Page 23 of Sand in My Boots

“Took you long enough. I thought I was going to have to postpone our boat ride tomorrow with how much time you wasted.” He stands up, his gaze traveling down the length of me and back up until it meets my eyes. “You look cute. The cowboy boots are a nice touch.”

His words hit me straight in the feels. Especially because his comment is genuine.

Sliding my glasses onto my head, I say, “I know. Thanks for noticing.” I threw them in at the last minute, not sure I’d get to wear them, especially in the humidity of South Carolina. Now I’m glad I didn’t leave them behind. My skirt swishes around the boots as I make my way to the door, grabbing my bag, phone, and coffee cup off the now vacant table. “The cinnamon roll was delish.”

I feel him behind me before he speaks. “If you weren’t in such a rush to eat it, I would have suggested warming it up for about twenty seconds, allowing the icing to get gooey and sink in.”

Damn, that sounds amazing. I ignore the dig about how fast I ate it.

“They serve those every day here?”

“If you know where to look.”

I spin on my heel, though I’m not at all prepared for him to be so close to me. I have to tilt my head back to peer up at him. I didn’t notice earlier, but the green of his eyes is more emerald today. And he definitely shaved this morning, though I much prefer the look of his five o’clock shadow from last night. Hopefully, it will make a reappearance at some point today.

I have the oddest urge to touch him, needing to know what hides below his T-shirt, but I keep my fingers fisted at my sides.

“Since you know where to find them, how about you bring one tomorrow morning? Along with some pancakes,” I tack on. Might as well go big.

“I told you breakfast’s on you tomorrow, Jude. Keep up.” He saunters around me, holding the door open. “You have everything you need?”

Not in the slightest, I think.

Because what I need is more of Cameron in my life.

Chapter 8

Cameron

After being “trapped” in an elevator with her, I have to walk at a faster pace in front of Juli so she can’t catch up with me. Which isn’t all that difficult because my legs are longer than hers, and she’s wearing a skirt that restricts her steps. We’ve only made it as far as the sidewalk outside her building, but she isn’t trying to keep my pace. Maybe she needs space from me. Probably not for the same reason I need it from her.

I woke up with her on my mind, wondering when she was going to text me about the boat ride. Consulting the weather, there is a high chance of thunderstorms today, which isn’t unusual for this time of year, but not a chance I’m willing to take if we can avoid it. She mentioned the wedding this weekend, but I wasn’t paying all that much attention to what she has on the agenda while she’s here. I hoped she wasn’t busy tomorrow, and my heart leapt for joy when she said we could postpone. It meant moving a few things around on my schedule, but she’s only here for a limited time. There’s nothing pressing that can’t wait until early next week.

I hadn’t planned on bringing her breakfast. I was passing by the buffet, and on a whim, grabbed a bunch of stuff for her. I’ll be sure to grab pancakes next time.

With Juli behind me, she can’t see the way my lips smile at the thought of next time. And even if I pretend she “owes” me, there will still be a next time and pancakes. So yeah. Next time sounds good right about now.

“Will you slow down? Why are you in such a rush?”

So you don’t see the effect you’re having on me.

The problem with my logic is this is the beginning of our journey, and who knows how long shopping will last. Plus, I assured myself lunch with her. At least a table will hide my groin while we’re sitting.

Juli sprints to catch up, going so far as putting her hand on my wrist to slow me down. Her chest heaves with each breath, but she’s not winded.

“Is there a first prize for getting to the front of the resort before everyone else?”

“Need to chat with Keoni before we take off,” I lie easily. I can’t be sure the concierge will be at the front desk. As well as he does his job, he can often be found at other places than his desk.

“Who’s Keoni? Is he another owner?”

I wonder how much she knows. She and Preston were always close, and I don’t get the sense he’s pulled back on purpose. The guy’s a workaholic and can’t help it.

“Nah. He’s the concierge. He’s originally from Hawaii, has an encyclopedic knowledge of all the barrier islands’ hidden spots, and sports brightly colored seersucker bow ties. Can’t miss him.”

“He sounds . . . fun.”

“He’s quite hilarious. If you’re ever having a bad day, find him. He’ll turn it around.” He’s an amazing employee, one we are lucky to have on staff.