Chapter 17
Charlotte
If you had toldme six months ago that I would be standing outside of Just Married Getaways planning an all-inclusive honeymoon for my ex and his whimsical bride to be, I’d think you were crazy. If you told me I’d be planning this honeymoon with the groom’s father, I’d know you were crazy.
Even if he is the world’s most annoying, charming, impossibly devastatingly attractive man I’ve ever had the pleasure of sharing a bed with, I still would never have guessed.
Yet here I am.
Make that, hereweare.
Gavin and I pull up to the small storefront at the same time. We stand on the sidewalk, pausing before walking in. I am sure we are thinking the same thing, whether he knows it or not–
This is so awkward.
“This is going to be great,” he says, and my eyes literally roll in his direction.
“Are you serious?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” he says, crossing his arms over his broad chest. As usual, he looks incredibly good. Dark jeans, black dress boots, a black long-sleeved shirt under a fleece-lined flannel. He’s the poster boy for Denver’s most delicious bachelors–Silver Fox Winter Edition.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Really. You are excited to plan every little dirty detail of your son’s honeymoon?”
“Why not?” he asks.
“Because it’s weird,” I say, and he spits out a raspberry laugh.
“Sure, if sex makes you uncomfortable,” he says, and I give him a look.
“Who’s uncomfortable?” I ask. “I’m not uncomfortable.”
“No?” he asks with a smirk.
“No.”
“Alright. So you’ll be okay with suggesting places based on which ones have the best beds, the most secluded rooms, the most intimate experiences?”
“Of course,” I say, still making eye contact just to prove a point. In reality? I am wildly uncomfortable. I mean, here I am with a man who I have been naked with twice while we plan a honeymoon for a man who I have been naked with as well, and neither of them know that.
I’m fine. This is fine.
“Well then, let’s do it,” he says with a grandiose gesture, and I walk inside.
The door closes behind us, and we are engulfed by humidity. The smell of coconut and salt wafts through the air, while the soft sounds of island music play through the overhead speakers. The room is filled with colorful artwork and bamboo furniture.
“What if I wanted to go to the Swiss Alps?” I mumble and Gavin does a slow, full body turn towards me.
“Was that a sarcastic joke?” he asks with a smirk.
“Look at this place. It’s like stepping off a plane in Honolulu.”
“Except it’s smaller,” he says.
“What if you could put Honolulu in a bottle and sell it?”
“Synthetic Honolulu. Not even the real thing,” he says.
“Honolulu- knock-off version,” I say.
