Page 9 of Sand in My Boots

“I’ll have a mojito. Oh, and a brownie.”

I chuckle at her adorableness. “Most random combination ever.” I enter the order. “Anything else?”

“Whatever you want. You gotta eat too, right?”

“I had a big lunch. And saving room for when I take you out to dinner tonight.”

The invite wasn’t planned. Not even a small iota of contemplation went into it. Sure, we talked about drinks earlier, but no one said anything about eating a meal together, let alone me “taking her out.”

She lapses into silence, her eyes staring off at the horizon on the water. “Did I agree to that? I feel like I would have remembered you asking me out on a date.”

Attempting to backpedal, I put my hands in the air. “Whoa. Who said anything about a date? I said dinner.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t ecstatic at the prospect of dinner with me, but the look of devastation plaguing her now tugs heavily on my heart.

I take a tentative step closer, and when she doesn’t move, I take another one. Tiny steps until I’m definitely in her bubble.

“You seem disappointed.”

Her tongue peeks out and moistens her bottom lip. I refrain from moving an inch.

“I have to eat. You have to eat. We should do it together. At the same table. Not a date. Friends. Like we were.”

“Except I’ve seen you naked.”

Oops.

To Juli’s credit, she doesn’t react outwardly.

“So that means we can’t be friends?”

What I neglected to remember about Juliana Langley is how much she challenges me. How she pushes me to do things I wouldn’t normally do. How she questions my actions, gets me to say stuff I don’t say, take it back, and then end up doing it anyway.

Not wanting to say what’s on my mind—or something I’ll regret—I change tactics. “Remember when you were confused earlier about badminton?”

Brows pinched together, she’s baffled by my abrupt change of subject. “Yeah?”

“I don’t get this.”

“This, as in . . .”

“This.” I wave my hand between us. “You. Me. Friends. Not friends.”

“You think I get it? This is why I was hoping not to run into you while I was here. Too much . . . feelings.”

She didn’t want to see me during her visit? What the hell?

“What does that mean? Too much . . . feelings? Which doesn’t make any sense, by the way. And why didn’t you want to see me? Is there bad blood between us?”

Bad blood? Who am I? Taylor Swift?

“Now who’s not making any sense?”

“I’m kinda thinking neither of us. This is weird. And awkward. So, dinner? We’ll chat about our lives, except this conversation or anything else that may or may not confuse the other.” What the hell? Might as well put it all on the line.

“As friends?” Her voice is hesitant, but for the life of me, I don’t know why.

“We could be friends. Or you could be my best friend’s little sister, and I could be your brother’s best friend.”