Lunch?
The textI sent two hours ago sits without a reply, despite the fact that it’s only half an hour until Grams’s usual lunch time.
I rub Xena’s back. She’s been keeping me company this morning while Beau’s out. “She just needs time, right?”
I’m pretty sure Grams knows, deep down somewhere, that Beau is a good person. She just hates it because it goes directly contrary to the platform she’s built the last few decades of her life on: the Palmers are the worst.
I’ll give her another day, and then I’ll start my next battle strategy: smothering her with love, even when she resists it. She needs to know that this isn’t a matter of me choosing them over her.
My entire future is still up in the air. Dating Beau doesn’t solve any of that; it actually complicates it. Who knows if what’s going on between us will go anywhere? And how much am I willing to do, how much is Beau willing to do to find out? He wants to stay in Sunset Harbor, and I? I don’t know what I want.
In the meantime, we still don’t have the surveyor’s report, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s ghosting us. Maybe figuring this stuff out was just too much for him.
When I open my laptop, the screen that pulls up is a blank video project—Beau’s presentation. My goal for the day is to go through all the footage I’ve taken and mark the ones that belongin the final video. I have a feeling the video could beverylong. Maybe I’ll make a director’s cut just for me.
My phone buzzes, and I pick it up.
Beau
Can I take you on a lunch date?
I smile.
Gemma
I don’t know. I was just about to snuggle up with some hot cop cam footage…
How about some live action instead?
My cheeks go pink, and another text comes before I can respond.
Pulling up in thirty seconds, but don’t come out. I’ll come to the door.
I set my laptop aside and hurry to my feet, then to the bathroom to freshen up. My work clothes are still folded up in my suitcase, and I haven’t missed them. I’ve been living in shorts, loose shirts, and tank tops. No heels. And I’ve been loving it.
I spray myself with a couple spritzes of perfume as there’s a knock on the door. Xena beats me to the door, rushing out to Beau as I open it. But he doesn’t even look at her. His eyes are all for me.
“Hello, beautiful.” He hooks his finger in the pocket of my shorts and pulls me toward him.
“So youcantext,” I say just before he presses his lips to mine.
“Mm,” he says, pulling back after a few seconds. “How does kissing you get better every time?”
I could’ve asked the same thing.
“As for your comment,” he says, pulling the door shut, thenthreading his fingers through mine, “texting is indeed a skill I possess. I just chose not to use your number before.”
“Playing hard to get?” I ask as we head toward the golf cart, Xena charging ahead and jumping into her usual place.
He chuckles. “More like responding toyourhard-to-get. I figured you’d say no and shut me down on a text thread. I’d rather throw rocks at your window and wear you down in person.” He opens the imaginary golf cart door for me and hands me in.
Xena’s sniffing the brown paper bag on the seat, and Beau grabs it before she can nose her way in. “That’s not for you, princess.” He pulls a treat out of his pocket and gives it to her, then looks at me. “Lunch on the beach okay with you?”
“Yes, please,” I say as we start down the street.
“Any word from Grams?” He puts his hand on my thigh while steering with the other.
I shake my head as the breeze rushes through my hair. “Not since I texted her to let her know you don’t have a girl in Miami. She hasn’t responded to that or my suggestion we do lunch, but I promised myself I’d give her until tomorrow.”
