“I know the feeling,” Morgan says with a purr, and she’s looking at me. God, why is she looking at me?
I manage to take a bite of the tart without making a mess of it, but Morgan pops hers in whole.
It’s divine. Smooth, creamy custard, not too sweet, and the tart shell is caramelized with a slight crunch that sets off the cream.
And the fruit—I now no longer believe you can say you know what a fruit tastes like until you’ve had it outside of the US. Fuck, it’s incredible. Bright and fresh and just tart enough to set off the cream and sugar notes.
After the last bite, I’m reluctant to take a sip of my wine and lose the lingering floral notes, but eventually my thirst wins out.
“It’s criminal that you’re just…usedto this,” I say.
“Regrettably, it’s table stakes in my world. Nothing tips your hand faster than awe and wonder.”
I wince. “Guess my hand’s all over the place, then.”
“I like that,” Morgan says quietly.
God, I’m reading into every little thing. My cheeks flush with heat.
Mercifully, Morgan continues, “Do you really think the waiters are usually this nice?”
I blink. Most of the waiters at the restaurants we’ve been to have been warm, engaged, understanding. Even when I’ve asked really stupid questions about the menu.
“They aren’t?” I say.
“Well, more so that the customers usually aren’t so nice. You’re actually enjoying your food. You’re delighted, appreciative. Don’t you think it’s soul-crushing serving people like me all the time?”
I choke out a laugh. I never thought I’d hear Morgan say something remotely self-depreciating. “I, uh… I guess so.”
“Never change,” Morgan says softly, and my heart thunders.
Chapter 31
JAMIE
Morgan finally asks for the check, and as the waiter takes it back across the cliff path, I stand and stretch. I approach the railing, keeping a pace back as I lean forward and try to see more of the ocean against the rocks below.
Morgan chuckles. “I’m sure this one is just as sturdy as the pool was.”
“I don’t like how low it is. It’s not up to code.”
Morgan snorts. “Do you have a history of fainting or something?”
“No,” I say, a touch defensively. “But it would be a terrible time for it to start, wouldn’t it?”
Morgan rolls her eyes and stands, then steps up behind me. “Go on,” she says, tilting her chin towards the edge. “I’ve got you.”
“N-no, it’s fine…”
But Morgan doesn’t move. And I realize I have to go through with this. I take a deep breath and step towards the edge, towards the railing. I can’t help but imagine what would happen if I slipped and couldn’t catch myself—my center ofgravity is well above the rail.
I swallow my fear, grip the railing hard, and lean over the edge.
I expected Morgan would just be there to catch me. But her arm wraps around from behind, pressing against my chest.
My heart thunders under her hand, but it’s not from the height.
I’d probably survive a drop of twenty feet anyway, as long as my legs didn’t break on the rocks and leave me to drown in the thrashing waves.
