“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Dyson Carter Banks, don’t you have a PR team?” I can tell he’s annoyed. “There are pictures of you in Coconut Beach, hanging out with a gorgeous brunette. There are a few of you in the background at a Fourth of July thing and several from the surf competition today. Someone mentioned it to me at a party tonight.”
My hand tightens on the phone. No one knew I was here. Except Dayton.
“Do the people on the island know who you are?” Jameson asks.
“No,” I tell him.
“So, the blind item was true,” he breathes out. “What about the pretty woman you’re clearly into? The one who’s showing up in all the photos?”
My phone vibrates, and I swipe through the pics of me and Wendy that someone took today.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “This is bad.”
“Dyson, you have to tell her before this becomes mainstream.”
“I will.”
“I really hope you know what you’re doing,” he says. “Don’t fuck it up. Have I mentioned how glad I am to be single?”
“Have I mentioned how much of an asshole you are?”
“Not recently. Anyway, gotta go. You’re welcome.”
The call ends. I sit on the edge of the bed with the photos still on my screen. Wendy laughing, her arms around me, and my face is very easy to identify.
The lie felt manageable when I arrived, but now it’s unraveling, and I don’t know how much time I have left.
From the kitchen, Wendy laughs at something.
I lock my phone and go to her. She’s smiling as she digs into some filet mignon.
I will tell her the truth, but I can’t do that tonight.
Instead, I give her all that I am. I give her the man she chose.
chapter twenty-four
Wendy
Yesterday, we checked out of the Grand Palm and spent the rest of Sunday at the B&B, doing nothing. I’d say it was one of the best weekends I’d had in a long time.
But now it’s another manic Monday, and I’m living back in the real world.
Seashells line the front desk when I come downstairs and there’s a note from him beside them.
Morning beautiful,
Found these for your collection.
Enjoy your coffee.
Carter
They’re still sandy and arranged in a row next to a cup of coffee he made for me. I pick up the smallest one and turn it over in my fingers. It’s pale pink with a ridge down the center. I’d have picked this one up.
Each morning during my walks, I pick up the small ones with interesting colors and place them in the jar by the counter forJosie. I never told him about this or how Josie made jewelry from the shells. Carter noticed, and now he’s becoming a part of it.
