Page 68 of Sand in My Boots

“I haven’t heard any good reasons you can’t.” If he truly needs to leave, I’ll respect his wishes. But I’m not getting that sense. He’s trying to protect me, as well as himself. This week has affected him, too. He hasn’t said it in so many words, but there’s no way it couldn’t have.

He kicks his flip-flops off. “You’re kind of addicting, you know that?”

My guffaw ricochets off the silent walls. “No one has ever referred to me in that way.”

“Glad I could be the first,” he mumbles drily. “I get full control of the TV tonight, and we get up early to watch the sunrise. From the beach.”

“How early is early?”

He doesn’t consider his answer. “Six-thirty should give us plenty of time to get out there to witness the splendor.”

“I have to be all packed and showered tonight.” I think of any other stipulations I want. “And you need to pack, too. Gotta check out of here before I leave for the airport.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m kinda a big deal around here. Pretty sure they won’t kick me out if I stay past the official checkout time.”

I don’t know if he means for it to be funny—probably not since it’s who he is—but I can’t help smiling. “Oh, are you? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Okay, so we’ll pack, you’ll shower, I’ll pick our TV viewing, we’ll sleep.” He winks, but not confidently. “We’ll get up and watch the sunrise.” He stops there, leaving off the inevitable goodbye.

On tiptoes, I stride closer, one slow step at a time, until I’m right in front of him. My heels lower to the ground, my eyes peering up at him. I’m not going for seduction, but I want him to honor my request, so I need some tactics. I add one last stipulation. “Breakfast in the morning. Know a place I can get pancakes?”

His Adam’s apple bobs with his swallow. “Think I can have that arranged. Six-fifteen delivery?”

Eek, that seems early, but I nod, solidifying all my choices. It’s not like I can’t sleep when I get home. And with no distractions in my bed, I’ll do just that—sleep.

“Go take a shower. There should be a clean towel left for you.”

It takes all my strength not to burst into tears at his comment. How he’s not making fun of my quirk, but actually supporting it.

It could be so easy to fall in love with this man.

Rising on tiptoes again, I plant a kiss on his stubbly cheek. “Thanks, Cameron. For always being the man I knew you’d be.”

I turn tail, leaving him standing there speechless.

Cameron stirs early in the morning. As much as I want to stay tucked under the covers—even in the bed by myself—he makes it impossible when he pulls all of them off me. The air conditioning blasts around the room, trying to freeze me out.

“Not. Funny,” I call out, my eyes still closed as I burrow my head into the pillow.

Cameron deflects with humor. He’s always been this way, but sometimes his humor and mine differ. Like right now. But he gets a pass.

He’s not ready for today either.

Dragging my bones out of bed, the smell of strong coffee and pancakes wafts from the other room. I make quick work of emptying my bladder before rushing for breakfast. Our breakfast sits on the table, and my feet stop moving in the doorway, my eyes deceiving me.

The to-go cup isn’t familiar, and it does not match any of the ones I’ve gotten this week from the resort. Letters adorn the side, but from this angle, I can’t make them out. When Cameron steps in front of them, it’s impossible. Though the sight of a sleepy Cameron Fairbanks, his hair standing in different directions, a knowing smile decorating his lips, his “cat ate the canary” expression, doesn’t disappoint.

“We’re eating on the beach,” he declares with conviction. I go to argue, but he stares pointedly at me. “We’re eating. On the beach.” He enunciates it, as if I didn’t hear him the first time. “Get dressed and ready. Not sure we’ll have time to come back here before.” His face sours momentarily, too painful to say the words.

My stomach rumbles, and I do as directed, dressing quickly and gathering up the last-minute items to pack.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m ready to go. Making one last visual sweep of the room I’ve called “home” the past week, Cameron hands me the aroma-filled brown bag and container with the drinks, ushering me out the door. With my backpack on his back and his bag slung over his shoulder, he takes the handle of my rolling suitcase and follows me.

A tsunami of emotions surges, each battling for dominance.

“Too much,” I whisper, fighting back tears.

“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” Cameron’s husky voice has my head whipping back to him.