She grimaced. “I know. It’s terrible. I can appreciate a well-made cake aesthetically, but I’ve never understood the appeal. Too sweet, too much frosting, too... cake-like.”
“This is scandalous. Like finding out a sommelier secretly drinks boxed wine, or a fashion designer who wears sweatpants at home.”
“I do wear sweatpants at home,” she admitted. “The rattiest, most comfortable ones you can imagine. With holes in inappropriate places.”
“Stop, I can only handle so many revelations in one day,” I clutched my chest dramatically. “Next you’ll tell me you have a secret collection of reality TV shows on your DVR.”
“All the Real Housewives franchises,” she confirmed. “And several baking competitions, ironically.”
I laughed. “You’re full of surprises, darling. What would you have at your wedding reception since you don’t like cake?”
Anica shrugged. “Cookies. All different sorts.”
“Favorite?”
“There’s this recipe my mom and I made. It’s an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie. It’s amazing, but they have to be at least five hundred calories a cookie. Those have to be my favorite.” She glanced sidelong at me. “Your turn,” she said. “Tell me something no one knows about the great Callan Burkhardt.”
“I’m afraid of jellyfish. Terrified, actually. Like, full-on panic attack, grown man crying terror.”
“Jellyfish?” she repeated, clearly fighting a smile. “The billionaire tech genius with multiple homes and a private island is afraid of jellyfish?”
“Have you seen those things?” I defended myself. “They’re basically floating bags of poison with tentacles. No faces, no brains, just... ghostly death sacks drifting through the water waiting to sting you. They’re like nature’s way of saying ‘fuck you in particular.’”
She lost the battle with her smile, breaking into laughter. “Ghostly death sacks? That’s your assessment?”
“I stand by it. They’re an abomination. And don’t get me started on the immortal ones.”
“The what now?”
“There’s a species of jellyfish that’s technically immortal. They can revert to an earlier stage of development when injured or stressed. Basically, they’re unkillable poison ghosts of the sea.”
“How do you know so much about something you’re terrified of?” she asked, still laughing.
“Know thy enemy,” I replied gravely. “I have a Google alert set up for jellyfish scientific advancements. I need to be prepared for the inevitable jellyfish uprising. When they evolve arms and develop political aspirations, I’ll be ready.”
The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and pink. I checked my watch and realized we’d been wandering for hours.
“We should probably head back soon. Before it gets dark.”
Anica checked her watch and looked surprised. “I had no idea it was so late. Where did the day go?”
“Time flies when you’re having fun,” I said, then grimaced. “God, that was cheesy. Please forget I said something so profoundly unoriginal. I have a reputation as a witty billionaire to maintain.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” she promised. “I won’t tell anyone you occasionally resort to clichés like a normal person.”
We started making our way back toward the marina, but I walked slower than necessary, trying to prolong our time together.
“Let’s take a different route,” I suggested, gesturing toward a path that followed the beach. “The sunset should be spectacular from there.”
She agreed, and we strolled along the water’s edge, the dying sun casting long shadows across the sand.
“This is perfect,” Anica said softly, watching the play of light on the water. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“My pleasure,” I replied, and meant it. “I’m glad you agreed to come. Even with the hangover.”
“The hangover was worth it. Though I maintain those drinks of yours should come with a warning label.”
“’Caution: May lead to confessions about haunted vaginas’?” I suggested innocently.
