Page 41 of The Romance Adventure

If my hunch that he lost both his parents is true, then we’re not so different. See, it takes one to know one and I’m well acquainted with the emotions that people like us have to put aside to make life work without our parents in it.

It’s a chin up, shoulders back, take on the world kind of attitude.

Under my chest, which presses against Royal’s back, his lungs fill and then release.

“Wait. Did I say any of that out loud?”

“About pain and loss? You did, Strawberry Shortcake.” The resignation in his tone suggests I hit a target that he could not. In other words, I was able to articulate the things that he doesn’t let himself bring to the surface.

“But there is a difference between us,” I say.

“Do I want to know what you think that is?”

“I let myself have a little bit of fun. You’re zippered-up self-control.”

“Or I could say you’re chaos and I’m order.”

“Maybe I’m delight and you’re difficulty.”

He winces. “Your brutal honesty is a lot to manage.” Royal tromps along the pathway away from the resort with me on his back.

“Was my honesty brutal?”

“The truth is brutal. Your honesty was—” He pauses a beat as if fishing for the right word. “Courageous.”

“Funny, Courage is my middle name.”

He laughs like I’m joking. I’m not. But I don’t press it because then I might have to ‘fess up and tell him my first name, which is not Bean or Robyn Pratt, the employee of Mr. Edmonton.

Instead, I say, “If Chip wants us to get our hands dirty, I’m up for it.”

“Us? It’s us now, is it?” Royal asks like that’s a novel notion.

I pump my hands. “I know, I know. You do things your way and we will, but the will is clear. I’m overseeing this, or else the funds go to Gerome Glandular.”

Royal chuckles. “Glandman.”

“Whether you like it or not, it’s us,” I say, resting my head against Royal’s back and gazing out to sea.

As if I’ve brought us a little too close for his comfort, he says, “Looks that way. No ghosts or squatters haunting the old place.”

“Should we do a before and after, and get footage of the in between, like one of those small-town makeover shows? Or should we contact HLTV?”

“I’m hearing a lot of us’s and we’s, Strawberry Shortcake. Give me time to catch up.”

“All the time you need,” I say, liking the way his muscles feel under my palms, that he’s strong enough to tote me around like a backpack, and that we’re not at each other’s throats, ready to tear out the jugular.

I wince. “I said that out loud, too, didn’t I?”

Royal clears his throat and doesn’t answer. Instead, he says, “I still think we could see a better return if we sell to a developer.”

“Did you hear me read the will?”

“I’d like to think of it as a reinterpretation.”

“What’s your middle name? Skydiver? Race Car Driver? Extreme Sports Enthusiast?”

“Those aren’t middle names.”