Page 54 of The Romance Adventure

Not yet.

Royal glances over his shoulder as if checking to see if I’m going to show up—I’m about five minutes late due to multiple wardrobe changes.

I wave and then cross the sand.

He gets to his feet. For a split second, I glimpse a break in his confidence. He wears a boyish smile as if relieved I showed up.

“Hi, Mr. McMuffin,” I say.

“Hello, Strawberry Shortcake. I was starting to wonder if I was going to eat these grinders myself.”

“Grinders?”

“Yeah, short on time, I couldn’t go off island to get something a little more, um⁠—”

I lift my eyebrows, placing a bet with myself about whether he can say the word. When he doesn’t, I help him out. “Romantic?”

He taps the air with his forefinger. “Yeah. That. I hope you like turkey.”

“Gobble gobble.” I flap my arms a little bit.

He chuckles softly like I’ll never cease to amuse him, and maybe that’s what Royal McGregor needs in his life, a little levity to counterbalance his steely grip of control.

We settle in the sand and to my surprise, he says a soft blessing over the food.

“I figured that was just a Magnus thing.”

“Guess I learned a few things from Chip. Time with God every morning. Scripture before bed. Church on Sundays.”

“Maybe we could go together sometime.” My mother rejected religion, except for the worship of herself and the commune she was a part of. Aunt Olga, on the other hand, raised Bean and me to know how much Jesus loves us. I believe that’s the only thing that saved us from not wandering down the same path as Rainy Blue Moonflower Echo, as our mother renamed herself.

We talk about our faith while we eat our grinders, sip soda, and crunch on plantain chips. Everything about it is so ordinary and perfect. However, the sunset is extraordinary. We marvel at God’s creation. Just before the last of the liquid light disappears beneath the horizon line, I glance at Royal to take a snapshot in my mind because I had an idea for a mural and want to capture him in this moment.

I meet his pewter eyes so I can memorize how this particular light changes them, but neither one of us looks away. My heart hiccups as he leans in a little. I meet him halfway. Once more, we hold each other’s gaze as if we’re challenging each other to break it—daring and defying the other in the typical Mr. McMuffin and Strawberry Shortcake kind of way.

But instead of pushing back, we move together. Our lips meet at the same time my eyes close, but I keep this particular shade of pewter, sparking with interest and desire, for myself.

It’s a soft connection at first, as if we’re both testing the waters. Royal’s lips stutter against mine as if he’s having second thoughts. I pause, inhaling because I’m not so sure this is a good idea either, but I’ve had worse.

I pull back slightly because I don’t want him to ever think of me as a mistake. His lips quirk and then, as if he makes a decision and fully commits to this kiss, Royal grips my jawline, drawing me closer.

My heart hiccups as he presses his lips to mine. Warmth whooshes through me and I can’t hold back. My fingers slide into his hair. His weave through mine. My palms travel along his shoulders and I press them into the firm plane of his back. His hands travel along the valley of my torso before he grips my waist. It’s like we don’t know where this kiss began or where it’ll end, but we want to explore and enjoy everything in between.

I melt into Royal, never before having given myself over to a kiss like this. It deepens and goes to a new place—one where we can get along, not be at odds, and delight in each other’s company. Where he’s not closed off, letting me into his private world. As for me, I’ve been burned countless times by guys, but Royal warms me through—not too hot and not lukewarm either.

Everything about this kiss is just right. No, it’s better than just right. It takes my breath away.

And who needs to breathe, anyway? Not me. Not when Royal’s lips are on mine.

When we part, we’re both as quiet as the stars twinkling overhead. I steal a peek at his profile, trying to gauge his reaction, but he’s stationary, made of stone. Patting my hair, I make sure it didn’t become a nest of snakes, making me Medusa.

Still seated, Royal’s hands are planted behind him and his legs stretch long in the sand. He crosses his ankles and then finally breaks his silence.

“It had been a while.”

I take this to mean he hadn’t kissed anyone in a hot minute. “Well, if you’re looking for a performance evaluation, I give you five stars. You already have five surly stars and now you get five kissing stars. In some warped way, that kind of balances you out.”

Royal transfers his weight to the hand closer to me, lifts his other to my cheek, and says, “I’m not even going to ask what that first part means.” Then his lips are on mine again.