“We got lucky,” Taylor added. “Jaxon offered up the house.”
“That man,” Carter said, shaking his head. “He’s a unicorn.”
“I love this island,” Macie said, looking out at the water. “But this house? I could wake up to this every day.”
Sara didn’t say anything.
Just stared into her bowl for a second too long.
Trevor caught it.
He grinned. “All someone’s gotta do is lock Jaxon down. That view becomes permanent real estate.”
The girls all laughed.
Except Sara.
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
As more bottles clinked into the trash can, the conversation loosened. They went from exes to future plans to—the inevitable—Jaxon.
“He’s a good guy,” Carter said. “We’ve been waiting for him to find the right girl. Not someone who fits in—someone who gives as much as he does.”
“The dude’s a walking standard,” Trevor added. “Makes the rest of us look like we’re still figuring out how to order appetizers.”
“He hasn’t changed a bit,” Taylor said. “He helped us like it was nothing. Didn’t ask questions, just stepped up.”
Sara finally spoke. “That’s just who he is.”
The group looked at her.
She blinked, covered. “I mean… Claire’s lucky. That’s all.”
But it wasn’t just luck, was it?
It was timing. It was access. It was her sister flying to Denver while she stood barefoot in his kitchen.
“I think we should do this again,” Sara said suddenly, cutting through the energy like a knife. “Thursday night. I’ll cook. Kind of our way of showing Jaxon—and y’all—our appreciation.”
“You tell me you’re making this again,” Trevor said, “and I’ll bring dessert. I don’t care what it is.”
The table burst into laughter again.
But Sara’s brain was somewhere else entirely.
Wondering when appreciation started to feel a lot like something else.
And how the hell she was going to stop it.
37
Without Warning
Themorninglightfilteredthrough the curtains in a soft haze, warm against Claire’s bare legs tangled in the sheets. She stirred slowly, Jaxon’s steady breathing behind her, both of them still in yesterday’s clothes. Or less. The movie they’d started the night before was nothing more than a blurred memory—some title card, a scene or two, then darkness. Sleep had claimed them faster than they could hit play.
“Good morning,” she whispered.
“Good morning, breath,” he mumbled back, grinning without opening his eyes.
