Page 19 of Sand in My Boots

On a boat.

With Cameron Fairbanks.

My lips curl up of their own accord at the thought of seeing him again today. And maybe, just maybe, getting him to touch me again. Either in the same spot or others. I’m not picky.

A search for my phone ends in my bag. I was so tired last night, I didn’t bother to check it before bed. I’ve got a few text messages and a missed call from Erica from about an hour ago. She didn’t bother leaving a voicemail, and the follow-up text message simply said to call her.

I put it on speakerphone and push open the expansive sliding doors onto the room’s private terrace, the sea breeze drifting inside while waves crash in the distance. It’s already sweltering, though I’m a little protected from the heat by the building. But it’s going to be a hot one.

“Hey. What’s on your agenda today?”

A chuckle expels from my mouth. “Good morning to you too, Erica.”

“Sorry. Morning. How was your night? How did you sleep? What’s on your agenda for today?”

“Good. Great. A boat ride at some point this afternoon, otherwise I’m free.”

“Can you cancel the boat ride?” There’s exasperation in her tone.

“Um, not sure. Why?”

“Jonah and I thought it would be fun to take a day trip to Charleston for shopping and food. You want in?”

But Cameron.

That’s my initial reaction. Because as much as I want to go out on a boat, now that he’s coming with me, I want to go even more. Spend more time with him. Learn more about him as an adult. About what he does here at the resort as “Recreation Director” as well as co-owner.

“What time are you going?”

“Around eleven. Most of the guests come in tomorrow, so we figured we’d have one last day to do some sightseeing before everything becomes only about the wedding.”

“Makes sense. Can I let you know in a bit?”

“I suppose. But maybe sooner rather than later.”

“Will do. Text you in a few.” I don’t wait for her response. My answer is going to be no, but I’ll let her think I might say yes, something I can’t dwell on. Nor do I let myself feel guilty for saying no to her last-minute request. It would be fun to hang out with her, but Cameron.

Through a hazy fog, I dimly remember him giving me something last night. His number. Where the hell did it end up?

In search of the information, I push up off the couch to hunt for where I might have put the business card he handed me.

“Cameron Fairbanks, Owner. That has a nice ring to it.” Words I said last night as I read the tiny description on the card slam into my brain.

He can never know . . . something else I said once upon a time.

I shake them off, continuing my quest. I finally locate the business card on the nightstand next to the king-sized bed. Last night’s Juli probably had big plans for the information. This morning’s Juli wastes no time dialing the number.

It rings four times before I figure he’s probably busy at work. A text message would have been more appropriate so he could read and respond at his leisure. It also occurs to me he doesn’t have my number. Higher probability the call will be sent to voicemail.

Smart move, Juliana.

My finger hovering over the red button, a gruff, “Cameron Fairbanks” comes through the line.

“Hey, it’s Juli.” I try for casual, not succeeding because my voice sounds like I’ve just finished a full marathon.

“Hi, what’s up?”

He’s not rushing me off the phone, which I’ll take as a good sign. I sink deeper into the bed, sitting back against the headboard.