She groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Shit, I was hoping you’d forgotten that part.”
“I forget nothing. Especially not creative metaphors about female anatomy. That’s going in my memoir. Chapter title: ‘The Wedding Planner and the Haunted House Between Her Legs.’”
“I will murder you and hide your body where no one will ever find it,” she threatened, but she was laughing. “I know at least three wedding vendors who would help me dispose of the evidence, no questions asked.”
“It would totally be worth it. Some stories are too good not to share with the world.”
We continued along the beach, watching in companionable silence as the sun touched the horizon, sending streams of golden light across the water. It was one of those perfect moments that seem to exist outside of normal time, suspended in a bubble of contentment.
So of course I had to ruin it by checking my watch and realizing I’d made a catastrophic miscalculation.
“Oh, shit,” I muttered, stopping abruptly.
“What’s wrong?” Anica asked, concern immediately replacing her relaxed expression.
“The boat. The last one back to my island leaves at 6:30. It’s 6:45.”
“So we missed it. We’ll just call for a water taxi or something, right?”
“That would be a great solution. If water taxis operated in this area. Or if there was reliable cell service to call one.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you telling me we’re stuck here? On this island? Overnight?”
“Unless you’re hiding a teleportation device in that very flattering outfit, then yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“But—that’s—we can’t—” she spluttered, her composure finally cracking, and I couldn’t hide my grin behind my hand fast enough. “This isn’t funny, Callan!” But a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Well, there’s a charming little bed-and-breakfast near the marina. We can stay there tonight, catch the first ferry back in the morning. It’s not ideal, but it’s an adventure.”
“An adventure. You and your adventures are going to be the death of me.”
“But what a way to go,” I said cheerfully, taking her hand and tugging her back toward the town. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Like an unplanned sleepover.”
“I have no toothbrush,” she protested. “No change of clothes. No—anything!”
“The B&B will have toiletries. And I’m sure we can find something for you to sleep in. Worst-case scenario, you can borrow my shirt. Apparently, they’re quite comfortable, and you already own my soul according to ancient shirt law, so what’s one more? Soon you’ll have a complete collection of Callan Burkhardt body parts via clothing acquisition.”
She groaned but allowed me to lead her back toward town. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“The opportunity to spend more time with you? Why would I enjoy that? It’s not like you’re intelligent, funny, beautiful, and capable of making me laugh harder than anyone has in years. Oh wait.”
She shot me a look that suggested she wasn’t buying my innocent act, but she didn’t pull her hand away from mine. I counted that as a win.
The bed-and-breakfast was exactly as I remembered it. A quaint two-story house painted a cheerful yellow, with a wraparound porch dotted with rocking chairs. The proprietor, Mrs. Albury, was a plump, grandmotherly woman with a perpetual smile and an accent that suggested she’d moved here from Cuba decades ago.
“Mr. Burkhardt!” she exclaimed when we walked in. “It’s been too long! And you’ve brought a friend this time!” She looked Anica up and down approvingly. “This one has meat on her bones. Good child-bearing hips.”
Anica made a strangled sound beside me as I fought to keep a straight face. “Mrs. Albury, this is Anica. We missed the last ferry and need a place to stay for the night. Please tell me you have a room available.”
“For you? Always,” she assured me, but her smile faltered slightly as she checked her book. “Although... I only have one room left. The honeymoon suite.”
Of course. Because the universe has a sense of humor, and apparently it’s twelve years old and raised on sitcom plots.
“That’s fine,” I said quickly, before Anica could protest. “We’ll take it.”
Mrs. Albury beamed at us. “You two remind me of me and my Gerold when we were young. So full of life and love. The way you look at each other—” she clasped her hands to her chest, “—it makes my old heart happy.”
“Oh, we’re not—” Anica began.
