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“Dangerous choice, Grumpy.”

His mouth twitches.

I turn before I can stare at him again and make my way across the sand toward the bar.

It takes me a while to get everything ordered because apparently cocktails served in coconuts require significantly more effort than cocktails served in glasses. I'm leaning against the wooden counter, watching the bartender crush mint into one of them, when someone speaks beside me.

“Ciao, bella.”

I turn and find two men standing a few feet away, both probably around my age. Tanned, dark-haired, dressed for the beach and very obviously looking at me.

Oh.

One of them smiles and asks if he can buy me a drink.

I lift the coconut shell already sitting in front of me. “Già fatto, grazie.”

He laughs but doesn't leave. Instead, he asks where I'm from. I answer vaguely, hoping that will be the end of it, but his friend moves a little closer and asks if I'm here alone.

“No.”

“Con le amiche?”

“With friends, yes.”

His eyes travel over me before returning to my face, and I don't like it.

Which is strange.

There was a time when this wouldn't have bothered me. I knew how to laugh something off or tell a man to fuck off when he didn't take the hint.

But I haven't had a stranger look at me like this in years, and right now I don't feel flattered. I just feel uncomfortable.

One of them says something about dancing, stepping closer so I can hear him over the music.

“No, grazie.”

He keeps talking.

I take a step back and bump into something solid and warm.

I don't even have to turn around. Somehow, I've learned to feel him before I see him.

Jude.

His voice comes low beside my ear. “Want me to make them stop?”

Relief hits me so quickly it's almost embarrassing.

I glance over my shoulder at him. “How? You can't just punch people.”

His mouth curves into a slow smile.

“Trust me?”

I do.

The answer comes so easily I don't even have to think about it.