“Really?” I flip it and read the back.
She booked a vacation to disappear. He was the one person who wouldn’t let her.
The lines of the temporary fling blur.
Keeping him a secret means losing the only man who’s ever seen the real her.
I read it again. The second pass is worse. Either this woman knows exactly what she’s doing or the universe has a sick sense of humor, and given the look on Mia’s face, my money is on both.
“Sounds great, doesn’t it?” She tilts her head, easily reading me.
I blink at her, handing it back. “Romance really isn’t my cup of tea.”
She taps her finger against the cover, and her bracelets jingle. “You could learn a thing or two. Unless you’re a chicken.”
My brows furrow as she pushes it back toward me.
“Or, what, you believe you’re too intellectual to read it? All men should be required to read one romance book per month. The world would be a much better place.”
“Damn, okay. I’ll buy it. You don’t have to hassle me,” I say and reach for another book with an old creepy house on the front, but she smacks my hand.
Her smile doesn’t falter. “You’re only getting this one and reading it. Then you can come back and choose your own adventure. Should only take you a week.”
I scoff, flipping through the pages. “I can finish this in a day.”
“Want a gold star?” She shoots me a wink, then grabs the book to scan it. “That will be twenty dollars. Best investment you’ll make this week.”
I hand her a fifty. She gives me the change, and I drop it in her tip jar, covered with seashells. It reminds me of the lamp at the B&B.
“Josie made that. She has a seashell art business. You should chat with her,” she says, tucking the novel into a small paper bag with the Salty Pages logo on the front.
“Why?”
“Because she could help you. But anyway, happy reading!” She waves as I walk away. “And, Carter? If you hurt Wendy, her friends will make you wish you’d never vacationed in Coconut Beach.”
“You have nothing to worry about,” I tell her.
“I’m not worried,” Mia says. “Nice seeing you again, Carter. Have a good day.”
Mia basically just interviewed me, warned me, and bullied me without breaking a smile.
I take the beach route toward the B&B with my shoes in one hand and the bag in the other. The sand is hot under my feet, and the sun blasts down on my shoulders, but I can’t help but smile. Life is so fucking good, even if the entire island is conspiring to ship Wendy and me together.
First, it was the baristas at the coffee shop, who harassed me to pay sixty bucks for silence and drew hearts on Wendy’s cup. Now, there’s Mia, who seems to know more than even I suspected.
Once I’m back in my room, I shower and change into shorts. The afternoon sun hangs lazy in the sky. I open the romance book and realize the hero is keeping who he really is secret from the heroine. It hits a little too close to home, and I wonder if Mia has figured out who I really am. My nostrils flare. Fuck, I hope not.
“People who stay there usually end up changed in some way. Lots of divorcees show up. Those suffering from grief. Burnout. There’s magic in those walls, and those who need healing get it.”
I read for two hours, and the book is better than I expected.
Downstairs, the house thumps with its usual sounds from guests. The plumbing squeaks—something that usually happens when the hot water on the second floor is used. Someone doesn’t catch the screen door, and it slaps closed.
Time passes, and a knock on the door pulls me away.
“Come in,” I say over my shoulder.
“Hi.”
