Page 69 of Sand in My Boots

“I’m not,” I start, unable to speak over the lump in my throat.

“It’s okay, cutie.” Commiseration swims in his green eyes. I don’t let it affect me more than everything already is. “I get it now. Too much . . . emotions.” Standing outside the door of my suite, a place holding so much meaning over the past week, he leans in. My breath hitches at what he’s going to say. “This week did something to me, too, so much more than last time. But maybe some things aren’t meant to last. You and me . . . we’d always be ‘too much.’”

His words leave me reeling and without a comeback. I’ll be processing and replaying the two comments from now until I can finally make sense of what he means.

As if he didn’t rock my world, he dictates, “Come on. The pancakes are getting cold, and we are not missing the sunrise.”

Unable to do anything else, I resort to old habits, my eyes rolling. “Right. Can’t let them get cold.” As the words leave my mouth, I realize the truth in them as well as another thought. I jog to catch up with him. “Where’s this coffee from?”

“Only the best place in Magnolia Cay. You’re welcome.”

His cockiness will not draw me in. It will be that much harder to say goodbye.

“I’ll let you know what I think.” Wasting no time, I grab the one with a J on it and take a sip. It takes less than a second for the aroma to assault my nose and the rich, deep flavor to attack my tongue. The sip barely swallowed, I announce, “Oh, snap. Why did you keep this a secret this entire time? I kinda hate you a little right now.”

The cocky bastard grins. “Again, you’re welcome.” Tipping an imaginary hat, the top half of him bends slightly in a bow. He gets credit. He’s a bit of an evil genius.

Ignoring what I have to do soon, I take another sip. “I’m savoring every sip of this heavenly concoction. And cursing you that this will be the only time I have it.”

“Theme of the week, Jude.”

Cue the damper.

With his somewhat free arm, he wraps me up against his side. “Friends. We can do this.” His tone has no conviction.

“Friends,” I agree, my inflection mimicking his.

We consume our food and coffee in silence from a towel on the beach. Cameron does a great job of not letting the sand bother him, and silently, I’m adoring his grimaces. Deep down, my heart applauds him for giving me this last memory of this week, even with his utter disdain of the sand.

As the sun rises over the water, the sky lights up in brilliant hues of yellow, orange, and a few pink streaks thrown in for good measure. The view takes my breath away, and my body leans into Cameron.

“It’s breathtaking.”

“Truly.”

“Thanks for making me get up early for this.” Cameron returns the sentiment with a squeeze. We sit huddled on the beach for a little longer, neither of us making a move to get up. Until an alarm rings from his wrist.

“That’s our cue.” He voices the words but stays planted on the ground.

I don’t want this moment to end. I don’t want to say goodbye to this man nor lose touch with him for years again. All those years ago, our first—and only—time together was less than ideal. But damn if it wasn’t special. Boys and men came after him, and the sex was good, way less embarrassing than what teenage Cameron and I shared. However, this week blew everything I’ve ever known about sex out of the water. He more than made up for his shortcomings, making every single teenage fantasy—and some adult ones, too—starring Cameron Fairbanks come true. And now what? I’m supposed to say “thank you for the best week of my life” and go back to dating losers and people who stand me up and everyone in between?

Of course, Juli. Cameron will never be more than a fantasy, a dream you can’t achieve, a fallacy.

Cameron isn’t my endgame. Once I fully accept it, life will march on, and I’ll go about it as if this week never happened.

“A week of great sex does not a long-term commitment make.”

His words slap me in the face. It’s like he’s reached into my brain and found the truth of our situation. Hearing it voiced aloud stings, but it drives the point home.

“I should go.” I swipe at the errant tears slipping down my cheeks. As I stand up, Cameron stays sitting.

His head cocks to the side, and for once in our relationship, he peers up at me. “Here’s where we part ways, Juliana.” His voice is detached, and I cringe at not only what he says, but how he uses my full name, dredging up memories of the past. As if I need more emotions in my life.

“Do I at least get a goodbye hug?” I don’t hide the quiver in my voice nor the stream of tears.

An internal debate happens, almost to the point where I’m afraid he won’t give me this last thing and I’ll leave here without it. Nerves take flight, but after what feels like forever, he slowly pushes to standing. His expression is unreadable, kinda like the murky mess threatening to overtake me.

In slow motion, his arms open. Without thinking, I leap into them, barely able to keep my toes in the sand, burying my head against his chest as my arms go round his back, holding on for dear life, never wanting to let go. His arms crush me, drawing me in closer, closer, as close as I can be, smooshed to his chest. We stand there, me trying to keep from becoming a blubbering mess, and him? Well, I’m uncertain, and no way am I going to ask.