was meant to be today.

After a deep breath, she said, “So, bags, then the rental car.”

Compared to LAX, Belize International Airport was adorably bijou.

What it lacked in size, it made up for in efficiency.

Their suitcases lay on the carousel at baggage claim, and the line for rental cars moved quickly.

She’d selected a local company, because tourism dollars spent with them funneled directly back to the community.

As the clerk entered her information, Carson asked, “Do you need my license?”

“Spouses are entitled to drive,” she answered.

Julia coughed. “He’s not my spouse. He’s my…”

She faltered. Frenemy? Competition? Questionable fantasy?

“Stepbrother,” he said.

That word was full of ew . It landed wrong in her ears.

“Not yet,” she interjected. “Our parents are getting married.”

The woman shifted her gaze between them. “In that case, if you’re unrelated, I’ll add you to the contract. That’ll cost an additional two dollars per day.”

“That’s fine.” Carson dropped his license and credit card on the counter. “I’ll pick this up and reconcile the expenses with Dad later.”

“Be my guest.” It was a godsend not to charge big expenses to her meager credit limit.

“There you are.” The clerk folded a printout into a paper folio. “Take this to the parking lot across the street there and select a minivan. The keys will be waiting in the vehicle.”

“Thank you.” Julia collected the folio.