“Yeah, I’d guard that with my life, all right.” The other bartender smirked, topping off Jonah’s fruity concoction.
Guard…on the clock...vigilant…follow.
Not just someone else…her security detail?
No way.
“You – back to work.” Asher pointed at his worker. “And download a cocktail app, while you’re at it.”
His phone lit up on the bar. Sylvie.
I could die happy here.
Um…do we need to stage an intervention?
Thanks for your concern. But no – I’m scouting a location for a photo shoot.
A picture appeared, two hands, holding globes of rainbow ice. One bare wrist obviously hers; tanned, adorned with mala beads and a hamsa on a red string. The other wrist: buttoned, cufflinked and crisp white.
I even got Eli to try Hawaiian shave ice.
Toasting the Baller from here.
He took a photo of Kara’s pretty drink and sent it to Sylvie in return.
Paradise looks pretty good from here, too.
And watched Kara glance up his way and smile.
Maybe she really had mistaken him for someone steadier, more capable.
Because it seemed like she kept drifting back to him. Into his orbit…as if somehow, he’d accidentally become the safest place on this boat for her.
Posing with Rosie fans felt oddly natural. Also like riding a bike, Tzipi supposed. There was muscle memory buried in there somewhere. And a genuine appreciation for these fans who remembered the role.
And speaking of muscle…
She laughed at the sight of Max, chatting with the bartenders and wearing her purse on his shoulder with zero inhibition. That beaded clutch could contain state secrets…or just an emergency tampon and breath mints for all he knew. She had a feeling he’d protect them equally either way.
The bodyguard thing, Tzipi had to admit, was kind of nice. Not that she actually needed protecting, but there was something about his presence, alert but unobtrusive, that made the overwhelm of the night fade into a manageable blur. And the fact that he was easy on the eyes? Five stars, would recommend.
When she glanced back again, his expression wasn’t his easy grin from before. It was more intent – curious, maybe even a little concerned. Like he was trying to read her from across the deck.
She gave a quick nod, the universal I’m fine signal. The women had drifted a respectful distance away, and no one else seemed to be waiting their turn. His shoulders loosened. And that smile – the bright, reassuring one – began to crack again, ever wider as she made her way back to the bar.
And almost had a head-on collision with a familiar face.
“Bobby Bloom!”
She heard the name leave her mouth before she fully processed seeing him – her favorite sitcom sibling. Second oldest in the brotherly lineup, the hammy one who loved to ad-lib his takes. He looked…good. Maybe a little shorter than she remembered? Although heels gave her an advantage she did not have as ten-year-old Rosie. Hair a bit longer, but those same boyish eyes widening as he took her in.
“Hey! Rosie?” He snapped his fingers like he was searching for a mental file. “Now wait, which triplet were you?”
Triplet.
Bold.
Cute.
