“Really?” he asks, seeming interested. “At that fancy hotel?”
“Yeah.” I smile, swirling my straw in the glass. “Royals, diplomats, billionaires … many stayed at the W.”
“You have any secrets about people who stayed there?” he asks.
“Not anything I can discuss. I signed an NDA that lasts for five years after I left. But I will say this: most everyone that I’ve ever met who has seven figures in their bank account is miserable as hell. They’re like robots. Never joke. Rarely smile. I think money makes them unhappy.”
“And you enjoyed working there?” he asks with his brows raised.
It’s not a question I’ve really thought about since I left. “At one point in my life, I did. The last few years? Not so much.”
He chuckles and pulls out his phone, and then he speaks. “Hey, Siri. Set a reminder for five years from today to text Wendy and ask her about the juicy rich people gossip she can’t share.”
Siri confirms it.
I can’t stop grinning. “You’re not serious.”
“Totally am.”
Once we finish our drinks, he lifts his finger for the server to deliver the check.
The sky is dark blue now, and I can already see a few stars making their appearance. We take the long way back to the B&B because I will always choose the beach over a sidewalk. Many of the nearby shops are closed with metal grates pulled down over the storefronts.
“Want to stop by Cocktails & Chaos?”
“I’d love to but?—”
“You have to be up early,” he says.
“Yeah,” I tell him.
Travis walks close enough that his arm brushes mine, and the contact is friendly and familiar, but nothing more.
“Remember when we used to sneak into the Rusty Anchor with Fallon’s fake ID?” Travis says.
“Fallon’s ID said she was thirty. We were sixteen.”
“And they still stupidly served her,” he says.
I almost forgot about that.
“Nobody cared back then.” He bumps my shoulder with his. “I missed hanging out with you and Fallon. Kinda stopped after you left.”
A couple passes us, holding hands, and the woman tips her head against the man’s shoulder. The tiki torches at Cocktails & Chaos glow ahead of us while the bass from the band thumps through the boards under our feet. Travis hums along to whatever song carries out to the boardwalk. He’s fully here with me at the moment, and it makes me feel guilty.
The beach path curves toward the bed-and-breakfast. The place is dark, except for the porch lights and a single glow from the balcony on the top floor. From here, the shape of someone sitting in the chair is visible.
My pulse picks up, and I hate knowing he’s watching.
Travis and I stroll to the base of the stairs. The sand is cool now, and the waves are close. He turns to face me, and his eyesare kind. He leans in, his hand touching my elbow, then pulls back, already knowing.
“Take care, Winslow.”
“You too, Kemp.”
He smiles and goes to walk away.
“Wait. I have a question for you.”
