Page 73

73

ALLISON

C onnor and I had breakfast, walked the beach, and browsed through three souvenir shops—all while he acted like everything was totally fine.

But it’s not.

He keeps checking his phone, scanning crowds, and flashing that tight-lipped “I’m totally relaxed” smile that means he’s two seconds from snapping a pool cue in half.

I let it slide earlier.

But now I want answers.

We’re back in the bungalow, and he’s pacing like a lion in a cage.

I step in front of him, arms crossed. “Okay. Time to talk.”

He halts mid-step. “Talk about what?”

I raise a brow. “You’re acting weird. Your posture’s stiff. You keep staring into the distance like you’re the brooding lead in a low-budget mystery series. What’s going on?”

He opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Runs a hand through his hair like he’s weighing how much to say.

Then… he smiles.

And that’s how I know he’s up to something. Because it’s that smile, his charming menace smile he uses when he’s absolutely full of shit.

“I’ve been planning a surprise,” he says smoothly.

My eyes narrow. “A surprise?”

He nods. “For you. Because you’re my wife. And I love you. And you’ve put up with Gram, churro confessions, and old man teeth. You deserve something special.”

My suspicion deepens. “Why do I feel like this is less about a surprise and more about stalling me?”

“Because you’re terrifyingly perceptive,” he says, kissing my forehead. “But also wrong. I just need a few hours.”

“To do what, exactly?”

Before he can answer, the door swings open, and in walks Gram, wearing a massive sunhat, a T-shirt that says “I Got Lei’d in Key West,” and a scarf made of tiny plastic flamingos.

Connor lights up like he’s just spotted the exit sign in a burning building. “Perfect timing.”

Gram squints at us. “Why do I feel like I’m about to regret walking in?”

Connor turns to her like she’s his personal getaway driver. “Gram. I need you to take Allie out for a few hours. Show her around. Keep her entertained.”

She raises a brow. “Like I’m your chaotic emotional support raccoon?”

“Exactly.”

I gape at him. “You’re sending me off with her ?”

Connor plants a kiss on my cheek. “You’ll be safe. Ish.”

Gram cackles. “Oh, honey. I’ve got plans for us.”

“Connor—”

“I love you,” he says quickly, eyes pleading. “But I really need to pull this together without you sniffing around. Trust me?”

I want to argue.

But his voice is tender. His smile a little too careful. And behind the secrecy, there’s something in his eyes I can’t ignore. Worry.

I sigh. “Fine. But if I end up drunk on a moped wearing a crop top that says ‘Jimmy’s Girl,’ I’m blaming you.”

He smirks. “Please take pictures.”

Gram throws an arm around my shoulders and starts herding me toward the door. “Let’s go, lovebird. I know a place with bottomless sangria, live iguanas, and a psychic named Raven who once dated my deceased husband’s twin brother.”

I don’t even fight it. What’s the point? There’s no escaping the storm that is Gram.

And no matter how sweet Connor’s smile is, I know deep down this isn’t just about planning a surprise.

He’s preparing for something.

I just wish I knew what.