Iggy scoots closer to her foot like he’s chosen a side.
She smirks. “See? He likes me.”
“You’re not hard to like,” I blurt out and then inwardly groan.
What is my deal around this woman?
She peeks at me from beneath her lashes as if my words embarrass her. “You’d be surprised. There are people whoreallydon’t like me.”
Now that, I don’t believe for a second.
“Then they’re morons,” I say simply.
I lean against the railing, arms crossed, watching her talk to the iguana like this is the most normal Tuesday activity on Earth.
She smiles and looks down at her hands in her lap.
Iggy hisses again, and she glares at him. “Stop threatening my friend.”
Friend.
It feels safe. My brain agrees. But that word does something strange in my chest. There’s an internal battle over how my brain and heart feel about it.
She stands, dusting off her legs, then looks at me like she’s bracing for judgment.
“You think I’m weird,” she says.
I meet her eyes. “I think you’re talking to an iguana.”
She waits.
“And,” I add, “I kind of love that.”
My heart thumps at those words as my brain misfires. Idiot.What part about “don’t flirt” do you not get, man?
Her smile is slow and she looks pleased. “Good. Because this iguana is the only thing helping me hold it together right now.”
Iggy lunges at my feet.
I jump. “Okay. Idon’tlove that.”
She laughs so hard she has to grab the railing. When she grows serious again, she says, “Thanks for last night. For getting me home safe.”
I grin, unable to help it, because apparently my rules have flown out the window. “Any time.”
She freezes for half a second, then looks at me, eyes bright. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Cal.”
“I guess you will, Silvie.”
And, stupidly, I can’t wait.
7
Silvie
Two weeks ago,if you’d have told me I’d be excited about rolling out of bed to do yoga on the beach every day at sunrise, I would’ve laughed and ordered another latte. I’m a runner, not a yoga person. Also, a city girl, not a beach person. But now I’m surprised by how much I’m loving island life.
Now I’m at the door, itching to leave, before Birdie even finishes her tea. “Don’t rush me, Sugar Bean,” Birdie says, squinting at the clock. “My bones need a moment to wake up.”
